Page 23 of The Spider & the Storm

The kid he’d grown up with.

The kid who had, for all intents and purposes, been there through everything—regardless of if he was an asshole or not.

“You know, your parents, man. Obviously, it sucks they died—obviously. I mean, come on. But, like, they could’ve at least had Charlie boy in the car with them.” Ritchie snorted like he had just made the funniest joke on the planet. “Would’ve made your life easier—that’s for damn sure.”

My nose sniffled uncontrollably, and there was no holding back the tears now. I had always known Ritchie was awful. I had always known he was an asshole. But I couldn’t wrap my head around just howterriblehe was. How he could stand there, grinning and laughing, like he hadn’t just said the single most horrific thing I’d ever heard someone say—and it was about me. How he could wish that I were dead, just like our parents …

It hurt more than I wished it had.

“Rich!” Melanie cried, appalled, as she tightened her arm around my shoulders. “Oh my God, how can you be so freakin’ awful?!”

“Say that again,” Luke dared his friend, slowly rising to his feet, still wearing the black pants and white button-down he’d worn to the funeral.

He’d taken off his suit jacket at some point while I hadn’t had the strength to even kick off my shoes.

Ritchie laughed lightly. “Oh, come on, Zero, man. I’m just playing around. You know that.”

Luke moved toward him, one socked foot in front of the other. Taking each step carefully, slowly. “You think this shit is funny, huh?”

Ritchie shrugged casually, never wiping the grin off his face. “I mean, it’s alittlefunny that he’s taking it so seriously. Come on, Charlie boy. Don’t cry, you little baby. Your mommy isn’t here any—fuck!”

My head whipped toward the cracking sound of flesh meeting flesh as my brother’s fist connected with Ritchie’s mouth.

“Luke!” Melanie screamed, jumping to her feet and taking me with her.

She backed us against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, and together, we watched in a blend of horror and gratitude and amazement as Luke held tight to Ritchie’s collar and repeatedly punched him in the face. Once, twice, three times, his fist met with Ritchie’s mouth, cheek, eye, before Ritchie could gather his bearings and grapple with Luke’s shoulders, shoving him back and into the side of the staircase. Luke’s back hit the flimsy banister—something Dad had always intended on fixing, but now never would—and I heard something crack and splinter.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Tommy chanted, jumping out of the way as Luke lunged at Ritchie again, knocking him down and onto the couch. “Luke, man, stop! Ritchie, come on! Guys!”

“Asshole!” Ritchie shouted when Luke’s fist caught him once again in the mouth, causing a spray of blood to splatter against my brother’s clean white shirt.

Ritchie threw Luke off him and onto the coffee table. The thin, cheap piece of furniture shattered beneath his weight, and Melanie let out a shriek. I could only stare, petrified, too stunned to cry as I held on to Melanie’s arm. Afraid Ritchie would kill Luke, the only person I had left, and leave me with no one.

God, I don’t want to be alone.

I don’t want to be without Luke.

“Stop it!” I heard myself cry out, my voice cracking as Luke scrambled to stand up, but Ritchie stopped him with a winding punch to the nose.

Luke shouted in pain, cupping his hands against his face. “You piece of fucking shit!”

I hoped they were finished. I hoped beyond all hope that Ritchie would just leave and never come back. But something had snapped inside my brother. Something that had been lying dormant for days—hell, maybe even weeks or years, I didn’t know—and it was now awake and angry, unable to be contained.

He stood from the wreckage of the coffee table on unsteady legs, took Ritchie by the collar, and hauled him against the basement wall. The back of Ritchie's head smacked against the concrete, and Tommy jumped into action and grabbed the back of Luke's shirt, trying to pull him off his older brother. But Tommy wasn't a big guy, not nearly as strong as Luke, and there was nothing he could do to keep him from rearing back and thrusting Ritchie against the wall again.

“You think this is funny?!” Luke repeated, spitting into Ritchie's face. “You think it's funny that my parents are fucking dead?!”

“Luke, stop it!” Melanie screamed, her nails digging into my arm.

Rob joined Tommy, grabbing for Luke's arm, and somehow, together, they were successful in prying him off Ritchie.

“The fuck is wrong with you?!” Ritchie shouted, rubbing at the back of his head. He pulled his hand away and found it coated in a sheen of blood.

“Me?!” Luke yelled back, his arms still held by Tommy and Rob. “I am sick and fucking tired of putting up with your shit! All the shit you say! You think you’re so goddamn funny, but you know what, asshole?! You’re not!”

“Yeah, well, fuck you too,” Ritchie snarled, stepping in close to my brother's face, their noses barely touching. “I'm done putting up withyourshit and your retarded little brother.”

“Don't you ever fucking talk about my brother again,” Luke replied, his voice low and close to a growl. “I swear to God, if you say one more thing about him, I will fucking murder you.”

---