Throttled (Dirty Air 1)

“Oh, you both disagreed. One X.” I cross out the question.

Noah sighs. “Come on, Santiago. Your ass could never fill out my jeans.”

My brother stands up and shows his butt off to the camera. I laugh to myself while Noah gets up to compare, the two of them not coming to a conclusion. Clearly their bonding has reached new levels because they ask my opinion, but I shrug my head. Not touching that debate.

“Who holds their liquor better?”

Two red cards wave in the air.

“Stick to beer. No one wants to see you taking up shop at the nearest pit trash can again.”

The three of us laugh. Noah’s poor decisions don’t hang around us, not after he admitted the truth about his dad to my brother two days ago. My boyfriend, the same man who acted like the whole world could go fuck itself, gave my brother a hug and told him thank you for punching his dad. A freaking thank you. If I didn’t already love him, I would have offered my heart at that moment.

“Who is the biggest baby when sick?”

Two red cards go up. Glad my brother sees his man-child ways because the stomach flu I got the last time taking care of him was nothing short of terrible.

“Who is more stubborn?”

Two opposite colored cards hang in the air.

“Another strike and a prime example of how stubborn you both are.”

“You do know it took you like eight months to figure out you liked my sister, right?” My brother flicks his blue card for emphasis.

Noah smirks at the camera. “Not as bad as you taking ten months to realize you wanted me as a friend rather than an enemy.”

Oh, shit.

“I didn’t need a referee for Liam and Jax’s game. Which by the way, you both are going to lose because you can’t agree on anything.”

“Well, at least we can agree on how we both love you,” my brother says with a telling smile.

My chest tightens at the two of them looking at me. I never in a million years would have imagined them getting along like this, willing to put aside their differences to make me happy.

The two of them lose the game after a total of nine points.

Unfortunately, they couldn’t decide who cares more about me. No, I’m just joking. They couldn’t agree on who deserves a World Championship more, with Noah raising a red card while my brother raised a blue one.

Yup, that happened. Jax and Liam may have won the game, but these two won each other over, a seemingly impossible task. And if that doesn’t deserve a trophy for the Constructors’ Championship, I don’t know what does.

40

Noah

My phone rings on the nightstand. And thank God Maya left the suite ten minutes ago because the curse words flying out of my mouth are nothing short of abhorrent.

I don’t know what pushes me to answer the phone. Whether because of brewing emotions inside of me or because I have a kink for masochistic tendencies. My finger slides across the glass, my head pounding to the beat of my heart.

“Mother. What can I do for you?”

Why hit her with pleasantries when she has the emotional intelligence of floral wallpaper. If you’re trying to make the connection, don’t.

“My son.”

A classic. Nothing like reminding me of who signed my birth certificate to manipulate me.

“I’m busy and about to leave for my qualifier. What do you need?”