He doesn’t move, so I go for the kill shot.
“You think she’s sitting wherever she is, missing you, imagining you like . . . THIS?” I sweep my hand over him dramatically. “No. She’s imagining you smelling like cedar and manhood and those expensive soaps you hoard in your shower.”
A tiny huff, barely a breath.
“Fine, I’ll get the hose and rinse you off right here. You don’t even need to move.”
I start pushing myself upright on one leg and wobbling like a penguin. That gets him going.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he mutters, pushing up from the couch at last and groaning like standing is too much effort.
“So, you’ll shower?”
A long pause, then a ridiculous sigh.
“Yeah. Fine. Whatever.”
Victory. I give him a solemn nod.
“Do your thing, brother. Let the water rebirth you. Wash the sadness off your nipples.”
He flips me off, but half-heartedly, which is practically affection at this point. He walks down the hallway.
“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m in there,” he calls over his shoulder as if I wouldn’t do something stupid. I clutch my chest as he wounds me.
“I am the picture of maturity.”
His door slams and the lock clicks. I lie my head against the back of the chair, figuring out what to watch when I hear something. I turn my head, slow and dramatic. And there it is, sitting like an answered prayer.
Massi’s bike key.
Sitting in the ceramic bowl by the door. In a beam of late-afternoon sunlight, like the universe itself is winking at me. A grin cracks across my face so fast my cheeks ache. If my brother can’t fix us. And Sof isn’t returning our calls or texts, so I’ll go to her. Mountain and that dude story I once heard. Something about mountains moving when people don’t.
“I’m coming, my angel,” I whisper to no one, limping forward.
Trying to keep my walking boot thud quiet on the hardwood floor. My heart pounds with purpose. He may have lost her, but I’ll get her back. It’s up to me to fix us.
I grab the key like I’m in the real-life Grand Theft Auto, about to steal my brother’s bike. Race it across town to Sof’s house and demand she take him back. Take us back.
Because fuck space.
We’re done with it. And this feels like destiny-level shit. I sneak as quietly as this fucking boot and crunch let me. Stop at the door. Listen to make sure he’s still in there, scrubbing his sad nipples.
He is.
I get outside as fast as possible, which is still slow as fuck. And there she sits. Gleaming in the sunshine like a sinner in church. Mas’s bike is clean, polished, and ready for destiny. Like she’s been sitting there ready for me to take her. Ride her to save my angel. To rescue her from sadness like my big bro.
Everyone needs me now.
I feel like a fucking superhero. I’d wear my Superman cape if it weren’t back inside my bedroom. This is happening. I have made it to the bike. My injured leg throbs, swelling inside the walking boot. I ignore it.
DSLs, fat asses, and thick thighs require sacrifice. And sometimes that sacrifice is ignoring medical orders and common sense. I grab the handlebars for balance. Nearly face-plant when the bike tips half an inch. But I’m no bitch.
I steady myself like a damn gladiator dipped in armor. Breathing through the pain while my pulse hammers in my ears, not to get caught.
“My name is Emilio Maximus Decimus Meridius Dimas. Commander of the Armies of the North, East, South, and West. General of the Fallopian Region. Loyal servant to the true empress, Sofia Santiago. Father to my ugly ass son, Paco Santiago. Oh Dimas. Duh. Father to my ugly ass son Paco Dimas.”
I crush the grips in my palms. My cock surges with the power of having the seat under my ass again.
