I should have done more for him. Was I truly so bitter about being cheated on that I allowed myself to forget about what he might be going through?
These canvases sure appreciate the undivided attention I’ve been giving them to find a place to funnel my helplessness, that’s for certain. In my efforts, I’ve got a whole little series of different mental disorders going on. It’s the only good thing I’ve managed since surviving the suicide attempt.
A knock on the door has me spinning around, finding a contemplative Brady. “What’s up? Everything okay?” If there’s another fucking package downstairs, my sanity will jump out thenearest window and fall to its death. There is nothing I’ll do to stop it either.
“Yeah. Everything is okay, Eas. I just wanted to come check on you. You’ve been holed up in here for a while.”
I beckon him over to examine the progress. He comes eagerly. “I’ve been busy,” I admit with a shrug.
Brady whistles under his breath. “Yeah, no shit. These are way cool.”
Way coolis high praise as far as my brother is concerned. I bite back a smile. “You should sell prints of these.”
A snort of laughter escapes me. “For who? And you have truly lost it if you think I’m capable of doing this digitally. I’m a very one platform kind of talent.”
He has a brief flash of guilt that doesn’t make sense to me, but is quick to recover. “Do you forget I do this professionally? Not to brag or anything, but I’m not half bad, dude. I could do it for you. People love having options to buy from smaller artists that are more affordable than custom canvases, you know.”
“Since when do you have the slightest idea about what sells? Do you moonlight as a dealer or something?”
“Margeaux is contagious. It’s affecting my health. C’mon. Let me do something for you. I’m bored enough as it is. The team is funneling what I even have access to because I’m supposed to befocusing on my mental healthor whatever. I’ve got to have something to do when Chase and I aren’t fucking with that damn gazebo.”
Is there a real reason to refuse him or do I think my art isn’t worth his time and effort? I think about it for a minute, but the answer is pretty clear. “Yeah, okay. Those two are the only ones that are done. Anxiety and PTSD.”
“Cool, cool. I’ll do a good job, little brother. I promise.”
That much I know for sure. “You look like there’s something else you want to talk about.”
He never really needs much prompting, which I appreciate about him. Maybe even more so now than when we were kids. After years of being lied to, his easy honesty is refreshing. “These special deliveries are freaking me the fuck out. I can’t stop picturing what would happen if he got his hands on you again.” I start to interrupt, to tell him it won’t happen and I’ll be okay, but he pushes forward. “That’s not the point. It made me realize that I forgot a crucial aspect of being an older brother. Meet me in the basement. I’m teaching you how to fight.”
Brady nods, like it’s decided, then he’s gone.
Well, okay then.
It’s not like I couldn’t benefit from learning a bit about how to defend myself. If I even knew the first thing about what to do when Aaron comes at me, I’d be better off. With a shrug, I follow after him, deciding it can’t hurt to try, and if I fail, Brady probably won’t make fun of me.
I pass Chase and Blake tucked away in her office on my way downstairs. Through the glass french doors, I bear witness to the core of why they’ve stuck together as long as they have. It appears to be a good spirited argument—Chase’s favorite thing—with wild hand gestures and energetic voices carrying through all the way to me. I can’t tell who’s winning, but watching them has the back of my throat burning. That boy swears up and down that he’s not good with people, that he doesn’t understand them, but I’ve never met anyone as loyal to their friends as him. No one more dedicated to being who they need, no matter what he’s going through himself.
Blakely spots me, aiming a massive grin and a wave in my direction, which prompts Chase to turn around and do the same. Sunlight threatens to burst from my body, an overwhelming gratitude that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to articulate. I really will never have to be cold again.
It comes and goes, my ability to project this kind of wealth into the future, but right now, I can see it. Us in ten years, with deeper laugh lines, gathered around the Christmas tree, or some beach vacation in the summertime. Eventually, we’ll add at least one more person to the mix when Brady decides to start looking. I have a feeling that once he does, he won’t be searching long. Because my brother is who he is, there’s no doubt that she’ll be incredible. Smart and kind; perfect for him and our little family.
I’ve just got to get there. Life is on the other side of this hurdle. Only if I hang on long enough to see it. It’s enough to give me a shove in the right direction—down the stairs to learn how to stay alive the next time I come in contact with a monster.
I hear him before I see him, solid and rhythmic thuds of his fists against the bag and the sounds of his breathing. When he comes into view, I wonder how he somehow thinks I’ll be able to do this. There’s power behind what he’s doing, his biceps bulging with the effort. I am… not like that. Brady has always been far more athletic than me. I can run okay, but it took me a minute to get used to the exercise again since starting it back up with Blakely. But anything and everything else is beyond me. When I was seven, my dad made me give flag football a shot. Wanted me to be just like my brother who thrived under any sport he tried. Game one, I somehow ended up with the ball and realized everyone was chasing and shouting at me. I dropped right there in the grass and flung the damn thing on my way down. No way, no how. Not me.
Dad tore me a new asshole on the way home. He was so embarrassed. His whole face was red with anger. I knew better by then than to really cry in front of him, but he was being so mean that I couldn’t keep it at bay. Silent tears streamed down my face while I stared at my shoes, wondering why he didn’t like me. I wasn’t a bad kid. I did my chores, didn’t fight with mybrother. Never made too much of a fuss about anything. But all he saw was a disappointment.
Later that day, Brady used his allowance to buy us a couple of push pops from the ice cream truck and we ate them on the floor of my bedroom. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he said he was proud of me for trying and it was okay to not like it. Like I hadn’t tried everything to get out of that meager attempt. But that never mattered to Brady. Maybe that’s part of why not having them in my life isn’t as hard for me as it is him. I had my older brother, so there wasn’t much to lose without parents. But he did lose something, even if he’d make the same choice again.
“Jeez, Koda. How lost in space are you?”
“Only the normal amount,” I say. “You surely don’t think I can do that?”
He beckons me closer. “It’s not as hard as it looks. I’ll show you.”
Brady shows me how to hold my fist, what my fingers are supposed to look like. But that’s only the beginning. “Give it a shot. Just remember your follow through.”
I only know what that means because he just told me. My first attempt is awkward, weak, and honestly, kind of hurts. “This isn’t going to work.”
