Page 78 of The Final Rose

“Thank you for your visit. You can go now.”

My brother simply arches an eyebrow at me and comes inside, wet and all, his work boots dragging water all over my floors. He goes to find a towel for himself, as I stay there holding the door open. After all, where is Dario, so is Ben.

“He’s parking the truck,” Dario informs me while drying his hair.

“Where?” I shake my head.

“Away from this horrible neighborhood, Callie. We are not stupid. You live in a place we don’t even trust to park the truck.”

“How dramatic of you.” I let the door go, and it closes at once.

Dario stands there, watching me. He was a lanky kid growing up, always skinny and getting himself into trouble. It was only when he started working with Ben that he got the muscles he shows off now. The eyes are the same though, of a bold kid waiting his turn to cause mayhem.

I love my brothers, but I don’t want them here to watch me swim in self-pity.

“Is it you?”

I ignore the question, burying myself on the couch and turning the volume up for a queued laugh track.

“Callie, come on.”

“Don’t sit anywhere. You’re all wet.” I say, my nose upright like I’m the queen of England.

“Oh sure, in this palace? No way. You should live with Mom. It’s safer.”

“Mom already has you and Ben mooching off her. I’m the good kid.”

Dario laughs. “Ben is the good kid.”

I lift my shoulder. “At least I left.”

He opens his mouth to reply something ridiculous, I’m sure, but that is the time Ben chooses to arrive, without knocking, just coming inside like he owns the damn place.

“I parked ten minutes away because you live in a hellhole, Calliope.”

“Fuck you,” I reply, looking at the TV and ignoring my big brother.

Ben doesn’t pay attention to my words and turns to Dario. He’s wet too, but he doesn’t seem to mind that much.

“Is it her?”

“She won’t tell,” Dario informs. “But she looks like shit. It’s probably her.”

“I’ll be very grateful if you two would stop talking about me like I’m not sitting right here.”

Ben takes a chair from my improvised kitchen set and drags it to sit beside me on the couch. With one simple move, he maneuvers himself over it, open legs resting on his elbows on his knees.

“How come he’s allowed to sit?” Dario whines.

“I didn’t invite him to it,” I growl.

Ben raises his palm to end the argument, and my tongue gets stuck in the roof of my mouth. Damn, I hate it when he does that. It’s an old move of his to finish with our endless arguments. One flick of his wrist and the words die on the tip of my tongue.

“Callie. The news. Are they telling the truth?”

“I wouldn’t know what you are talking about.”

Ben sighs, and helpfully, Dario turns my TV off.

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