Page 16 of Forty

He couldn’t look away, though. There is that. And he couldn’t hide that raging hard-on.

Lou digs his elbow into my ribs until I scooch over and give him some room. I oblige.

He’s been cool about me coming home. He even cleared his weights out of the spare room. I told him moving back into my old bedroom upstairs would make me feel like too much of a failure.

I know he’s nervous that I’ll screw things up for him somehow. He’s not exactly out of the closet. He’s not exactly living a life where that’s a real choice. It’s true—I do have a big mouth and no filter, but I’d die before I hurt my little brother.

“You tryin’ to get him back?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

“So, what’s your plan?” Lou asks. “If you’re thinking you can come with me to the clubhouse, no way.”

I playfully slap him across the back of the head. “You little ingrate. The only reason you have an open invitation with Steel Bones is ‘cause I dragged you along with me back in the day.”

“That was a long time ago. The club’s different now. They’re serious business.”

“And I’m not?”

“You got a job yet?”

“It’s only been two weeks.”

“You put in any applications?”

I’ve filled out about a dozen online, but I’m waiting for my face to heal up before I click submit. I’m not about to bring that up though. Lou lost it when I showed up in the middle with of the night with my face busted and everything I own in my car. He wanted to go kick someone’s ass, and he wouldn’t let it go until I threatened to drive back to Pyle.

“I’m polishing up my resume.”

“Steel Bones owns this county. Did you know that?”

“Maybe I should see if they’ve got openings.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not like when we were kids, and they were some redneck motorcycle gang. They’re big time now. They’ve got the construction business, the Autowerks, the strip club. They’ve bought up a lot of the waterfront downtown. Made some development deals.”

“And?”

“And if the club’s VP wants you gone, no one’s gonna hire you.”

“Forty’s the VP?”

“Yeah. He’s Heavy’s right hand.”

I shrug. “Forty doesn’t want me gone.”

“Sure sounded like he did.”

Yeah, it did. A twinge twists my heart and makes my belly ache.

When I first fled town, I was so furious and lost and terrified that—to be honest—I hoped he was hurting half as bad as I was. And then he never reached out, and life kept moving. By the time I grew up enough to realize I’d acted like an immature asshole, it’d been water under the bridge for years.

I’m a slow learner, but I’m like that dopey blue fish in the movie. Just keep swimming. Keep ‘er moving.

Tonight, when Forty came so close, the porchlight shining on his face, his entire body stiff and indestructible and hostile, I was scared for a second. Then I saw his eyes.

He’s got secret-decoder brown eyes. Always has. Everything shows if you know the code. Lust. Anger. Hurt. I have no idea if I put the bad shit there. Probably not. He’s been places since high school. He got injured overseas, so badly he got a medical discharge. How much damage could I have done him at seventeen years old?

Still, seeing that hurt made me feel like garbage. I feel that way a lot, and usually, I indulge it a second, and I shake it off.

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