She’s already shaking her head, like she won’t let me spiral.Like she’s fucking daring me to.
“We all have our issues,” she says.“Me?I have daddy issues.He only paid attention to his boys.Mostly you.Then add our mother criticizing me about my height, weight, and poor choice of friends ...I’m pretty fucked up too, Rod.”
She pins me with a look.Fuck, that look.“You were Dad’s pride and joy.His successor in a weird way.The one who’d make him proud while the rest of us worked too hard to be anything—to mean anything.”
My skin prickles.Even when her voice is soft, it cuts through, all blistering honesty and fire.It hits deep.It presses in, not gently, not kindly.Forces me to look at her—not just as the girl who used to steal my fries or roll her eyes when I teased her—but as someone I have been underestimating.
“You think that was good, but our father let me get away with a lot—even murder.”
“You didn’t murder anyone, Roderick.”
“It’s a figure of speech, obviously,” I state, but honestly, I was killing myself slowly.Though I’m old enough to take responsibility, I blame my parents for not giving young Roderick the attention he deserved.They didn’t set up boundaries and just let him do whatever the fuck he wanted as long as he played every instrument they put in front of him.
“Are you going to be, okay?”she asks, scribbling a number in a notepad next to the phone.“This is my phone number.Call me at any time.”
“Leave a message if you’re not available?”
“Nah, that’s my cell phone.I will answer every time you call.”
“Should I get myself one of those?”I ask almost cringing.“A cell phone?”
She shrugs.“That’s up to you.”
I take the scrap of paper from her, fold it like it means something.
Maybe it does.
She turns to leave but pauses at the door.“You should call the others, you know,” she says without looking back.“It’s not the worst thing to try to reach out to your family.”
The door clicks shut behind her.
Do I want to reach out to my brothers?
I don’t even know if they’d give a fuck.
It’s not that I didn’t care.We just didn’t grow up as brothers—we grew up like strangers who just happened to share DNA.There’s a permanent static between us.Like something got short-circuited before we even had a chance to try becoming a family.
And maybe I shouldn’t blame our parents, but, fuck, I do.
They didn’t just fail us.
They fractured us.
Now I’m holding all the broken pieces, wondering if I’m meant to fix what they never even tried to build.
ChapterFour
Kit
April 13th, 1997
Sometimes the best part of the day is walking through the front door, peeling off your shoes, and ...finding someone in my house?
“Hey, you.”I set my backpack down by the door.“Umm, not that I mind, but why are you here?Did I forget something?”
Cleo, my best friend, designated partner-in-crime, and occasional couch pirate, is sprawled across my couch.One hand is clutching a bowl of popcorn, and the other is holding the remote.Her long legs are tangled in the throw I just washed last night.Allegra is curled up beside her, purring like she pays rent.
At least tonight, she won’t be sulking.I left her alone most of the day, and she’s dramatic about abandonment.They told me she’d be low maintenance, a “chill companion.”
