Mitch laughs. It’s a bitter sound that reminds me entirely too much of our father. When you live the life that we have, watching our dad every day can make you go down one of two roads. The one I chose is not touching alcohol. The other is where you become just like him, letting alcohol numb you. Mitch is well on that road already. The only time he’s mildly sober is when he’s at school and even then, he’s been drinking. He usually picks vodka because it’s easier to hide the smell on his breath. He’s also very careful not to drink too much. He saves that for evening. He may not drink every day, but the days that he doesn’t are getting few and far between.
“The good girls are worse than the easy chicks, little brother. They’re freaks in disguise. They’re just waiting for you to seduce them, so they don’t feel so bad about spreading their legs for you. Once you get in there, they’re always the bitches begging for more.”
“Can you not be an asshole for a minute and talk to me man to man?” I huff, hating that he even thinks about Callie like that. Hell, anyone. Mitch has had some nice girls, but he’s used them and tossed them aside, too. I don’t think I’ve seen him care for any woman. He uses them to numb the shit in his head—just like he does with his alcohol.
“We’re a man short,” he snorts, thinking he’s funny. I could tell him we are, because he reminds me more and more of Dad and he’s definitely not a man. I don’t think that would help my cause, though. So, I just stare at him as he pulls himself up against his headboard. “You never could take a joke,” he mutters, reaching over to the small, cheap-ass particle board table between us to grab his smokes. He lights a cigarette, and the nicotine smell fills the room. The odor makes my nose twitch. I like cigarettes, but all of the money I get from cutting grass and shit I’m trying to save to buy a car.
“I didn’t find anything funny,” I mumble, raking my hand through my hair. “Listen, this is hard for me, but I need to ask you a favor.”
That definitely gets his attention. One of his eyebrows even kicks up in the middle with shock. “You are asking me for something?” he asks.
I never ask him for shit—I never have. I don’t like asking anyone for anything—especially my family. You would think Mitch and I would be close. That the shit life we have at home would make us unite. Instead, it seems to just feed the difference between us. I’d like to think it’s not my fault, but I figure some of it is. The more Mitch reminds me of our dad, the madder I get at him.
“Yeah,” I mumble, searching for words.
“It must be important if you’re going to ask me for anything.”
“It is. It’s about Callie.”
Mitch laughs loudly then. I flex my hand into a fist over and over, biting back the urge to punch him.
“You’re strung up on this chick,” he mocks.
“I like her, Mitch,” I admit. “I mean, I really like her. I know she’s caught your eye, but I’m asking you to back off. Give me time to see what I can have with her.”
“Look at you,” he says, his lips thinning out as he spreads them into a smile. “Admitting your big brother can beat you out of pussy.”
“Don’t call her that. Listen, will you just agree to back off?” I ask between clenched teeth, silently seething.
“I don’t know. She’s prime, grade-A ass, Reed. What’s in it for me?”
“The fact that you’re not treating your brother like shit for once?” I suggest, knowing that won’t work, but needing to point it out just the same.
“Nah, but I’m sure I’ll think of something.”
“Does that mean you’ll back off and stay away from Callie?”
“Sure, not like I give a damn. Pussy is pussy. Have at her,” he says with a shrug.
“Thanks,” I tell him, almost afraid to believe it’s that easy.
“No problem, little brother. I’m not the asshole you like to make me out to be,” he says as I strip down to my shorts and climb into bed. I don’t really reply—well, other than a grunt.
It doesn’t matter because he snuffs out his cigarette and rolls over as I switch the lamp off. I’ve got a couple of lawns to mow tomorrow, so I want to get up early. Getting a car has always been a priority, but since meeting Callie, it’s become more important.
8 Callie
Two Months Later
“What do you think?” Reed asks after pulling me from the table where I was eating lunch with Katie. The cement tables and benches aren’t extra comfortable, but I do like the fresh air. Since fall has hit full force, it’s even tolerable. The scorching heat from summer is slowly fading. In the little over two months since I’ve been here in Texas, I’ve slowly begun to like it. A big part of that has been Reed, who has become my best friend. If I were honest, Katie and Reed are my only real friends, but they’re all I need. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to Reed. I am—probably even more than I was when I first met him. He’s been true to his word, though. He’s not once pushed me for more. Sometimes, I wish he would. His brother hasn’t really flirted anymore either, so I feel like an idiot for telling Reed we should only be friends. Now, I’m kind of trapped. If I tell him I’d like to see what it would be like to kiss him—which I would—I’ve trapped myself. He’s my best friend. If we start a relationship, I’m going to ruin that. I don’t want to lose Reed’s friendship. It’s too important. I couldn’t imagine not having him to lean on—or not having him come to me with his problems. We understand one another. Probably because we both face a lot of the same issues. My father might not be a drunk, but he has the mean part down. He hasn’t tried to hit me with his fists, but you can wound people in other ways. I also figure if my mother wasn’t around, he wouldn’t hesitate to do worse than he has. I haven’t told Reed that. I think it would probably make him go ballistic. He hasn’t made any moves on me since that night. I know he values our friendship. It makes him very protective of me.
I pull myself from my thoughts and look at the beat-up, old, copper-colored Ford truck he bought a couple of weeks ago. He’s been so proud of it. He bought it with the money he’s been saving up. Old man Johnson, who owns the local garage, sold it to him for five hundred dollars. It was worth much more, but he said if Reed would work in the garage on the weekends for cash it would be doing him a favor. He needed the help but couldn’t afford to hire a full-time employee and pay all the taxes and stuff the government demanded. I secretly think Mr. Johnson just really likes Reed and is trying to help him. I wouldn’t say that to Reed, but I’m sure he probably knows.
I stare blankly at the truck while Reed looks at me expectantly. Then, all at once, it hits me. “Oh my God! You got your license!”
“I did! And thanks to Mr. Johnson, I had enough to get the truck insured and on the road.”
I don’t think, I’m too excited for Reed because I know how much he has wanted this. I jump into his arms, laughing. He latches on to me, stumbling back slightly with my weight. My heart stutters in my chest, confirming that I have indeed developed a crush on Reed, but I tamp it down.