My Sweet Bully

“I go back.” Harlow says it with such ease. Prison doesn’t scare him, not anymore.

“And that’s what you want? You want to live like a fucking zoo animal? Living behind a steel cage all to get revenge? You can’t seriously want that. What about what we used to talk about when we were kids? What about getting the fuck out of here? You can’t do that if you’re in fucking jail.”

“Are we brothers, Max? Do we have the same blood flowing through our veins?” I don’t answer, I just watch him. He knows it does, he knows I would never deny that. “Where does your loyalty lie; with me, or with that garbage you’re spewing?” he asks, tilting his head into his shoulder.

“Harlow, you know I’ll always back you, no matter what, but—”

Holding up his hand, he stops me from talking. “Then fucking back me, Max.”

With a single nod, I agree. I’ll be there for my brother like I promised him I’d always be. I made that promise long before anything else. Long before Prairie, long before the fire that divided us. That promise is law, it has to be.

If I turn on him, if I allow someone else to come between us and break that promise, what kind of brother am I? I’m no better than all the people who let us down over the years.

“Good, now I need you to listen carefully.”

12

Prairie

Holding my hand above my eyes, I scan the beach. A few people are cleaning garbage at the edge of the waves, picking through the washed up seaweed. The rest of the group is spread up and down, cleaning the sand, and in the tall grass at the top of the dune.

Where the hell is he?

My feet sink into the sand as I make my way down to the officer. He spins his head over his shoulder as my shadow extends past his.

“Oh, it’s you. I was expecting Max.” He turns all the way around, pulling his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. “He’s late.”

Wait, he’s not here. Seriously?

Why the hell is doing this?

What is going on with him?

“Actually, that’s why I’m here. Max isn’t feeling well, he’s been sick the past few days.” Thinking quickly, I give him a soft smile. “He wanted me to come and let you know. He feels terrible he isn’t here.”

I lie. I lie and I cover for Max Ramon. The boy who seemingly changes like a chameleon.

“Sick. . .” He drops the sunglasses lower, dipping his chin into his chest. “Really?”

“I told him not to eat the meatball grinder at school, but he refused to listen.” Shaking my head, I hold my hands to my stomach. “He wants to make up these hours, can he come next week?”

The officer grunts, pushing his glasses back into place. “Have him call me. We’ll get it straightened out. He hasn’t missed anything until today.” He turns back to the beach and checks on the group. “But, you let him know I said this is his one, free pass that’s it, from here on out there can’t be anymore missed days. This isn’t a volunteer position.”

“Of course, absolutely, he knows that.” Cupping my hands together, I bow my head and start to walk backwards. “I’m going to go let him know he needs to call you, and I know he’ll be super thankful.”

He waves a hand over his shoulder, twists his face to the left, and says, “You forgot cashews.”

Giving him a smile, I point in his direction. “Yes, totally, I didn’t get the chance today, but you got some coming. I promise.”

Running back to my car, this intense fear and nervousness drapes over my body like a thick blanket. Max hasn’t missed one community service date, not one, until today. It doesn’t make any sense, he knows he has to do this, he knows he’s so close to being done.

This is a risk he would never take. I know what he wants, I know he wants his life back, I know he has plans for the future.

If that’s true, where the hell has he been?

First missing school, now this. I’m terrified for him, hoping he’s all right. But, I want answers, I deserve answers, because he’s been avoiding me too.

Pulling up to his house, there’s a light on inside. Digging around in my purse, I get my phone and try to call him, but it goes to voicemail. I try again with no answer, so I send a text. Still, I get nothing.

I think I see movement inside, but it’s hard to tell for sure. Tapping my thumb against the wheel, I try to call him one last time. Nothing.

Is he really avoiding me like this?

Mixing with my worry is anger. He’s been leading me on, giving me little bites to nibble on to keep me dangling by the string.