Page 139 of Really Truly Yours

My stomach goes at it again, feeling like the time my family went on vacation south of the border and I drank the water outside the resort.

“There was something Max’s friend said that day, a comment that registered with me afterwards.”

Max. Speaking of comments returning to mind. Sam’s the only family that matters. I now have a name to go with the member of the family who doesn’t matter. How could a brother bring a guy like that around his sister?

Her knuckles whiten, gripping one another. “Max was messed up at the time. Completely lost in addiction. That day, he was broke and desperate for a fix.”

When she tugs, I let one hand go. It’s all I can do to not snatch it back when she begins gnawing her thumbnail.

“Like I said, Wade had had a thing for me for a long time, and I’d always avoided him like the plague. That day…” She stares at the marble flooring. “I found out that Max had told him, had planned…” Suddenly, her eyes are tearing into mine. “Right before Wade ran out, bleeding all over the place, he said, ‘if Max thinks this squares things, he’s got another thing coming’.”

The RAM in my brain struggles to grind through the input. Does she mean…

My eyes nearly explode from my head. My words scratch like static on an old AM radio. “You were supposed to be payment.”

For her brother’s drugs.

Her brother.

“Yes. There’s no telling exactly what Max said to Wade, but I do know he brought him over and left us alone on purpose. Afterwards, I was humiliated. I knew Donny had heard, so I continued ignoring him for weeks.” She blows out her breath, relieved perhaps to wind down the nasty tale. “And then he collapsed in the driveway. The rest is history. We couldn’t not bond after all that.”

Fury stokes a need for revenge. Punishment. Her brother.

I’m an impulsive son of a gun most of the time. Now, I sense a caution in my spirit, the kind I’m usually moving too fast to listen to, telling me to chill.

My point is that she’s likely to have had drastically different life experiences than you.

Why does my brother have to be so danged right all the time?

Sydnee needs peace. Safety. Out of control anger, even at the worthiest targets, never provides that. Wedging into the corner of the ridiculously ugly sofa I’ve hated since day one, I pat the leather. “Come here.”

Sydnee does. I haul her as close as physics allow, bundling her in my arms. Two good arms. Good enough to do the important things in life.

A sniffle or two make it to my ear. Otherwise, I’m amazed at the absence of tears. I suppose she’s had a lot of time to process the betrayal.

But blast it all, I’m selfish enough that my thoughts go haywire like a wild pitch. Is this the kind of life I missed out on, plucked from my family of origin before substances and lawlessness had their way with me? Could I have descended into the dumpster fire the rest of her family did? I do have two feet made of muddy clay.

“Where are your parents, Sydnee?” She’s barely ever mentioned them.

I feel a shudder before she answers. “Mom ran off with another man when I was twelve. None of us has heard from her since. A couple years later, Dad went to prison. Multiple drug felonies, assault. And you know, it was a relief. Grammy took us in. Dad got twenty years. He died after three.”

I fix a stare at the high ceiling and try to tame the puff of air my soul wants to expel hard. Sydnee Carson, meet Tom and Joy Smith, the best parents God ever created.

I imagine the introduction I could easily give tomorrow when they drive in from Katy. Except, now, I’ll temper my words. Sydnee doesn’t need her face rubbed in what she didn’t have.

I play with a strand of her hair between my fingers. “And Max?”

“Prison. He was arrested the same week as…the incident. Not for that or anything. His charges were pretty much along the same line as Dad’s.”

“Good riddance.”

Sadness creeps deeper into her voice. “I don’t know that he fully knew what he was doing that day.”

Pain radiates along my jaw and gritted teeth. “Do not defend him.”

“I’m not, but sometimes, I wonder…”

Her line of thought riles me. “How long did he get?”

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