Irreparably Broken (Irreparable 1)

She removes her PJ top and slips on a T-shirt. “Tori, no one else was involved. Brady and Tug just beat the shit out of each other. Grab your keys. We need to get them before my parents get home and find out.”

“Oh, my God, Liv.” I fall back onto the bed. “This is all my fault.”

“My brothers are grown-ups. You didn’t force them to do anything. They’re idiots.” She grabs my arm and pulls me up.

We race to my Jeep, the tires screeching as I peel out of the driveway. “Liv, what do we do? Do they need bail?”

“No, the owner of the bar is a friend of Brady’s. He’s not pressing charges, but they have to be released to a family member.”

I feel a miniscule amount of relief. “Thank God.”

Liv pulls a brush from her purse and runs it through her hair. “Tori, I’m sure you never intended for this to happen, but no matter which one of them you choose, the other is going to be hurt. Regardless, you can’t string them along.”

I frown. I have no idea what to do. How can I choose one of them if it means hurting the other?

We rush into the police station to find Tug and Brady sitting in the waiting room. Both of them glance up at me and then look away. There’s dried blood on their faces, and Tug’s left eye is swollen shut. Brady has a small cut on his cheek just below his right eye, and I notice bandages wrapped around his midsection.

Liv goes to the counter and talks with one of the officers. I stand near the door, waiting for Liv, my arms folded in front of my chest, not angrily, just supportively. Liv finishes with the officer, signs a few forms, and turns toward her brothers with a look of complete disappointment on her face. Her expression quickly turns to anger. She’s a woman on a mission as she marches toward her brothers with her hands firmly on her hips.

“Are you two completely insane? What the hell were you thinking? You’re brothers. You’re family, for Christ’s sake. Start acting like it.”

Unable to control it, a smirk crawls up the corners of my mouth. Liv is going to make one hell of a mom someday. Even I want to say “yes, ma’am” and bow my head obediently.

When we reach my Jeep, Liv ask the two of them if they can behave themselves until we get to the house. After agreeing, they climb into the back seat and buckle in. Liv gets in the passenger seat and slams her door. “You’re lucky I answered the phone and not Mom. You better come up with a believable story for all those bruises.”

The ride home is excruciating, the tension so thick I’m afraid to breathe. The silence is so deafening it hurts. What the hell was I thinking going out with Tug? If the two of them are unable to work this out, I’ll never forgive myself.

As soon as the tires cross the driveway, Brady and Tug shout in unison, “Let me out.”

Liv gets out first, and they both jump out of the Jeep on her side. I open my door and watch Brady march through the side yard.

“Where are you going, Brady?” Liv yells after him.

“To the shed,” he answers, but doesn’t turn around.

“The shed? He still plays?” I ask.

Liv loops her arm through mine. “Only when he’s really pissed.”

Brady

I haven’t sat behind a drum kit in a very long time. The other night I felt it was the only way I could channel my rage, and I’ve spent most of the last three days out here, even sleeping on the futon. While the anger has subsided a little, I can’t escape the exhilaration that comes with beating the maple sticks into the Kevlar fabric, syncing the rhythm with my mood. My mother always scoffs at my desire to play, telling me she has other plans for me, and my father thinks if I’m not playing football, I’m wasting my time. Now that their opinion of me no longer means anything, I find much-needed solitude out here in the shed.

Another reason for my spending time out here is avoiding the inside of my house. I can’t face Tori or Tug. Why did I have to be such an ass? I love Tori, but Tug is my brother. I have to let her go, because I will not lose him.

I don’t notice Tug until the song is finished. When I look up, he turns away.

“What’s up?” I ask cautiously.

His hands are in his pockets, and he’s bouncing on his toes nervously. His eye’s still swollen, yellow and purple, which makes me feel shitty. “You’ve been out here a lot lately, huh?”

I set the sticks down and wipe sweat from my face with my T-shirt. “Yeah, I guess it’s better than reality.”

He laughs softly under his breath. “Maybe I should try it.”

I tilt my head. “That bad, huh?”

“It’s a little tense.” He shrugs. “I used to love to hang out in here, listening to you play. Do you remember that?”