Page 139 of The Spider & the Storm

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I dunno. She could help—”

“What? Is she gonna miraculously get you out of here? Or do you think she can somehow do something to make the Wheelers stop their shit?”

“No, but maybe she can—”

“Talkingto someone isn't going to make shit go away. It's not going to make life easier; it's not going to make me happier. So, I'm just getting by, from one week to another, and that's all there is. Isn't that what you used to do?Get by?”

My brother folded his arms on the table and looked off to the side. He glanced at another one of the prisoners—a guy he had once mentioned was named Wolf or Dog or something stupid like that—and lifted his chin in an acknowledging nod. Then, Luke looked away and let that friendliness drop from his face.

“That's why I mentioned talking to someone. You're keeping all this shit locked up inside, and it can't be good for you, man. You don't do anything, you don't go anywhere, you don't—”

“Where the hell am I going to go?” I laughed, incredulous. “I can barely go grocery shopping without the cashier giving me a fuckinglook. Like,Oh, there's Charlie Corbin, whose brother is the reason why poor old Ritchie Wheeler isn't here anymore. I don't think you completely understand what it's like—”

“Oh, right. Sure. Because you don't tell me all the time.” He glowered at me.

But he was wrong. He didn't know everything. I'd made it a point to keep some of it to myself, just to keep him from feeling too bad about the situation he'd left me to deal with.

Still, I continued, “They don'ttalkto me, Luke. They don't make eye contact. They barely even look in my direction. They treat me like, like—”

“Like the brother of a murderer,” he finished for me, an air of exhaustion in his tone, like he was sick of having this conversation. “I got it. I just wish you'd do something more tostand up for yourself. Even if you're not gonna throw fuckin' bricks at Tommy's car—”

“Oh, great idea. They could get me on destruction of property.”

Luke groaned and went on, ignoring my sarcasm. “You need to dosomething. You need to take care of yourself. What the hell are you gonna do for the rest of your life, huh? I'm not around anymore to push you, and I'm not around to protect you. You gotta learn to stand up for yourself, even if that means ignoring their shit for the sake of living your goddamn life. Ignore them, and they'll learn to ignore you.”

I pressed my lips together and dropped my gaze to the tabletop. Luke hadn't been home in two years. Twice a month for the entirety of that two years, I'd made the trek up to Wayward Correctional Facility, and nearly every time I had seen him, the conversation had steered in this direction.

He had said they'd eventually move on.

He had said they'd grow bored.

But it seemed to me that, the more I kept to myself and didn't retaliate, the worse their attacks got.

Hell, just this past week, Tommy Wheeler had stabbed a crudely made wooden cross with his brother's name painted on it into the center of my front yard. He had waited for me to step outside to shout, “You helped to kill him by fuckingexisting,” before spitting on the grass and storming back down the street toward his mother's house.

I called the cops, and they came to slap Tommy on the wrist. They encouraged me once again to file for a restraining order, to which I said I'd think about it, and I’d meant it. But thetruth was, I had grown to be terrified of Tommy Wheeler. Maybe even more so than I'd ever been of his cold, nasty older brother, and I was worried a restraining order would only piss him off even more and push him over the edge.

Luke didn't know any of this.

I swallowed the urge to tell him and instead asked, “So, how's your job in the laundry room treating you?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

MASSACHUSETTS, PRESENT DAY

When Stormy woke up to find the broken picture on the kitchen island, I told her I had accidentally knocked it off the mantel while doing some middle-of-the-night dusting when I couldn't sleep.

And for the record, I hadn't lied because there was a possibility she'd think I was crazy; I’d lied because I was starting to believe it was true. That I'd officially, finally gone insane—and I was scared.

Luke had said once, sometime after he was locked up, that it took a real man to admit his fear, and this was my confession: I was horribly and truly terrified.

Stormy noticed right away.

“You okay?” She lifted her coffee mug to her lips, eyeing me over the brim with concern and confusion.

My arms folded tightly over my chest as I shrugged and nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

Her dark brows lowered over her eyes as she took a sip, then held the mug to her chest as she replied, “You seem weird. Like … tense.”

---