My Sweet Bully

Harlow finally breaks, smirking and giving me a shove. “Nah, I can’t hit you little bro, I’d fucking hurt you.” Swiping his fingers through my hair, he ruffles the top. “You’re going to be late.”

“For what?” I ask, caught off guard. Combing my fingertips through my hair, I fix it.

“School. Unless you finally woke up and realized that shit is never going to help you in the real world.”

“Shit, that’s right.” Taking a step back, I grab my sneakers off the floor and sit at the table. “What are your plans for today?”

His smile grows, and the look in his eyes makes me sit up straight. “I’ve got a few plans.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

I don’t like the sound of his voice right now. That’s a voice with a hidden agenda. It’s the same voice I heard when he wanted to break into the neighbor’s house when we were younger, and when he needed my help to tag up one of his teacher’s cars when he did go to school. It’s also the same voice I heard the night of the fire.

My skin bristles as our eyes connect. He’s empty, there’s nothing in his eyes anymore. Any remnants of the brother I used to have is long gone. Life killed him, and jail finished him off.

He lifts a shoulder, leaning against the wall. “It means, don’t worry about it. You got school, so, you’re too busy. Right?” Harlow moves through the kitchen toward the back door.

Don’t let him go. Keep an eye on him, Max! The voice inside my head yells for me to pay attention. Harlow has no boundaries, and he’s already mentioned revenge. If he goes out alone, there’s no telling what he’ll do.

I need to keep her safe.

“Wait up,” I say, popping up from the table and running to his side. “I’m coming along. Fuck school, right?”

He crooks jaw with a pleased smile. “Hell yeah, fuck school.” I smile, playing along with his don’t give a shit attitude.

We both walk outside, and there’s a car in the driveway I’ve never seen before. Arching a brow, I stop and point. “Whose car is this?”

“It’s mine.”

What? How?

He has no job. He has no money, and our father certainly doesn’t have any to give him.

Furrowing my brows, my lip curls in confusion. “Where the hell did you get it?”

Harlow tips his head side to side as he takes a key from his pocket. “A friend.”

“A friend? What kind of friend just gives you their car?”

He’s full of shit.

I know he’s lying, I know he doesn’t have a friend within a twenty mile radius, unless it’s some guy he met in prison. And if that’s the case, what kind of friends is my brother keeping?

“Yeah, a friend.” He yanks open the driver’s side door and rests his arm on the roof. “Look, if you’re going to question me like a damn therapist, I can drop your ass off at school. I don’t need this shit from anyone, let alone from you.”

“No, sorry, didn’t mean anything by it.”

He huffs lightly, reminding me of when we were little, and our mother would question him. “Thank you, now get the fuck in.” He slams the door and starts the car.

I drop in beside him, squeezing into the small front seat of the two door sedan. It’s an older vehicle, with thin seat covers, stretched so far that the fabric is a faded gray, and not the black it once was.

It stinks like cigarettes, and there’s a cross hanging from the rear-view mirror. Pinching it with my fingers, I twist it in my direction.

“Your friend’s religious?”

“Looks that way,” he says as he backs out of the driveway and throws the shifter into first gear. “But it ain’t my business what they believe in.”

Dropping the cross, it swings back and forth like a pendulum. “What’s your friend’s name?”

“Are you going to interrogate me the whole time?”

“What? No. I’m not interrogating you.”

“Yes, yes you are.” Harlow shifts the car into second, picking up speed until the engine hums that it’s ready for the next gear. “What’s your deal lately?” His eyes drift between me and the road.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Shaking my head, I keep my eyes on him.

His demeanor is different. He’s stiff, guarded, and I can feel the walls he’s throwing up between us.

He doesn’t trust me.

Does he know?

A flicker of unease grips my gut. Does he know about Prairie and me? Did he catch wind of it somehow? Everything about the way he’s acting is throwing up red flags.

Peering at him from the corner of my eyes, I’m left wondering if I need to worry about myself. I don’t know this version of my brother. I thought I did, but I don’t. There’s a lack of trust in his eyes when he looks at me.