Page 34 of Threaded Lies

“My brother died.”

“Fuck.” He blows out a huge sigh and the sound guts me for some reason. The discomfort in it and the uncertainty tingeing its edges.

More so the fact that he didn’t know.

We’re invisible.

My brother died and no one even knows or cares. We live on the other side of the river, the wasteland of depravity and destitution, and that means we are fucking invisible.

Chadwick and Rhett murdered my brother and they’re living their same life, playing in their cesspool of privilege with those around them, knowing that they hit and killed a little boy, and no one bats an eye.

It’s a horrible fucking feeling.

The pounding on the door jolts me to the present.

“Open up,” a voice booms, and even Darren blanches.

“Fuck. It’s Gary,” he mutters, referring to the manager of the entire country club, and looks at me. “Let me do the talking.” He then nods to my coworker to open the door.

Gary barrels through. “What’s going on here?” he demands as he assesses the situation.

“Nothing, sir,” Darren says as our boss raises his eyebrows in question. No doubt he doesn’t believe that answer, seeing as my face is probably blotchy and there is blood on the collar of my uniform. “There was a slight altercation. Simpson here tripped—got his foot caught on the corner of the bench there—and fell on the way out. It was like a set of bowling pins being knocked down. One after another.”

Gary furrows his brow as he studies both of us. “For the record, I’m not buying whatever it is you’re trying to sell.”

Darren glances over to me, his face a mask of innocence, before looking back at our boss. “I saw it with my own eyes. They all fell like dominos. It was hard not to laugh it was so ridiculous.”

Gary nods his head slowly. He’s a smart man and clearly knows there is more to the story than what we are letting on, but he just takes a step back before surveying the room again. “I don’t think I have to emphasize who that just was. We’re all aware, correct?”

Both Darren and I nod.

“Good. The last thing we need is to piss any of those families off.”

“Agreed, sir,” Darren mutters.

“I’m hoping there is nothing more that comes of this.”

“There won’t be, sir,” I say as I move my hands to behind my back, uncertain what my knuckles look like.

“You sure about that?” Gary asks directly and holds my stare.

“There won’t be,” I reiterate. “Like Darren said, it was an accident. I’ve had a lot going on at home. I was distracted and made a mistake and—”

“What’s going on in your home life isn’t my or any of our members’ problems. Your excuses fall on deaf ears,” he spits out.

The rage bubbles back up but I tamp it down.

I should be fired.

They should be in jail.

One might not justify the other, but fuck if I don’t want it to.

“Name?” Gary asks.

My Adam’s apple bobs as I swallow. “Mason Simpson,” I state as Darren’s eyes whip over to me and the different first name I just gave.

“Huh,” the manager says. “Never knew that.”