Page 22 of Lucky Boys
I focused on Brooks’s voice as he kept talking, switching from a reminder of what had led to these circumstances to singing an over the top rendition of “You are my Sunshine.”
It was just ridiculous enough to have me relaxing and able to focus on the world around me.
Brooks knew my signs enough and stopped after his third round of the song. “Here.” I forced my eyes open all the way to see he was holding out three round pills to me.
“Just ibuprofen. I know your head is killing you.”
I winced as I took them and threw all three in my mouth. A water bottle came next, and I was so fucking grateful as the cool liquid ran down my burning throat. “Thanks.”
I finally turned and got a good look at Brooks and stiffened immediately.
“What’s wrong?”
He frowned at me. “What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.”
But it was bullshit. Brooks’s eyes were bloodshot and dried tears still stained his red and blotchy face. He was kneeling on the bed next to me, wearing nothing but gym shorts and socks, but he wasn’t his usual bouncy self. I hadn’t noticed it when he’d been trying to calm me, but it was completely obvious now.
“Don’t lie to me. You were crying.”
“Ugh.” Brooks collapsed dramatically to the bed, tossing his hands over his head. “Why am I such an ugly crier? I can never get away with it.”
I snorted and lay down facing him. I had to piss, and I couldn’t even imagine what my breath smelled like, but Brooks came first, just like I did for him.
Mom and Dad might have saved my life, but I didn’t think I’d still be living it without Brooks. He’d been a feral little 7-year-old, who still hadn’t figured out the right ADHD meds, and he’d terrified the living fuck out of me. Until he hadn’t. Until I’d realized that behind those wild blue eyes and chaotic energy was the sweetest, most caring, most loyal kid I’d ever met, which had carried through into his adulthood.
I knew I still wasn’t normal, but I had no idea where I’d be without Brooks. His easy acceptance of me and all the suitcases of trauma I came with had gone a long way to me feeling safe and secure enough to stay and let Mom and Dad love me. It was why I’d done this job with Brooks, rather than try to get a job hacking for some alphabet agency. I wouldn’t leave him.
“Wanna talk about it?” I asked, bringing the conversation back to the current drama.
He stuck his tongue out at me like he was 12, but sighed deeply, so I knew he’d continue.
“I saw Luca in the kitchen earlier and we had a . . . moment.”
I frowned. “Moment like you made eyes at each other? Moment like you fucked on the kitchen counter? Or did y’all have a knockout, drag-out fight?”
Brooks’s whole face wrinkled before he started to crack up. “Made eyes at each other? Jeez, D, what are you, 60? You’re spending way too much time watching those shows with Mom.”
I threw a pillow at him. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”
Brooks flopped again. “Okay . . . then somewhere between option 1 and 2 and then it ended with me word vomiting all my feelings before running out to hide in here with you.”
I sat up with a groan. My head was still pounding, but it was lessening a little. “I need more than that.”
Brooks then gave me a very detailed account about everything that had happened, including the kiss, his rant, and then the ultimatum he’d given Luca before leaving.
It was . . . a lot, and I had honestly no idea what to say or where to go with it. I had no experience when it came to anything romantic or sexual, and I planned to keep it that way. It was kind of hard to have a relationship when I wouldn’t leave the house and hated to be touched.
But anyway, this wasn’t about me, so I quickly worked through everything Brooks had shared to focus on the thing I could actually solve.
“You know Mom and Dad don’t expect us to pay for the medical bills, right?” Brooks had seemed to take our father’s stroke and subsequent medical issues harder than any of us. Even Dad himself, who’d gone from a fun-loving, active guy to wheelchair-bound with limited use of his left side of his body and some serious short-term memory loss. He still was funny as hell though.
But anyway, there was a direct correlation between Dad getting sick and Brooks taking on crazier and riskier jobs with higher payouts. Especially since they’ve been in Arizona. Insurance long since ran out for PT, so everything was out of pocket. There would probably come a time when Dad would just have to stop therapy because they couldn’t afford it anymore. Two weeks after Mom admitted her worries about this, Marshall had contacted us about this job.
Brooks shrugged and fiddled with his sock. “Yeah, I know. Doesn’t mean I don’t wanna pay for it though.” I wanted to touch him so badly, but I couldn’t get my body to move. Brooks was very tactile. He needed physical affection, and usually I could force myself to give it to him when I saw it was bad, but everything was too close to the surface and my fucking body wouldn’t cooperate. Hating myself was a feeling I was familiar with, but it was even stronger now.
“I know. I did too. We could still get the money, you know.”
Brooks shot me a meme worthy side-eye. “Oh yeah, and how will that work? ‘Hi, Mrs. Fieldburg, I know your husband was just murdered, that fucking sucks, be he owes use 200 grand for an illegal job. Do you think you can get us to that? We accept Venmo or Cash App.”
