“If they haven’t, then they’re not doing their jobs very well.” I have stopped giving a great fuck what the public thinks of my private life. I have an urge to flip the press off, hide Pen away from their prying eyes—my self-righteous inner rant ends with a swift kick to the gut; the entire situation has been manufactured byme.
What’s really doing my head in is wondering how it would have gone if I’d simply asked Pen out that day at the airport.
Now you’ll never know, fucko.
Tight-lipped and grim, I hold the passenger door for her like my mamma taught me, and when she’s securely inside, I stalk around to the driver’s seat. Once inside, I start the Grouch, and it comes to life with a satisfying grumble.
“Well,” she asks me, intent. “What do you think?”
Nonplussed, I blink. “What do I think?”
So many things I could tell her.
She huffs and gives me an admonishing look. “About the girls’ idea. Did you not hear a word I said?”
No, I was mentally pouting and kicking myself in the balls. Welcome to my hell.
“I must have drifted. Sorry, Pen. Long day.”
She sits back, resting against the door. “That’s okay. I was saying that the girls keep track of all your schedules, and they say you have a bye week in November that coincides with Thanksgiving. But March has a game that day and can’t get home. Since Jan’s house is close to March’s university, they thought it might be nice if we all stay there for the week and celebrate Thanksgiving break together.”
I know the drill. The Luck family hasn’t had a quiet home Thanksgiving schedule in, well, ever. First it was my dad playing, then it was we boys throughout college. In college you’re doomed to play that day, chomping down on a meal when it’s done. Not every NFL team plays on Thanksgiving, so one day, schedules willing, once March is drafted maybe we’ll have one.
Until then, we make do.
“You’d want to go?” I ask Pen. It’s a nice idea, and I miss the hell out of my brother.
She frowns, a small moue of worry. “Unless you don’t want me to?”
“Pen. That isnotwhat I’m saying. Of course I want you there. Jesus.”
“No need to get testy.”
“Then stop thinking you don’t belong.”With me.
Pen turns and looks out the window, giving me a view of the long, pale arc of her neck. Outside the mountainside is a blur of wavering dusty brown grasses.
“I was only asking because I thought you might want to be with your mom,” I put in to fill the silence.
“You forgot, didn’t you?”
“No!”Yes.Fuck. “Uh, remind me again?”
She shakes her head but smiles as if in exasperation. “Your parents and my mom are going on a murder mystery cruise that week. They’ve been planning it forever.”
Right. Some sort ofDeath on the Nilereenactment. InEgypt.
“Sure, I remember.”
“Uh-huh. Anyway, I’d like to see March. I hate to think of him alone during the holiday.”
March. She wants to see him? Since when? In all the years of college, I never had a visit from Pen. I doubt she gave two thoughts about my existence. Now she’sworriedabout March’s tender feelings?
Just stop right there, asshole.
Being jealous is not normal for me. Being jealous ofmy brotheris repugnant—both as point of personal pride and because he is the closest person in my life. Parents aren’t supposed to have favorites. But siblings are another matter. I have no qualms about it: March is my favorite sibling.
Worse? This isn’t the first time the ugly green fuck-face, jealousy, has sprung up with regard to March and Pen. I’m spiraling here. I need clarity. Unfortunately, that’s going to require some space from the temptation of Pen. Fuck, but it’s going to hurt.
