No Damaged Goods

“I mean,” he says slowly, “that I used my inheritance wisely to graduate from lowly landscaper to starting my own construction company.” A pause, and I swear to God he’s doing it for dramatic effect, the shit. “And it just so happens I’ve just landed the contract to rebuild several portions of the town damaged in the big museum fire last year.”

Fuck me six ways from Sunday.

Blowing out sharply, I lean against the door, crossing my ankles and folding my arms, eyeing him warily. “So you’re saying you’re gonna be in town awhile? Great.”

“Exactly.” Holt looks at me strangely.

It’s weird seeing him trying to be honest, but damn…I remember when we were kids. Sometimes, he’d look at me that way too, before he turned into this slick skirt-chasing snake.

I give him a look that makes it feel like July in January.

“Listen, we’re going to be around each other a lot, Blake. I’d like it if we could bury the hatchet and start over.”

“You don’t fucking start over when your own brother tries to seduce your wife.” My fists whiten my knuckles, so ready to meet his smart-ass face.

“You were already practically separated,” he points out coolly. “And you don’t know the entire situation.”

“Bullshit. I know that separated or not, she was still Andrea’s ma, and I didn’t need my daughter trying to process her mother fucking her uncle.”

He blinks and actually looks hurt for a moment before he turns his face away.

When he’s not smirking, he actually looks more angel than devil, almost pensive like he’s bitten into a lemon so sour it gives him a soul.

But then, I’m sure Old Scratch had his pondering moments before he fell from grace, too.

Holt sighs and mutters quietly, “There is that. But it’s also a moot point, isn’t it?”

That? Right.

There’s that creepy stillness between us. That silence. That reminder of death and bad blood.

I don’t even know what to say.

It’s like if I acknowledge it, I’m inviting more in.

After a little while, Holt says, “Andrea’s growing up to be an amazing young woman, Blake. She showed me some of her art before she ran off to her room.” His smile actually seems genuine—and I hate it more. “You’re doing a good job with her.”

Go fuck yourself, I want to say.

Because the best way to get under my skin is to say my girl’s exactly as wonderful as she is.

I grumble, looking away, scrubbing a hand through my hair. “Yeah, well, I’m trying. Hope I’m not doing too bad on my lonesome.”

“Hey,” Holt says, an odd catch in his voice.

I glance at him warily. He’s watching me intently, and for a split second…

Yeah.

There’s my brother.

Just the two of us huddling in the same bunk, listening to the creak of our ma’s footsteps, hoping if we didn’t make too much noise, she’d walk past and not peer in and find us awake and make us suffer.

Ma had ways to torture kids that didn’t mean laying a finger on us.

She never hit us. That’d be too easy.

But she knew how to make us scared.

And I remember the echo of that fear, having to clamp my hand over Holt’s mouth to silence his sniffles while her shadow passed under the door.

“Hey,” he says again. “You’re…you’re not Mom.”

“You’re damn right I’m not,” I spit back. “And I know I’m raising Andrea better than Ma or Abby ever could.”

Holt cocks his head, studying me thoughtfully.

“I think…I envy you, Blake,” he says. “You got out earlier. Left me alone with her. You broke free, while I got sucked in deeper.”

I don’t want the rush of guilt that hits, but there it is.

It’s an anvil, crushing down on my chest, heading straight for the heart.

Fuck.

“Whatever.” I duck my head, swallowing, feeling something gritty. “I’m sorry for that. The second I saw the chance to run…”

“Oh, I don’t blame you. It’s just how things turned out.” There’s a whisper of fine wool against the ratty plaid of my easy chair as he shrugs. “But maybe I want to start over, too. Find out what it’s like to have a good family.”

I inhale slowly, and exhale just the same.

I know what he’s asking.

He wants me to forget that fucked up night I walked in on him with Abby in his arms, and he’ll forget that I left him alone in our ma’s clutches and abandoned him to deal with her shit, her demands, and then her care in old age till the bitter end.

Yeah.

Then it came, she died, and he was free too.

In the worst way possible.

Don’t rightly know if I can forgive that. Or if he can forgive me.

But I’m thinking about Little Violet right now, how upset she was that she had a grandma she never knew.

She might never forgive me if I refuse to let her know her uncle, too.