That they were reducing my charges and that I was free to go now. But as my punishment, I’d have to attend St. Mary’s come that fall.
When I asked him what happened, he said that it was none of my concern and that he’d taken care of everything because the charges were bullshit to begin with.
That was all.
That was all he said and I was too embarrassed, tooscaredto ask anything else, tobeanything else other than relieved, so I never ever broached the question again.
I was just grateful that I wasn’t going to juvie. I was grateful that I had a brother who loved me enough — even though I embarrassed him so brutally — to have my back like that.
Is it any wonder then, that he’s still mad at me?
“Why?” my brother asks curtly, pulling me out of my thoughts, pulling me out of those few hours that were the scariest of my life.
“Because I need to know,” I say with almost a strangled voice. “Because I… I need to know what you did, Con. H-how you took care of it. I’m sorry I never asked before. I was too scared. Too embarrassed to ask you. But I should have. I should have been a good sister like you were a good brother. I should’ve asked what you went through to… to get me off. What you did to get me free.”
Or almost free.
He’s silent for a few seconds.
And my heart is thudding in my chest. My heart that’s broken and beaten and so painful to live with is pounding and pounding as I wait for my brother to say something.
Anything.
As I hear his words over and over.
I didn’t bring your brother that deal…
“Nothing,” Conrad clips.
“What?”
“I did nothing.”
“I don’t understand.”
His exhale is sharp and short. “I didn’t have to do anything. It was him.”
The way my brother sayshim, I don’t have to ask who he’s talking about. His tone is all harsh and clipped and self-explanatory.
“W-what do you mean?” I ask.
“Itmeansthat I was all ready to go to court and fight this thing. I was all ready to hire a lawyer and teach that rich prick a lesson. But he called me and he said that he’d gotten all the charges reduced and all you had to do was attend St. Mary’s. I was opposed to it. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like his fucking face. And I told him that. I told him that I’d go to court and fight his bullshit charge. And that fuckingpunkreminded me that even if I did go to court, I would never win. Because the Jacksons own the town. They own the police, the judges, the lawyers. And so this was the only way. And when I told him that I was going to break his fucking face for what he did to you, he was generous enough to say that I was welcome to it. Only I’d have to take a fucking number because Ledger wanted to get there first.”
Conrad has never ever spoken so many words together, in one conversation.
And the fact that he did it now convinces me that he still has a lot of anger inside of him. At me, athim.
At his old star player.
Con has always hated the rivalry between Ledger and Reed. But he’s especially hated Reed for being reckless and selfish on the field.
But I don’t get it.
Why have me arrested in the first place and then have the charges reduced? Just like that.
“W-why would he bring you the deal when he was the one who pressed charges?”
A moment passes.
