“We’re fucking adults, man. When you gonna stop using that bullshit ploy?” he says in the same grouchy way he has since he was a child.
“When it stops working.” Our mother could have been a private eye if she hadn’t spent so much time popping out kids. Would have made a damn fine one, too. Anything goes down in this family and she knows about it first. In the rare case she doesn’t and somebody is hiding something, she’ll investigate until she gets to the bottom of it. Can’t say she was my favorite person throughout puberty, but she comes in handy now.
“Just havin’ drinks with Mel,” he says and raises his chin as he shoves his hands in his pockets. I don’t do what I want to do—knock him the fuck out—so instead I shove my phone back in my pocket and fold my arms over my chest. “Look, she asked me not to tell you. Don’t know why, tried not to wonder. That’s not really working out for me.”
“Drinks, huh?” A warped laugh escapes me.
“Something going on I should know about?” he asks.
“I don’t know, brother. There something going on I should know about?”
“Holy shit,” he says with a shake of his head. “I thought Dad was full of shit when he said you had a thing for Mel. Lucky for you, Mom’s oblivious.” It was bound to come out eventually, but it feels fucked that it was Dad who started this clusterfuck.
“How often do you two sit around and shoot the shit like a couple of hens?” I ask. The dig is subtle—something only a sibling would notice—but it doesn’t confuse him. Hennessey has done his best to put a stop to being called Hen. Makes him sound too feminine, apparently. He takes a step forward in challenge.
“Right about last night when I asked Mel out and she said yes. Damn shame you didn’t say something sooner, because we could have avoided how awkward this is.”
“Dad tells you I got a thing for her and you ask her out?”
“Other way around, actually. Doesn’t matter, though. I’m single. She’s single. You know who’s not single?”
“This gonna be one of those things we have to settle on the court?” I ask. Growing up, Dad believed in settling scores in a responsible way—usually on the basketball court. It’s still our preferred way of settling shit, and just like when we were kids, somebody ends up throwing an elbow and somebody else retaliates with their fist.
I force myself to chill out as best I can. It’s not working very well, but if I can just keep my feet still, maybe I can stop them from closing the distance between the two of us and driving my fist into his face right here in the station.
“Make you a deal. You tell me right now that she doesn’t deserve better than what you’re not giving her, and I’ll back off,” he says.
My vision narrows to the point I can barely see anything around me. I’m so focused in on H’s bright blue eyes that everything else ceases to exist. I want so badly to tell him I’m what Mel deserves. She doesn’t deserve better than me, because I can’t handle her having something else. I realize that at some point liking her turned into some kind of sick obsession, and that obsession feels a fuck of a lot like love. If I had my way, I’d keep her in a bubble away from every man who poses a threat to my claiming her. But that’s not realistic, and she deserves to be able to make her own choices. If Mel feels even half of what I feel for her, she won’t do anything with my brother. I have to trust that this is going to work out for us, and that she’s going to protect what we’re going to have.
“Don’t fuck her over,” I say. My jaw is tense, my heart is beating so hard it might protest right out of my chest, and my throat is dry. There’s a knocking in my stomach that freaks me out. They’re just words. I talk to people about all kinds of shit every day. It’s funny, though, how letting something go that you never really had puts a sickness into your soul that feels like its rotting away your insides. “She’s not some random woman you can fuck and then forget about.”
“It’s just drinks,” he says and gestures between us. “But I don’t want any bad blood.”
“You’re my brother,” I say. “Nothing changes that.”
He nods and his jaw ticks. I watch as his eyes search for a long moment before he seems to settle on something.
“I don’t want to be that guy anymore,” he says. “Mel calls me on that bullshit. Tells me I can be better.”
“So then be better.” I walk toward him, clap him on the shoulder, and keep moving through the garage bay. I clock out as quickly as possible, grab my shit, and head out into the cold.