Page 1 of Trick of the Flesh
ONE
CALEB
I always forgethow small this house feels until I’m standing inside it again.
College campus air feels wide, filled with noise and anonymity, but here—here every creak of the wood floors, every shift of the walls feels like they’re leaning in on me, pressing me into a version of myself I thought I left behind when I moved out.
The entryway smells like sickly sweet pumpkin spice candles and… weed?
Shit.
Dad must’ve gone all in on the Halloween theme this year, and—yeah. There it is. A fake cobweb stretches across the banister, and plastic bats dangle from the ceiling. A bowl of candy sits by the door, overflowing with neon wrappers for the trick-or-treaters. Somewhere deeper in the house, I hear music—the kind of classic rock Dad insists is “party music.”
I drop my duffel by the door and take a deep breath.
It’s just the weekend, I remind myself. Just a couple of days of humoring Dad and my stepmom with their annual Halloween blowout. Smile, eat too many chips, drink justenough beer to feel loose, then go back to school and forget about all of this until Christmas.
Easy.
Except it’s not. Because he’s here.
Miguel Veracruz. My older stepbrother.
I don’t see him at first, but I feel him, like the way the air changes when a storm rolls in. There’s a weight, a static, a heat that prickles the back of my neck. I walk into the living room and there he is, sprawled across the couch like he owns the place. Smoke curls from the joint between his fingers, his tattooed forearm resting across the back of the cushions.
He’s got on a black band shirt, sleeves pushed up to the elbows, ink crawling down his tan arms like vines. His jeans hang low on his hips, one knee bent, his body loose but coiled at the same time. A wolf pretending to nap in the sun but ready to rip your throat out the second you get too close.
Our eyes meet for half a second and my stomach clenches. I look away fast, like the heat of him burned me.
“Caleb!” Dad’s voice booms from the kitchen. “You’re here!”
Saved by the bell.
I force myself to smile and turn toward the sound. He’s already crossing the tile, his arms wide, and I let myself get swallowed in a bear hug that smells like aftershave and barbecue sauce.
“Hey, Dad,” I mumble into his shoulder.
He pulls back, grinning. “You made good time. Traffic wasn’t bad?”
“Nah, it wasn’t bad at all.” I glance past him, trying to see if my stepmom is around, but my eyes flick back to the couch before I can stop them.
Miguel hasn’t moved. He’s watching me, lips curved into something between a smirk and a sneer. He takes another dragof his joint, then blows the smoke slowly, like he knows I can’t look away.
My face heats up. I wrench my gaze back to Dad.
“Miggy, take it outside.” Then he turns his attention back to me. “Glad you’re here, son. We’ve got a lot to do before everyone shows up tonight,” he says, already turning back toward the kitchen. “Your stepmom’s been going nuts with decorations. Could use your help with setup.”
“Sure.” My voice comes out tighter than I want.
As I follow Dad, I tell myself not to glance back again.I fail.
Miguel’s still watching.
The kitchen looks like a Pinterest board vomited Halloween spirit all over it. There are cauldrons, pumpkin bowls, and a tower of cupcakes iced in black and orange. A pot of chili simmers on the stove, filling the air with spice. And over all of it, Celeste—my stepmom—buzzes like she’s running a catering business instead of a house party.
“Caleb!” she cries, sweeping over with a dishtowel still in her hand. She kisses my cheek like I’m not an awkward twenty-two-year-old trying to dodge motherly affection. “Oh,mijo, look at you. Are you even eating at school? You look thin?”
“Yeah, Ma. Just been working hard on the court, you know.”
