“And not once did you offer to take me with you,” he says, glaring at me.
It’s true. I don’t take Parker out when I leave the house. Why would I? He’d just cramp my goddamn style. And a part of me still believes I can protect him from the bullshit I have to do every day. I still remember the promise I made to our father years ago—I’d watch over Parker no matter what. Despite the minute difference between when we entered the world, I’m the older one. The responsible one. I’m supposed to take care of the kid.
“What do you order at a bar?” Parker wonders out loud, flicking a stray cereal flake at my head. One of these days, I swear. “Trashy redheads!” he shouts at the top of his lungs when I refuse to provide an answer, and I slam my fist on the table.
“Can you please?” I grunt at him, feeling defeated and deflated at the same time. “I’m tired, my head’s fucking throbbing, and I really cannot deal with you right now. I’m late to work as it is.”
“An hour and thirty minutes,” Parker cheerfully reminds me, and at that moment, I want to fucking punch him in his overly cheery, handsome face that mirrors mine.
Because I’m the only one of us with a real job.
Sure, Parker gets some money, but it’s not a regular paycheck like mine. He paints, so some months he’ll sell a lot while he doesn’t have a dollar to his name during others.
So, it’s on my shoulders to not only pay for myself but also most of Parker, who is finally in school learning to do something he loves.
And it shouldn’t have been like this. We should be taken care of, yet we got nothing.
He backs off, seeing he’s overstepped the line, and we sit awkwardly for a few minutes, not saying anything at all.
“What are you going to do today? Go to class?” I ask Parker when I finish off my breakfast, pushing the empty plate away.
“No class today, will get some other stuff done,” he responds cheerfully, but I can tell it’s fake. I know him too well. I know when he’s hurting, and since we’re both going through the same stuff right now, I know exactly how he feels.
Cheated.
Wronged.
Angry.
I give a brief nod and get up to start getting ready. No one will give me shit for being late, but I’m still not thrilled about it. I get paid by the hour as a programmer so being late means less money on my paycheck.
“I’ll see you this evening,” I say twenty minutes later after I’m showered and ready to head to work.
He’s sitting on the sofa in front of the TV, watching some sitcom. He just nods.
And because I’m the big brother—if only by a minute—I give him some money to order takeout in case I’m home late again. We part on good terms, and even though I’m already regretting shelling out for pad thai, a smile remains on my face. We need a little treat now and then. Otherwise, we’ll both go fucking crazy.
But still, as I take the stairs to the first floor, I want a better life for us. We aren’t used to this, and we’re struggling. No matter what it takes, I’m going to pull us out of this mess.
I want justice.
My day passes as the days always do—at the office. My job is not something I love, but at least I’m good at it, and it makes some money. Not nearly enough, though.
Lately, I’ve been too lost in the dark parts of my mind. My brother manages to keep me upbeat most of the time, though I suspect sometimes he feels just as lost as I am right now.
The dark voice in my head is only growing louder and meaner as time goes on, reminding me that I’ll never fix our lives. Things will never go back to the way they used to be. It’s fucking over, and it’s all June’s fault.
I close my jacket and cross my arms in front of me to stop the cold from getting in. My breath comes out in puffs of smoke, and I’m stewing with anger and resentment. My lingering hangover has not subsided all day, worsening my mood. Now I’m on my way home, and I’m fucking dreading it. Another night when I’ll have to make a crappy excuse to leave Parker and go out drinking with my friends, possibly find another girl to add to my little black book. But nothing’s ever enough. Nothing fills the black, June-shaped hole in my heart.
I’m only a block away from home when I hear the engine of a car slowing down behind me. It is followed by angry honks and shouts, and I turn around to see what the commotion is about.
There’s a black limo behind me, the lacquer on it shiny and spotless. And the driver is rushing out now, opening the door. A second later, two impossibly long and slim legs poke out, and a girl exits the vehicle.
She's dark, tall, and willowy. She looks like an Upper East Side princess who’s lost in this part of the city. Her hair falls in perfect glossy ringlets, and her eyes burn bright behind thick layers of mascara on her long lashes.
And then she stumbles in her too-high heels and almost falls under the wheels of a car.
Thankfully, I catch her before that happens.
June Wildfox feels light in my arms, like a feather. The desire to throw her over my shoulder and carry her to my bed where she belongs is strong, but I fight it with everything I have in me.
“What the hell are you doing?” I murmur as I place her back on her feet, and more angry honking ensues. “You need to stop following me.”
June manages to stand straight, giving me a nervous smile. She waves at her driver, and he manages a short nod before getting in the car and driving away, slowly dissipating the traffic jam they’ve both caused.
“I really don’t have time for this,” I say roughly to the dark-haired socialite, making my way off the road and onto the sidewalk. I tuck my hands in the pockets of my peacoat and start walking away with purpose.
But of course, I hear the clickety-clack of her heels as she runs after me. “Wait!” she begs softly. Somehow, everything about her is soft—that mass of hair, her porcelain skin, and those full lips. Shaking my head, I refuse to look at her and keep walking, but she manages to catch up with me by taking long strides.
“Come on, Kade,” she says with that begging voice that used to work so well on our father. She managed to be Daddy’s girl even though she wasn’t even his blood. “Why won’t you talk to me? You know what happened isn’t my fault. I just want to—”
“I’m not dealing with you today,” I tell her and keep walking.
She doesn’t waver. She trails me like a lost puppy.
“You have to talk to me at some point,” she presses, and I shake my head. “Please, Kade! I’m so alone… I have no one anymore.”
“Not today,” I tell her. “Not now. It’s… It’s too fucking soon, June.”
That seems to shut her up for a bit, but she’s still following me relentlessly. The noise of her heels is driving me insane, and I rub my eyes as I walk, too tired to deal with this now. I have enough problems without Poor Little Rich Girl following my every step.
“Please, Kade,” she says behind my back, but I refuse to turn around or give her the time of day. It fucking stings, though, because I’m a man who protects the ones I love. But not her, I remind myself. She’s on her own now, and she’s got enough money to take care of all her problems.
“Let me be, June,” I tell her sternly and quicken my pace, but she runs behind me, wrapping a shaky hand around my forearm. I turn around and rip my arm out of her touch, watching her lips tremble with sadness.