Page 3 of For Your Heart
I don’t speak because if I do, the tears will become dislodged. Instead, I dig my fingers into his back and close my eyes. Together, we dump all our grief into one single mind and drown in it together until we’re so exhausted from the emotional onslaught that we finally fall asleep.
Two
DAMON
The windowover the desk is open, letting the cool fall breeze move around our room. A car door opens outside, though I think nothing of it. Not until I feel the quiet panic and anger surge through my brother. I look up as he turns to face me.
“Simon’s dad!”
His thoughts are loud, and I nearly flinch. We both look at Simon. He’s laying on our bed with headphones in as he scrolls through his phone. He’s wearing the jeans I wore last week and the hoodie Declan wore two days ago.
There’s something almost comforting about him wearing our clothing. Our parents buy him his own, but usually, he just throws on ours. I glance at the two dressers, noting that his rarely gets opened. He pulls clothing from ours instead.
I crawl onto the bed and pull one of the buds from his ear. He glances at me, his usual smile on his pretty face. “We’re going to get some snacks. Stay here, okay?”
It might have sounded suspicious to absolutely anyone else, but Simon just smiles a little wider and nods.
“I want to kiss him.”
It’s not the first time the thought’s gone through my mind, even if that was Declan’s thought andnotmine this time. As I leave the room, I reason with myself that it’s not like I haven’t kissed him before. We kiss him all the time. The strange swirling in my gut says this is not the same thing.
Declan stops at the top of the stairs so he can watch the door as I silently race down them. Mom is in the kitchen. “Simon’s dad’s here,” I say.
Her sharp gaze flickers to the door, expression hardening. She wipes her hands on a dishrag. “Go back upstairs. Keep Simon busy.”
I nod and head for the stairs, but I stop after I’ve climbed a few when there’s the knock on the door. Looking up at my brother, I find him looking through our bedroom door. The echo in my head tells me Simon hasn’t moved.
Mom opens the door and I turn back. Even from where I’m standing, I can smell the alcohol on him. Sweat. Whatever other disgusting shit is caking his grungy body. Is he wearing the same shit he had been three years ago when we last saw him, passed out in his own vomit?
Oh, that’s what that smell is. At least, part of it.
I try not to gag and move up the stairs a little further to get away from the rancid odor.
It’s not just his smell, but he looks homeless. His clothes are disgusting and in tatters. Stained with some very questionable spots. His hair is long and knotted; his face looks like he’s been to war and hasn’t seen a bar of soap or a razor in months.
I’ve never been more horrified.
“My son,” he says, his voice raspy. From disuse? “I can’t find him. He never came home from school.”
I’ll give it to him. He actually looks concerned.
I can’t see my mother’s face since her back is to me, but I can hear the disapproval in her voice. “He comes home from school every day, Mr. Everett. If you weren’t passed out in your own drunken vomit, you might have noticed.”
He doesn’t seem to hear the venom in her voice. “Is he here? I’ll take him home now.”
“No, you won’t, Mr. Everett.”
“You can’t keep my child from me. I’ll call the police.”
There’s a pause and by the way my mother’s head moves slightly, I imagine she’s looking him over. “Please do. I’ll be sure to tell them that I found him three years ago surrounded by dozens of empty beer cans and liquor bottles, covered in filth, starving, while you were passed out on the floor in front of him. I’ll be sure they know he thought you were dead. That he hadn’t eaten in a couple days. That he was wearing a single ratty shirt because all his clothes were dirty and you hadn’t remembered you had a child. Please do call the police, Mr. Everett. I’d love to talk to them.”
Mr. Everett stares at my mother. The one thing he chose to question was, “Three years ago?”
“Go home, Mr. Everett. Stay away from Simon. He’s already lost both his parents, and he doesn’t deserve to lose one for the second time.”
“But I—He’s my child. The only thing I have left of my wife.” A tear tracks down his cheek.
“That’s a shitty reason to remember you have a child. Go home. Don’t come back. If you seek him out anywhere, I will be there with a team of fucking lawyers, Mr. Everett. Do you understand?”
