Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“Not like you ever gave a shit about him anyway,” I mutter.
“You know that’s not fucking true, Colin,” he says, his voice shaky. “I just didn’t have that much in common with him.”
At the first sign that Daniel’s upset, Rex steps closer to him and puts his hand at the small of Daniel’s back. Daniel leans into him for support, and my stomach clenches with that poisonous mix of fury and envy.
“I’m sorry,” Brian says to Rex, clearly way behind in the conversation, “but who the fuck are you?”
I stand up to face Daniel. He’s the same height as me but he’s built much slimmer. Daniel has that look on his face that I know so well. That vulnerable look that says, This is how you hurt me. Go ahead, it’s easy. And I want to punish him for being so weak. So easy to hurt. For being such easy prey that he turns me into a predator by default.
“Well, yeah,” I say. “What would Pop have in common with a stuck-up little faggot? He looked out for you and you didn’t even care enough to stick around.”
Sam says my name in warning, but I know he won’t step in. He never does. Never wants to get his hands dirty.
I’m like a heat-seeking missile trained on the tremble in Daniel’s lip that means he’s about to cry and the way he lowers his dark lashes over green eyes filled with hurt. I may be drunk but I could take Daniel drunk and one-handed. He’s a good fighter. Hell, he should be. I taught him. But his face is so easy to read that I can always tell when he’s going to strike. He’d probably do fine if he were fighting someone who didn’t know him, but he has no chance against me.
“What the fuck, Colin!” he yells. It’s the same thing he used to say when he was a teenager. He doesn’t even hit me. He shoves me, which he knows is a surefire way to get his ass kicked. He probably doesn’t want to actually fight, just look tough in front of Rex. Though I don’t know why he’s bothering since Rex looks like he wants to wrap Daniel up in cotton and put him in a box like a Christmas ornament so nothing bad can touch him.
I grab Daniel by the shirt and shove him into the far wall, figuring on a hit from Rex. But, though Rex is there in a heartbeat, he just pulls me off.
“Don’t. Fucking. Touch him.” Rex’s voice sends shivers through me. For a moment we lock eyes and his expression changes. Softens. Like he’s looked inside me, seen me for the monster I am, and instead of scorn, feels only pity.
“Um,” Brian interjects, “so, who are you?”
“Rex.”
“He’s my boyfriend,” Daniel says, and the word burrows into my chest, feeding on the ache there. I can’t take it. I can’t watch them together for one second longer.
“Well, I guess it’s obvious who the girl is, Danielle,” I say, and I don’t know why exactly I’m so set on provoking him.
Sam and I saw some stupid movie when we were kids where all the boys get turned into girls when a magic spell goes awry and, for a few months, thought it was hysterical to call each other girl versions of our names. Sam was Samantha, I was Colleen, Brian was Brianna, and Daniel was Danielle.
Pop did not think it was funny. And later, after Daniel told us he was gay, Brian started calling him Danielle again. Not even really to be mean. More… immature. But when Pop heard him do it, he was furious. He slapped Brian in the face and told him never to call Daniel that again.
Sure enough, Daniel lunges at me. I don’t even try and fight him, just let his punches connect. Goddamn Rex pulls Daniel off me before he can do any real damage, though.
“Fuck!” Daniel yells, and I want to say the same thing. Because when Daniel slams out the door like the sulky little bitch he is, he takes my distraction with him.
Rex lingers for a moment after Daniel leaves. When I look up, his eyes are fixed on me.
“He’s your fucking brother,” Rex says.
And he follows Daniel out the door. Two more people who can’t wait to get away from me.
I KNOW what I have to do. There’s only one thing that will make me feel better that isn’t bourbon or the blade.
The phone rings four, five, six times, and I’m sure he’s not going to pick up. Why would he after what I said to him?
But then he’s there, and I almost can’t believe it. I was so sure he wouldn’t answer that I didn’t even consider what I would say if he did.
“Rafe?” I say. I sound bad. Shaky.