Page 39 of The Story of You
“Not doing it for Silas.”
“Which makes it even better.”
* * *
Darius
The major sets up some kind of thing to put wood on that reminds me of a spanking bench I was tied to once. Julius covered his perfect, Speedo-wearing ass with blue jeans. I don’t give a shit that Julius is my little brother’s boyfriend. He’s my age, he’s hot, and I’monlylooking. The shirts are already off and it’s like the volleyball scene in Top Gun except with carpentry.
Oliver is pouting beside me. “Tell me why he’s allowed to take my book. Dad doesn’t have a problem with it and Julius wasn’t worried either.”
Good God. Will this always be my lot in life? “Dude, chill. You’ll get to read the book. You have time.”
“I already feel like I’ve lost so much time.”
I ignore that. I’m not having that fucking argument with him again. “After reading as much as you have, do you really believe yourdaddoesn’t have a problem with it?”
He huffs a sigh. “He does. The real reason I’m trying to read the book so fast. I’m worried any day could be my last. Something’s up with him, Darry. I’m worried.”
I watch Wyatt and Asher interact for a second. The Major is patient with him in a way Asher’s never experienced before. Asher lets him do his thing without interrupting and I know that look on his face. Desperation. Asher wants to belong so bad. He’s like an abused puppy, hopeful his new home won’t do to him what the last one did.
Except this isn’t a new home and we didn’t do anything to him the last time he left. His “last home” will always be his biological parents who got rid of him and what did he do? He took the road straight back to them. I’d like to say I wouldn’t do the same, but I’ll never really know. There’s no one for me to try to go back to.
Fucked up as it is, I think I’d be okay with Dad taking me back just to use me for money. He wouldn’t though. He took the trash out years ago and the only thing you do to trash that won’t stay at the landfill is burn it.
“I need a drink,” I announce, standing.
“Was it what I said? I’m sorry.”
“No. Nothing to do with you. It’s like that for everything, Oliver. People’s actions are a reflection of their inner battles.”
He snatches my wrist. “What are you battling, Darry?”
I stare and I see everything in his blue eyes that are so much like Mama’s—hope, love, worry, confusion. Fuck she would have loved him. She would have been at every performance. She would have sat with Silas on that expensive dancing floor he had installed and watched him practice for hours. She would have let him do whatever the fuck he wanted.
He’ll never have her though. He should have something of her.
“Know what we need? Lemonade for our men.”
I yank him to standing and the two Toppy types notice that we’ve stirred from our sunbathing perches. “Darius, where you goin’, darlin’?”
“Lemonade,” I call out.
He raises an imperious brow. “Spiked lemonade?”
He means for me. The major would never break his commitment. “Nope. We’ll be right back.”
I drag a confused Oliver into the large kitchen, our bare feet patter over the stone floor. “I’m going to teach you how to make Mama’s special lemonade,” I say.
His eyes light up. I pull out the lemons and I know Lakshan keeps cane sugar around here. We’re elbow high in juiced lemon halves when Silas and Lakshan saunter into the kitchen. “Don’t you two look dapper? Out for lunch?” I ask.
Silas squints at me. “Are you sober?”
I ponder that. “Know what? I think I am.”
“Are those lemons?” is his next question.
“He’s showing me how to make Mama’s special lemonade and I think I could actually make this on my own without losing a finger,” Oliver says.
