Page 49 of Synced to Us

“No? I find that hard to believe since you’ve glommed on to my brother like he has something to offer. C’mon. You can tell me.” Brad pretends to sweeten his voice. “How much of our family’s money has he given you to spread those wicked legs of yours? Is that why he can’t pay the bills and leaves me to do it? Can’t help provide for our widowed mother and never visits her, making me the sole caregiver? Can’t help with the kids’ college funds even though he’s their only uncle and I’m working my ass off to get my kids squared away? Too busy fucking you and us over?”

My teeth cut into my lips. I pry them open enough to say, “This conversation isn’t productive. If you’ll excuse me.”

His catches my upper arm. “We’re not done talking.”

I stare him down, giving him no indication of my trembling, adrenaline-fueled insides. “Get your hands off me.”

Brad jerks me into his chest. “Why’d he really bring you here? Huh? Was it to intimidate me? Rub it in? Make me feel like a limp dick? Never mind he’s a desperate, pathetic loser.”

“I can’t tell you Wyn’s exact motivations.” I try not to gag at Brad’s foul beer breath. “Except to say that he tried to make a difference, bringing me into his home. Your brother’s a good guy. You know that. Unlike you and me. He thinks he needs to prove his worth by showing your mother how happy and stable he is, but Wyn has yet to learn that bringing me home to Mom makes no difference, because whether or not I exist in his life, you’ll always be the less successful son.”

Pure, vitriolic rage stretches Brad’s eyes to their whites. His free hand reels back. I watch it arc into the air, expecting the slap.

His hand comes down. My knee goes up.

Brad folds over before he can hit me. I stagger back, my heart pounding, “Doesn’t take nearly as much air to knee a guy in the balls.”

“You fucking bitch,” he roars, as he tries to right himself. “I’m exposing to everyone what you are.”

“Tell me, Brad, what must you think when you see your brother in there”—I point to the bar—“who still has the ability to dominate a room?”

“You’re worthless, just like him,” Brad seethes.

The exit to the bar creaks open. I look to the sound, but Brad is so immersed in his outrage, he doesn’t seem to hear it.

“Get the fuck out of this town,” he says to me. “You’re the worst society has to offer and I don’t want you to show your face around here again, or for you to go near my wife or my kids, you bloodsucking whore—”

Feet pound against pavement, then rocks, but not for long. Wyn leaps the rest of the way to the river’s edge, smacking against his brother like a rolling boulder and toppling them both into the water.

Wyn lands on top. With damp strands dangling from his forehead and sticking to his jaw, he grabs his brother’s collar. “The fuck did you say?” He slams the back of Brad’s head into the pebbled ground, underneath a foot of water. “The fuck did you call her?”

“Wyn—” I reach out my hand.

Brad gurgles, spitting out river water. “You knew what you brought into our home. And she’s not just a whore, is she? She fucks with money for a living, too. You did this, not me!”

“And you think that gives you the right to try and hit her?” Wyn straightens, cocks his head, and then lifts and slams his brother back into the shallows like a mountain lion playing with a doggy toy. “Think again.”

“She’s filth!” Brad says once his face is above-water again. “I had no idea you could embarrass yourself, little bro, but—”

Wyn sends him under again.

Coughing, sputtering, flailing, Brad keeps going. “—not only did you bring a greedy slut home to Momma, now you’re drowning a beloved father and math teacher!”

“You revolting son of a bitch,” Wyn hisses, shoving Brad under again. This time, he doesn’t let him back up.

“Wyn,” I say.

Wyn holds Brad down by his shoulders. Brad’s arms and legs kick spastically, splashing water against Wyn’s chest, his face—everywhere.

“Wyn.”

Brad’s kicking slows.

“WYN!” I scream and dash into the water to pull at his biceps. “You’ll regret this. I swear you will. Let him up!”

Wyn isn’t anything I recognize. His eyes bulge as much as his biceps and his veins strain against his neck. Wyn’s jaw is so sharp, I’m afraid he might break his teeth.

It scares me. So much, I’m not opposed to begging.

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