Page 186 of Bona Fide

“Exactly.”

“What was she saying, Tsarina?” Marty asks, throwing me right in the middle of ratting out Mama or lying to him.

“How you’re obsessed with the grill,” I answer. Marty turns around from the fridge with ketchup and mustard in his hand, sending me with a “bullshit” glance before returning it to Mama, who is back to crocheting her teal blanket.

“Mama, you want your burger done the usual way?”

“Do you remember?”

My brother scoffs. “Of course, I remember. Extra mustard, little ketchup, if the food touches mayo you’re not going to eat it.”

“That’s my boy.” Marty beams at the comment and looks back to me.

“Same, Rea?” I nod, watching him pull out the buns and begin doing his new chef thing.

Mama’s words hit me a little harder as I watch his face be light and happy. I haven’t seen that in a while. I can hear it in his voice when he speaks to me on the phone while he’s away, but since he’s been home this last time, he’s been cranky, annoyed, and just not himself. How desolate he must feel as time goes on and he misses birthdays, holidays, and just normal days with Mama and I.

I’ve been trying to keep our moments light, away from life in the military, but I hear him in his sleep sometimes, and they don’t sound like good dreams.

Especially last night.

He woke me from a dead sleep, a sharp yell coming from his room, and I sprinted out of bed to see what happened. Marty was thrashing, groaning, making sounds that I’ve never heard before as he continued to somewhat sleep through it.

It scared me so much that I stayed awake on the small sofa in his room, watching him to make sure he didn’t do it again. That I was there if he needed me. Needless to say, he slept through the rest of the night, but I couldn’t unhear what I experienced.

Something must’ve happened out there when he was out on the field. He must’ve seen something unthinkable for him to be dreaming about it.

My brother is hiding something, and I don’t think he’s going to tell me.

My cell rings at my side, displaying a blocked number on the screen. My heart quickens as I pick it up and squeeze it in my palm.

Wade.

“I need to take this,” I tell the room, rising from my chair and feeling my brother’s eyes burn a hole through the side of my face.

He can be pissed, I need to hear his voice. More like want, but regardless, I’m answering this call.

At a good distance from any prying ears, I answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Rea.” My giddy heartbeat, it drops into the pit of my stomach. My body deflates at the sound of her voice, and I loosen my grip on the phone.

“Emmy,” I reply. “Hi, how are you?”

“You need to stay away from the president,” she returns coldly. “This back and forth, the shit that’s going to go down, you’re only going to make it worse.”

“What’s going to go down? What are—”

“That’s not your concern. He has plans, and it’s going to cause a lot of press. You’re not going to act like Superman and come save him from himself.”

“Emmy, what is he going to do? You can’t call me and tell me to stay—”

“Yes, I can,” she retorts. “You won’t break the hold you have on him. He eats, sleeps, and dreams you. Trust me, I was there after your performance. You broke him, and the more you come back, the more he won’t heal. The more you cripple him to—” My phone is plucked from my hands and into Marty’s as he begins to stride away from me.

“I thought I told you not to call,” he sneers into the line.

“Marty!” I run after him to take it back, but he pivots around and holds out an arm to stop me from getting closer. “Stop!”

---