Page 186 of Seizing Control: Part One

“Since when?” Nate laughs while he dodges Mumma’s hand again.

He heads outside, pulling his t-shirt off and kicking his thongs under a chair before he somersaults into the pool. With Toker on my right and Meeyal on my left, we watch the crowd grow. There’s a companiable silence, a small reprieve in the midst of the violence stalking us. Behind us, Mumma fusses about in the kitchen.

“Shit’s settlin’ down,” Meeyal comments.

“Fi-na-fuckin-lly,” Toker adds.

“We’ll see.”

At Mumma’s urging, they carry the eskies full of cold drinks for the kids outside.

“Whaddya need me to do?”

My mother shrugs her shoulder toward the front room. “Go speak to your brother. He’s been huffin’ about like a wounded bull all mornin’. Took me an hour to coax him outta his bedroom.”

Clad in a leather jacket and jeans with his sunglasses perched on his head, I find Hunter looking at the photos on the longer wall in the rumpus room. It’s a montage to better times—documenting my life from the age of nineteen to today—with my wedding photos as the newest addition, and my favourite memento, despite the angst of the day. I’m not responsible for the collection. Mumma and Cherub are the main instigators in their ongoing quest to turn my house into a home.

Over the years, I’ve found the wall jarring.

My entire life revolved around Venom, Cherub, and the Shamrocks.

It made me sad and mad to acknowledge this fact.

The loss of my lifelong best friend has changed my perspective.

Without Venom, my life revolves around Cherub and the Shamrocks.

That makes me happy.

Because he’s not really dead.

Just gone.

It’s a distinction I can use to assuage my guilt as I settle into the life I’ve always wanted.

“Why’re you actin’ like a spoiled brat?” I ask Hunter. Direct questions are the best way to get answers from him since his autism makes him almost too honest if the query is worded right. “Venom’s death rattled you, but you can’t take that on as your failure. I know you, little brother, there’s somethin’ else clawin’ at you.”

“I haven’t taken Venom’s death on as my failure.”

With a sharp nod, I concede his point. “Fine. You blame me for it.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Hunt.” I peer at him with a narrowed eyed gaze. The animosity in his eyes is foreign to me. Never before has he regarded me as his foe, yet that’s exactly the message I read in his cold expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’ important.”

“Bullshit.”

He sneers at me. The purple tulip tattooed over his right temple mocks me at the same time as my younger brother declares, “When are you gonna tell your wife that Venom’s not dead?”

My heart stops.

Time stands still.

Blood moving through my veins like molasses, I can hardly hear myself as I tell him, “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Not yet… but I will,” Hunter quips in a voice devoid of heat. His expression is ice-cold when he adds. “And as soon as I can prove it, I’m gonna tell Cherub. She deserves to know the truth, just like the rest of us do.”

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