Page 40 of Enemy Crush
I didn’t dare object, even though I wanted to watch Quinn and Mason. I dumped the pizza on the kitchen counter and peered out the window. I filled the water jug, my heart beat accelerating as Quinn walked down her driveway. Moments later, Mason came skipping in, plopped a bag on the table and pulled out two books.
“What was that?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant . “What’d you give Quinn?”
“A candle. Peach and cherry.”
“Peach and cherry?”
“She said she loved it.”
Air seemed to be in short supply and my chest tightened, heaving with some random anger—but why?I was the villain in the story.Not Dad, not Mason and definitely not Quinn.
“You should’ve told me about the kids on the bus. I would’ve done something,” I fumed in frustration.
Mason’s chin wobbled and he looked away, examining the front and back covers of his new books.
“Huh?” I prompted, fighting hard to contain my anger, “So why didn’t you tell me?”
Mason shrugged. “You didn’t care,” he sniffed.
My heart didn’t just drop—it plummeted, like off the top of a skyscraper. My little brother didn’t think I cared about him. That hit hard.
And yet my rage kept raging. “What are you crying for?” I snapped. “Don’t be such a baby.” Mason rubbed his eyes, tears dripping down his cheeks, and I continued to lash out. “I told you to stay away from the back of the bus, to watch out for those bullies. You should know that by now.”
“Hey!” Dad’s voice boomed like a clap of thunder. “Miller!” He filled the doorway, eyeballing me with the death stare usually reserved for Mrs. Devereaux. “What’s gotten into you? Don’t you talk to your brother like that!”
I knew I was in the wrong, but my mouth ranted on its own accord. “I can’t protect him all the time. He’s gotta learn to stand up for himself. He can’t be a doormat his whole life!”
I really thought Dad was going to hit me. His body jerked and I instinctively flinched, expecting a strike to the face, but he stiffened and fisted his hands. Dad had never hit us, but the effort to restrain himself caused his face to redden and the veins in his forehead to bulge. “Get out of here!” he exploded.
“Oh yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I spat back. “Keeping it nice’n’cozy, just the two of you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dad’s head twitched as lines etched across his brow.
It’s kinda crazy how emotions can unleash. Because in a blink of an eye, I became a wild beast on a rampage, cold-blooded but hot-headed.
I turned to Mason, my eyes flashing, spit flying off my lips. “You’ve been lying to me. I thought I could trust you, when I’ve done everything for you. But you’re nothing but a traitor.”
Mason stared with eyes the size of saucers, his mouth quivering, but he had no comeback, no rebuttal. Just the silence of guilt.
I was about to bask in my own smugness, knowing my brother couldn’t deny the facts, when Dad stepped in, his voice a low growl. “What the heck are you talking about?”
“What am I talking about?” I echoed with light sarcasm, my blood at boiling point. “He’s a traitor,” and with my finger repeatedly pointing at Mason, seethed, “He’s getting cards fromher.”
My brother shrunk back, probably scared I was about to stab him in the eye, his face crumpling and his chest heaving. But still I offloaded my barrage of disgust. “She abandoned us, but you think it’s all right to take from her? She’s not worth anything. She’s never been here for you. I’m the one who’s here. Not her!”
I felt a hand on my shoulder, fingers pressing into my t-shirt, but the touch fluttered with comfort. Yet, I battled on. “She doesn’t deserve one minute of our time. Not a second.” I paused, drawing deep for a breath, trying to maintain control. “I saw it! I saw that she sent you a birthday card.”
“I...I...d..” Mason tried, but couldn’t utter a single word, his throat thick with tears.
“Mill—er.” Dad muttered, barely able to speak my name. At the same time, he pulled Mason in beside him and handed him his inhaler. “Boys. Boys. Sit down.” He pushed us toward the table.
Mason kept swiping at his eyes and cheeks, struggling to stem the flow of tears. He sucked on the inhaler, breathing in deeply. My heart cracked a little. I’d caused him to cry, to gasp for breath, I was the one who’d upset my little brother. And I wasn’t proud of myself.
It was easier to look away.
“Listen up.” Dad’s voice had taken on a rasp, and he cleared his throat. “Listen up now. You’ve got this wrong, Miller.”
“I ain’t got it wrong,” I said adamantly. “I saw the envelope. She sent him a card. And he opened it.”
