Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
I nod a couple times. “I heard about that.”
He cringes. “Of course you did.”
I try to stay calm. “Please don’t make this hard today. I’m already tense. You have no idea what it’s like going against Farrow and Jane’s advice.”
Charlie stares at me blankly. “Not Farrow, but Jane, yes. My sister has offered plenty of bad advice that I’ve ignored.”
I glare. “Alright, let’s start over.” Otherwise, I’m going to throw a fist, and just the thought of hitting my cousin is making me sick to my stomach. “Which house is Easton’s?”
“According to my brother, the stucco mansion two streets over.” Charlie rotates and hobbles forward using his crutches.
Keeping pace with him, it’s slow, but I don’t run and leave him behind. Even if I’d like nothing more than to rip this off like a Band-Aid. In my head, confronting Easton Mulligan is the second-best solution to the problem. He’s the neighborhood kid asking my brother for pills, and once he stops, this will all be over.
It’ll be good for Easton who shouldn’t be taking other people’s meds and for Xander who needs them. On top of that, Xander won’t have some asshole teenager coming around who he feels the need to impress.
Only problem is that Charlie’s entire right leg is wrapped up in a cast, and despite being out of a sling, my right arm looks weak and lifeless. I can’t lift or stretch that well.
I tell my twenty-year-old cousin, “We don’t look threatening.”
He stares straight ahead as we pass the Cobalt Estate. “We don’t need to threaten him.”
I stop abruptly on the pavement. “That was the fucking plan, Charlie.”
He faces me. “That was your plan—”
“This is about my brother,” I snap. My fingertips squeeze onto control of this situation because I need it. And want it. Giving Charlie the reins wasn’t on my to-do list for the day. He’s here as backup. Support. I’m taking lead.
My brother is in trouble. It’s all I think. My brother is in trouble. And I have to help him, and Charlie is unpredictable. As much as I love my cousin—and I know you may think I hate him, but I love him too damn much—I can’t see where his head is most of the time, and I have no goddamn idea what he’ll do in charge. I’m not playing a chess game. I’m dealing with people.
Real people and lives—and my brother’s life.
I don’t want either of us to move Xander around a board like a rook on H-6.
Charlie’s golden-brown hair blows in the wind. “I’m not seeing many volunteers here to accompany you on this excursion,” he says. “So we do this my way.”
I shake my head. It can never be easy with us. “This is bigger than the bullshit between you and me.”
Charlie looks annoyed. “You think I’m here for some petty reason, but maybe consider that I’m the only one by your side because I actually understand.” He steals my Ray Bans off my head and slips them on his eyes.
Those last three words cave my chest. I actually understand.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Charlie shifts his crutches beneath his armpits. “Nothing.” He glances at the Cobalt Estate, pink tulip trees lining a driveway that leads up to a regal fountain and ornate mansion. It’s nothing like my childhood house that I just passed, which is stone and brick with a fir tree in the front yard.
“It’s not nothing,” I say, failing at softening my tone. I’m trying. I’m trying. I know I need to try harder for him. “Charlie, I want to understand.”
He’s quiet.
“I’m fucking sorry. Please.”
He hooks my Ray Bans on the collar of his button-down, the leg of his slacks cut to make room for his cast. Charlie looks tormented, his features fracturing in emotion that I can’t pick apart.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Charlie…” Something happened.
He pinches his eyes, then he puts his weight back on his crutches. And I remember that any act of “heroism” on my part causes him pain and frustration.
And it’s plunging a knife into my gut.
I drop my hand, and we don’t continue our trek yet.
Charlie stays still. “I’ve thought about telling you before now…” He struggles to make a decision, staring up at the sky. “My brother needs more than me to care about him, and you’re the logical choice because you’ll care excessively to the point of stupidity.”
I ignore that last insult. “Which brother?”
Charlie takes his weight off his crutches again. “My twin brother.” This is serious. “Every night Beckett is on stage, he strives for perfection in ballet. It’s an impossible goal, and he’s worn his body down to the point of pain. A couple years ago, he found a fix.”
A lump makes its ascent in my throat.
“Cocaine,” Charlie says plainly, clearly.
I didn’t know. I doubt many people in our families do. “Charlie,” I breathe, so much tunneling through me. Concern for Beckett, for Charlie, and wanting to console them both, but I don’t know how in this instance. I don’t know what they need.