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“Bullshit.”

“Nope, no bullshit.”

“What the hell were you doing, Tristan?”

A smug smile crawled across his face. “Fucking.”

I took a deep breath, struggling to control my temper. I didn’t want to yell. “I’m not kidding around.”

“Neither am I, big brother. But I am pretty beat so if you don’t mind I’ll be taking a nap now.” He rolled over on his side and closed his eyes as if that was the end of the conversation.

I stalked right over there and yanked the pillow from under his head.

“Fucking hell!” he howled, bolting upright.

I tossed the pillow to the floor and sat down on Brecken’s bed, facing my brother. “I’ll ask you one more time where you were.”

Tristan looked bored. He hadn’t shaved in a few days. He reeked of cheap perfume and beer. “You’re getting bent out of shape over nothing. I hooked up with this blonde chick who was all over my ass. Her apartment’s only about a mile away from here. No big deal.”

“You couldn’t have found a way to call me?”

He waved me off. “Curt, you need to cut the apron strings a little and do something about your new vagina. You used to be cool.”

“And you used to be not such a self centered asshole so I guess some things change.”

His expression was stony. “Quit pretending like you’re the dad here.”

“No, I’m not the dad. He’s dead. And I’m not the mom either because she skipped out on bail, fled the country and left you and Breck with nothing. But she did do one thing worth a shred of parental responsibility. She made me your legal guardian.”

Tristan snorted with laughter. “Guardian. Yeah, you’re a real fucking role model. I’ll bet you deserve a prison cell a whole lot more than anyone else in the family.”

The words stung. They stung because they were probably true.

Tristan eyed me, waiting to see what I would do. And really what could I do? I couldn’t smack common sense into his head. I couldn’t turn back the clock and undo my history. And I couldn’t fix the fact that Tristan was nearly eighteen and very soon would be legally able to do as he pleased.

“As long as you’re living with us,” I told him quietly, “you’ll do as I say, Tristan.”

He looked around the sloppy room with obvious disgust. “Yeah, you’re doing a great job with this guardian thing.”

I stood up, if for no other reason than I wanted to get my point across by towering over him. “Well, little brother, I’m all you’ve got right now.”

His eyes narrowed as he peered up at me. He slowly stood up as well so that we were now only inches apart. He was an inch taller, but nowhere near as strong. I hoped he knew better than to take a swing.

“I know who you are, Curt,” he said ominously. “You’re not one to be handing out fucking lectures.”

The bathroom door opened and Brecken walked into the room. He stopped and stared at us with confusion, his eyes widening as he sensed the tension.

“What’s going on?” he asked in a nervous voice.

Tristan was still glaring at me. I didn’t miss the way his right hand had clenched into a fist. I understood. He was angry. Angry at our mother. Angry at me. Angry about the fact that he was living in a dump sixty miles away from his life back home. If he needed to take it out on me with his fists then I’d let him. But not with Brecken standing eight feet away. Hell no. Brecken wasn’t going to see that.

“Nothing’s going on,” I told my youngest brother. “Tristan’s just going to hang out here and get some sleep. You go get changed.”

“I’m out of clean clothes,” Brecken said.

“Then change into whatever looks the least dirty. I’ll do the wash tonight.”

Brecken shrugged and started digging through the plastic bag where he kept his dirty laundry.

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