Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
His fans gush and cluck around him like mother hens before shuffling out of the room, again eyeing me either with open hostility and suspicion.
When we’re alone, he says, “Should I run for the hills now that you’re here?”
I stare at him a beat. “You could always call security again.”
He settles against his pillows and goes for a cookie on the side table. “That’s a better option because A, I can’t run. Not right now. Something about sprained ribs. And B, I don’t want to leave my cookies here.”
To emphasize his point, he pops the one he picked up in his mouth.
I take in his bruised features for a moment. Then, “May I come in?”
“I don’t know. Are you going to want to share my cookies?” he says, popping another one in his mouth.
My eyes land on all the flowers that fill his room. There’s balloons and get well soon cards on the window, on the carts. Along with a big tray of cupcakes and a big box of cookies sitting on the table by his bed.
I enter the room as I ask, jerking my chin at the cookies, “Callie?”
“Yup. And the cupcakes.”
Our baby sister loves to bake and growing up, Shepard and Ledger were always the ones who’d trick her into baking things for them. I’d always envy them, envy their shenanigans, their pranks, the demands they made because I didn’t have the luxury to make them. But I’m glad that Callie took the time – even though she’s pregnant and shouldn’t be stressing herself out – to bake Shep’s favorite things.
“I have come to talk to you,” I tell him.
He pops another cookie in his mouth. “Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“Because from what I recall you’re not a big fan of talking.”
“I’ve come here to rectify that.”
“Big fan of using your fists though.”
My gut tightens in response. But otherwise, I remain silent.
“Kinda took me by surprise,” he continues. “Good surprise. Because I’m not going to lie, I always thought you were kind of a pussy.”
I stare at him for a few seconds. Then, “I deserved that.”
“You think so?”
“After breaking your nose, spraining four of your ribs, giving you that black eye and a mild concussion for which they kept you under observation overnight, yes.” I clench my jaw. “Not to mention, you won’t be playing the championship game. So yeah, I more than deserve it.”
His jaw tenses too. “Yeah, that I’m pissed about.”
“As you should be,” I agree.
Of all the injuries that I gave him, that’s the one I regret the most. Causing him to miss out on the championship game. The very thing he’d been working toward all season. The very thing the entire team had been working toward all season. I caused them to lose their captain when they need him the most. So as it turns out, I’m not that good at my job as I always thought.
“So?” he prods, staring into my eyes. “Are you going to enlighten me? Shed some light on why instead of being in the locker room, I’m in a hospital room right now? And why you spent the entire night in an interrogation room where, from what I can see, they did a very shoddy job of patching you up.”
Well, they didn’t patch me up at all.
I don’t think they much care about potential suspect’s injuries. I do have a couple of band-aids here and there but that’s Conrad’s doing. When he came to pick me up at the station, he insisted that I at least clean my surface wounds: a split lip, a black eye, a couple of bruises on my jaw. Other than that, I think I’ve got a couple of sprained ribs and if I had a concussion, it never got detected.
Because for every punch that I landed on my brother, he landed one back.
I’m very proud of that.
I’m so very fucking proud that he didn’t take it lying down. He beat the shit out of me like I beat the shit out of him. Maybe that’s one consolation in of all this. My mom, she was defenseless. Conrad, when he was young, he was defenseless too.
At least my victim gave as good as he got.
“He used to beat her up,” I say finally.
And Shepard goes alert. “What?”
It isn’t something that I wanted to tell him.
Ever.
It’s not a burden that I ever wanted to give my twin brother. It’s not a burden anyone should ever have to bear. But I’ve somehow made it so that he needs to hear the truth and I hate myself for it.
It further proves that I’m a shitty brother.
But he should know.
He should know the truth. He should know who I am.
“Him. Our father. He used to,” I swallow thickly, “beat Mom up.” I watch him go rigid at my words, but I keep going, “Not where people would notice or she’d have to miss work or anything like that. But where she’d have random bruises on her body, the side of her temple, on her arms, sometimes her neck, stuff like that. Stuff like where she’d have to limp or she’d have trouble sitting down. Stuff that young kids, us, wouldn’t be able to take notice. Well except, me and Conrad, who knew.