Page 5 of Penalty to the Heart

“Not happening.”

He runs his fingers through his hair, pulling some strands out in frustration.

“Fine,” he relents, pissed. “Have it your way. We’ll take your damn car. But when you wake up with a monstrous hangover, I still want my car to be in my driveway before the day is done. Understood?”

“You got it.” I smile while getting the car keys from my pants pocket and placing them in the palm of his hand.

“Come on,” he grumbles, pulling me with him to walk towards the shiny new Aston Martin just a few cars down from us.

I don’t even dare to open my mouth on our little walk, too afraid I might puke whatever is left in my stomach if I so much as part my lips for air. When we finally reach the car, Jack is quick to open the door to usher me inside. I, however, am in no hurry.

In fact, I’m fucking dreading it.

The pristine white leather upholstery interior still has that new car smell, and something tells me that it won’t smell like that for long if bile continues to rise up my throat the way it has.

Jack must see the fear written all over my forehead and takes a second to relish in my discomfort.

“Do you need a minute?”

I look at my brother’s teasing face and back to the passenger front seat.

“I’m good,” I lie, praying that I don’t stink up my brand-new wheels with last night’s partying.

“Sure, you are,” he goads before helping me inside.

Ever so carefully, I slide on in, making sure to breathe from my nose so as not to tempt fate.

It’s only when I’m fully seated that Jack slams the door on me, making the car go all wobbly for a second, coaxing me to grab the dashboard for dear life.

When he slams the door again once he’s behind the wheel, I feel my head threaten to crack with the loud sound.

“Be gentle with her, will you?” I grumble, holding onto my temples.

“No promises.” He smirks, turning on the ignition. “You know what? This is a nice car. Let’s see how she rides,” he adds with a mischievous wink, one that tells me I’m going to be in a world of hurt.

When he puts the pedal to the metal, making the car fly down the empty street, I hold onto the dashboard, this time for a whole different reason.

My brother is usually a cautious driver, but tonight, he’s pushing it, and I know it’s for my benefit.

“Jack, this isn’t funny. Slow the fuck down,” I beg, feeling my insides slowly rise to my throat.

“Why? Are you going to puke on these fine, white-leather seats?” he mocks.

“You know I am, fucker. Slow down,” I implore. The world is spinning so fast in my head that it’s a miracle I’m still able to talk.

“It would serve you right, you know?” he says in his disapproving tone.

“I know,” I reply on autopilot.

“This shit of me always coming to the rescue has to stop. You need to grow up.”

“I know,” I grumble, tasting the bile on my tongue.

“I won’t always be around to take care of you. One day, you’re going to have to man up and become accountable for your own actions.”

“Sure, whatever you say, just slow down,” I beg, feeling all sorts of queasy watching the buildings blur in my peripheral vision.

“Not until you promise me that you’ll try to do better. That you’ll try to act like a fucking adult for once.”

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