The flash drive was almost weightless—practically nonexistent, like a stick of gum. It was smaller than the last one he’d used.
“It’s more than a flash drive,” Kinley had explained. “It’s more advanced than that. Just have it on your person when you’re going to record, and press this button here. It will activate the microphone, which is actually going to be taped to the inside of your collar.”
That’s where it was now. The tape scraped at his skin. He watched his brother root through the freezer and come out with a large vat of strawberry ice cream.
“You’re so lucky,” their mother said, tweaking her son’s nose. “I wish I could eat like you.”
“It’s all that swimming,” Mr. Green said. “I heard that Michael Phelps eats, like, twelve thousand calories every single day.” He chuckles. “Tyler, you should take up swimming.”
Tyler wasn’t totally sure how to take that. Yeah, he ate like crazy too, but he was fit as hell. Maybe he wasn’t as buff as his brother, but he had muscles.
“Running from the police is enough of a workout.” His brother looked at him pointedly.
“That’s not very nice, Jacob,” Mrs. Green said, but she gave his shoulder an affectionate little pat all the same. “Now, your father and I have an art show downtown. We’ll be back in time for supper. All right?” Her mother tucked her hair behind her ears and checked her reflection in the mirror that hung in the entranceway leading to the kitchen. She was an art consultant for some of the more affluent dealers in town, and she was obsessed with looking fashionable.
Jacob dug into the carton and came out with a huge spoonful of pink ice cream. “Have fun.”
His parents kissed Jacob on the head. His mother kissed Tyler, too, and his father gave him a quick cuff on the shoulder.
“We’ll bring home pizza!” his mother called as she shut the door behind her.
And then it was just Jacob and Tyler in the kitchen. Jacob hopped up onto the counter and took another sloppy spoonful of ice cream.
“No one’s going to want to eat that when you’re done with it,” Tyler said. He was sweating. He could feel it on the back of his neck, creeping down into the collar of his shirt. He hoped it didn’t make the tape unstick. He should have asked Kinley how it worked for her.
Maybe she didn’t get nervous. Other than yesterday, she was nearly unshakeable. It was a little creepy.
Jacob hopped down off the counter and peered out of the kitchen window, toward the driveway.
“Checking to see if they’re really gone?” Tyler asked.
“Well, I can’t talk about your drug dealing in front of them, can I?” Jacob smiled and put a tiny smidge of ice cream on the tip of his spoon and shoved it in his mouth. With the handle of the utensil hanging out, he opened the freezer and jammed the carton back in amid frozen tater tots and Lean Cuisines.
“I told you,” Tyler said, gritting his teeth. “I don’t do that anymore. I don’t want to do that anymore.” He loosened his jaw. He needed to speak clearly.
His brother removed the spoon with a pop. He tossed it into the stainless-steel sink, where it clattered against the plates waiting to be loaded into the dishwasher. “I think you’ve missed something.”
“And that is what?”
His brother smiled. It was a victorious one, like he knew he had Tyler already. “You don’t exactly have an option. Remember, I’ll tell your parole officer.”
Tyler felt the muscles in his shoulders tense. “Then why haven’t you yet?”
“Maybe I have.” He moved away from the freezer. “Or maybe I will.”
“And why would they believe a piece-of-shit drug addict?” Tyler asked. “Are you that anxious to ruin your career?”
Jacob shook his head. “A champion drug addict who was unknowingly poisoned by his well-meaning brother and eventually grew addicted. It’s a sad, sad story, you know. But I’ll get the help I need, I think. And so will you.”
“You’re evil.” Tyler’s voice was too quiet. He repeated it, loudly. “You’re evil. And I’m done with this. I’m done with you. Tell whoever you need to tell.”
“No. I’m smart.” Jacob laughed. “It’s always been this way. I’m smart—and you’re the asshole.” Jacob turned away.
“Jacob, can’t you just stop?”
Jacob looked over his shoulder. “Why would I?”
Tyler flew forward, and before he realized what was happening, his fist collided with his brother’s jaw.
Jacob stumbled back a few steps, and his hand flew to his cheek. He stared at Tyler. “You . . . you hit me.”
Tyler’s chest seized. He had never, in his entire life, hurt his brother. Not until now. He’d just hit Jacob. The good brother. The brother he’d sworn to protect.