“He’s small.”
Trevor and Diane laugh and hold each other tightly as they look at my brother and me, love in their eyes. But I know that love isn’t for me; it’s for Runt, because after today, he won’t be a part of my family, he will be a part of Trevor and Diane’s. But I had to see him at least once.
Just like Tyke, he will have a different life than me, different parents, different school . . . different clothes. Runt won’t have to shop at garage sales, or help his mom when she’s passed out on the couch, or smell smoke through his door at night. He will have Trevor and Diane. Tyke has Sue and Bob.
Like Tyke, I’ll hear from him once a year, I’ll see pictures of him when Mom chooses to show me, and I’ll hear about all the amazing places he’s gone with his parents.
I will be the brother he’ll truly never know.
And not by my choosing, but by my mom’s.
Just like Tyke, Runt won’t be a part of my life.
Just like Tyke, Runt will be given up for adoption.
And just like Tyke, Runt will have so much more than I have.
But I’m not mad about it; at least that’s what I tell myself. I’m not mad, because when Mom is high, or drunk, or not feeling well like normal, I’m the one she loves, the one she had to keep because I’m her boy, her man.
I’m the one she couldn’t give up.
Only, I kind of wish she did . . .
Chapter One
AARON
“Dude, check it out, shovel cock.”
Turning from my bent-over position, I look at one of my best friends, Racer, making an ass of himself in my front yard. Between his legs, he’s placed his garden shovel at crotch level and is making circles with it.
“Clever.” I shake my head at him. Racer is a hard-as-hell worker, but has a penchant for getting off track when he’s been working for too many hours without a break. I can’t blame him.
I sit back on my heels and wipe my forehead. It’s abnormally warm for October in Upstate New York. The sun has been relentless this afternoon, beating down on our backs, and the humidity has caused me to soak through my shirt, hence it’s on the ground next to me.
“We’re almost done,” I say, taking in my front yard, appreciating the hard work we’ve put in.
Racer lies on the grass with his arms and legs spread, his eyes closed, and looking massively pathetic. “This is taking forever! Why do you have so much vegetation?”
“Makes the place look nice.”
Racer sits up on his elbows. “Smalls, you have an old-lady garden.” Smalls, what my friends call me, despite my towering height and broad shoulders.
“I don’t have an old-lady garden.”
Racer points toward my front door. “What’s that?”
Turning my head, I spot what he’s pointing at. “That’s a welcome flag.”
“It has a watering can on it,” he deadpans.
“It was on sale at A.C. Moore.” I also liked the colors and thought it would match perfectly with the color of my flowers, but no need to divulge that.
“And what about that?” Racer points to my right.
I don’t even have to look to know what he’s pointing at. “That’s Herald. He protects the lower garden.”
“He’s a garden gnome texting on a fake toilet.”
I thought it was funny. Gnome texting on the toilet, come on!
I clear my throat and take off my gardening gloves. “You know when I invited you over to help me, I didn’t invite you to harass me.”
Racer, who looks like he rolled around in soil for a good ten minutes, smiles at me. “Well, I didn’t know when I came over for some free pizza, that I was going to be harassed at how to properly turn soil.”
“You can’t just flip it . . .” I let out a frustrated breath and drag my hand down my face. I should have asked Tucker to come and help. Out of my two best friends, he would have been the one to ensure we had this done within two hours. “There is a process, Racer.”
“I can see that by the way you’re getting into a tizzy about it.”
One thing to know about Racer, he likes to push buttons. He has a heart of gold, but if he has the chance to irritate the fuck out of you, he will.
I put my shovel to the side and sit on the grass. I bring my knees to my chest and hook my arms around my knees. “I like having a nice-looking front yard,” I say solemnly.
And it’s true. It’s nice to not have overgrown weeds, or dead grass, or old furniture, or . . . cigarette butts or fucking bongs everywhere. It’s nice to be able to walk outside of your house and take pride in what it looks like, rather than be ashamed that you’re the only rundown one-story house in the neighborhood. There is a reason I take pride in the way my house looks, a very good reason.
Possibly in hearing the tone in my voice, Racer drops his teasing and sits up straighter. Growing serious, he says, “It does look really good, man. I haven’t been over here a lot with all the jobs I was taking on, but now that I’m here, seeing everything you’ve changed, you’ve really done an awesome job. You should be proud of yourself.”
See? Heart of gold. No doubt in my mind, though, in minutes he will switch back to dickhead. It’s who he is.
Only two people know the real me: Tucker and Racer. We have a bond that goes deeper than being friends, or working together, or even owning a construction company together. We’re brothers. And the past few years have really tested that bond with Tucker and the hurdles he had to overcome when it came to his past, and with Racer, who just recently started to level out his financial problems. We’re not ashamed to tell each other anything, because we know when things get tough, we’ll be there for each other.
Although, with Racer and Tucker both falling in love recently, my time with them has been shortened.
I get it, though, new love and all that. Still, I sometimes miss our late nights hanging out on the back of Tucker’s truck, taking down an entire box of Little Debbie snacks while drinking Mountain Dew and sharing the latest gossip. You read that right, gossip. Fuck, I miss the drama Racer would bombard us with. You would think there isn’t any drama on a construction site since it’s a bunch of guys, but oh no, there is some soap-opera level stories coming from the wooden frames of the worksite.
And I miss those stories.
I miss my guys.
“I’m pretty much done with the house and all the renovations,” I say, trying to sidestep Racer’s compliment. It was nice of him, but it still makes me feel awkward.
“Even the master bathroom?” Racer falls in line with the conversation without blinking an eye.
“Yeah, laid the last tile last weekend. It looks good up there.”
Racer claps louder than he needs to. “Now when you jack off, clean up isn’t so far away anymore.”