“Women you date.”
I nodded smugly, playing up the role of the perpetual playboy. My track record with women was legendary with my brothers. They thought I was a god of sorts, going from woman to woman, never deigning to settle down. But that was just a part I played to earn their respect. The reason I couldn’t hold onto anyone for longer than a couple of weeks was because I was still stuck on the ideal of a very specific girl I’d lost long ago.
As I peered into the fridge, I shook off the image of Sam tracking through my brain. It did me no good to dwell on the past. Besides, remembering her put me in a somber mood, and Jake needed me to remain upbeat and fun. That was the role I’d played in my brother’s life ever since that day in the hospital when I got him talking again. I was the comic relief, the person he turned to alleviate the darkness that still swirled just behind his troubled eyes. If I could get him to laugh a few times a day, I was earning my paycheck.
“You wanna hear my shower thought for the day?”
Every morning, while soaping up my meat sack, meaningless thoughts popped into my brain, creating the phenomenon commonly referred to in our family as ‘shower thoughts.’ My dad was blessed with the gift, as was I, but I liked to think my ideas were more profound.
“You know I do,” Jake responded, amusement already spreading across his face.
“So, you know that commercial that says four out of five people suffer from diarrhea? Does that mean one person actually enjoys it?”
Jake coughed out a laugh, water spraying from his mouth and as he wiped it away. “You have the maturity of a ten-year-old kid who still laughs at fart jokes.”
“I don’t care how old you get, fart jokes are always hilarious. Besides, you should talk about maturity. You’re eighteen years old and cradling a stuffed animal.”
The squishy toy was one of the many gifts that were thrown up on stage every night. Why he’d swiped that one off the floor and carried it with him to the bus was a mystery to me, but Jake was like that – a walking perplexity.
My brother responded to my diss by pitching the fuzzy bear at me. I caught it in midair and proceeded to have my way with it. Rubbing its furry body against my face, I switched to kid’s speak. “I’m going to name you Cuddles and we’re going to bebestfriends.”
My brother smiled but otherwise ignored my nettling. I tucked the bear under my arm, needing it handy for the counter assault I was currently plotting.
After a quick search of the shelves, I found what I was looking for. Yes! Frieda was my girl! She’d stocked the fridge to my specifications. Tucked in the back on the bottom shelf were the beer bottles I’d requested. Grabbing one, I popped the cap and downed a healthy gulp.
“You drinking?” Jake asked, as if it were an afterthought and not some calculated attempt to micromanage me.
I raised a brow. “One beer is not drinking.”
Before he could respond, I performed a spin maneuver and pelted my brother in the right temple with the downy bomb. He tipped back in his chair from the force of the sneak attack.
“Jesus,” he grumbled, rubbing his head.
“Besides, what are you, Jake, the fuckin’ drink police?”
He actually gave my words some thought before countering, “I don’t think that’s an actual division of the police force.”
I flipped him off with a smile on my face, pretending it didn’t irritate the hell out of me that I was being questioned in the first place. I was twenty-three years old. If I wanted a drink, it was my goddamn choice. “Do you want me to pour it out, Officer Dickweed?”
“No.” He shrugged, looking away. “Drink it. I don’t care.”
Well, fuck. Now I was pissed. “Clearly you do care or you wouldn’t have brought it up.”
My family had a way of doing this – policing my choices as if I couldn’t be trusted to make the right ones. And, yes, fine, there had been an issue or two on the tour, but I had never lost control. Okay, maybe that one time. But otherwise I’d been clean. Regardless, it was no one’s damn business what I did on my down time. I wasn’t an indentured servant. I didn’t serve Jake twenty-four seven.
My brother sat up a little straighter, boldly meeting my eye. “If you want to know the truth, I don’t think it’s the best idea to have alcohol in the bus when both you and Lassen are recovering addicts.”
“Lassen?” My ears burned. The nerve. “I’m supposed to worry about Lassen now too? Is it my fault you hired a wacked-out bird murderer?”
“What are you so pissed about?” Jake asked. “I have no idea why we’re fighting in the first place.”
“We’re fighting because you’re being a condescending little shit. Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. You’re not the boss of me, asshole.”
“Actually, I am, and I have a contract you signed to prove it.”
He was right, and that fact made me want to smack that smirk right off his face. But the days of using physical force on Jake were over. There was no dragging him down hallways anymore. No swift punches to the arm. Even the curling of a fist could cause my little brother to flinch away. No, nowadays, I was reduced to using stuffed animals against him. And blackmail.
“Look at you puffing out your chest, big man. Just remember who carries the dirt on you.”
