Our parents bailing on us the way they did affected Jack and me in different ways. I was on my best behavior from that moment on, hoping that somehow if I was extra good, maybe she’d know and come back home.
But Jack went the opposite route, determined to get into trouble whenever possible. He picked a lot of fights and kept everyone, except for the three of us, at a distance. He refused to let anyone in—not wanting to be vulnerable, I guessed—and started treating girls like crap pretty early on. Truth be told, the girls allowed it and almost encouraged it, so I wasn’t sure if it was all our mom’s fault.
Baseball was the only thing that saved my brother from completely going off the deep end. He wasn’t allowed to fight on the field, and once he started pitching, he was like a whole other person on that mound. It was the only place he felt like he had any control, and he was always something to watch.
Jack used to confide in me that he was terrified one of our parents would come back around one day, wanting money or to be a part of our lives if he got drafted. When I asked him what we would do if that ever happened, he always said, “Nothing. Just like they did for us.”
“Come on. Don’t I deserve lasagna?” Jack turned toward one of the girls still pawing at his bicep. “You think I deserve lasagna, don’t you?”
“I think you deserve whatever you want,” the girl said, and then deliberately ran the tip of her tongue over her lips.
I wanted to ask what the hell was wrong with all these chicks, but stopped myself. There was no point. When it came to my brother, they simply didn’t care what it took to get him, even if they knew it wouldn’t last longer than one night.
When Jack cocked an eyebrow at me, I pointed at his cell phone on the table. “Then you ask Gran.”
“She’ll tell me no. But she won’t say no to you, Dean. You’re her favorite.”
I choked out a laugh and raised my eyebrows, pretending to agree with him. “That’s because I’m nicer than you are.”
It wasn’t true, though. Gran didn’t have a favorite.
Jack frowned, considering. “Will you ask her to make it tomorrow then? For after my game?”
I huffed out a dramatic exhale. “Fine. That I can do. But if she says no, you’re out of luck.”
“Love you, little brother.”
“Yeah, yeah. I love you too.” I smiled as I snagged another slice.
• • •
The next afternoon I entered the student union to find Jack with his harem of girls right at the entrance. He flexed his muscles for a couple of them, who screamed when they grabbed his bicep. “Hold on,” he said as he lifted them into the air before putting them down again.
There were days I couldn’t believe I was related to him. Maybe Melissa was right.
“Show us your pitching motion again, Jack!” one of the girls said with a squeal, and he showed off his moves in slow motion, much to the girls’ pleasure.
I looked up and noticed Cassie and Melissa watching the spectacle with disgusted looks on their faces. Without a second thought, I walked over toward their table and leaned down close to Melissa.
“Hi, Melissa.”
“Oh . . . hi, Dean.”
“Would you mind if I sat with you?” I smiled at Melissa’s soft and sweet response, and kept my eyes locked onto her beautiful baby blues.
“No. We’re much better company than your brother’s table, anyway,” she teased as she poked me in the ribs.
Glancing in Jack’s direction, I shook my head and placed my food on the table before I sat down. “It just gets old sometimes, you know?”
I stretched my hand across the table and reached for Cassie’s since we hadn’t been introduced yet. “Hi, I’m Dean.”
“I’m Cassie. I’m Melissa’s roommate.” She took my hand and squeezed with a small smile. “It’s nice to—”
“Dean! What are you doing over here?”
Jack’s voice echoed throughout the student union, and I suddenly was sorry I’d come over here. Both of these girls seemed to hate Jack, and my presence only drew him over. When I mouthed sorry to Melissa, she just shrugged as if she’d been expecting it.
“Oh, Kitten. I see you’ve met my little brother.” Jack winked at Cassie before placing his hand on my shoulder and squeezing.