Page 52 of Due South

“It’s called Uber, you square.”

Of course.

“What’s going on? Is everything okay? Mom and Dad?”

“Yeah, yeah, they’re fine.”

Darren shoves his hands in his pocket and looks around my office—the piles of papers on my desk, my desktop in the corner, and my shelves of regulatory manuals and reference books. It’s not glamorous, but he looks reasonably impressed.

“Not a bad setup you’ve got here, bro.”

“Uh, thanks. Do you need something? Money?”

Darren shakes his head. Under the fluorescents, reddish highlights show through the otherwise inoffensive brown of his scruffy hair and three-day-growth of beard. “Why do you assume I need money?”

Because you don’t work, you haven’t signed up for the money you’re eligible to collect, and you rarely talk to me otherwise?But all I say is, “Never mind. What are you doing here? And who let you in?”

Since it’s just me and Lucy in the office and we’re so absorbed in our tasks, we usually lock the door. Anyone could walk in and rob us blind.

“I came to see my big brother. Do I need another reason?” Darren staggers in and dumps himself in the chair in front of my desk. His mobility is better than it was right after the accident, but it’s not great. I wonder how much better it could be if he took advantage of all the resources on offer.

“You don’t need one, but you must have one. You never visit me at work.”

“Well, let me tell you, I will be visiting more often. You asked who let me in? It was that foxy redheaded receptionist you’ve got out front.”

Lucy.

“What did you say to her?” My demand makes his eyes bug.

“Nothing,” he says, holding up his hands in a warding gesture. “Was just my charming self. She knew who I was. Said I look kinda like you.”

I suppose we do look somewhat alike if you’re looking for it, though if you’re not, it wouldn’t surprise me if no one realized we were siblings. Darren’s always had a more athletic build, whereas I’ve tended to lean, and he’s got stronger, blockier features where mine are more delicate, friendly.

“You better have been polite and appropriate. That’s my boss’s assistant, and if you messed with her, India will claw your eyes out, rip your balls off, and shove the whole mess down your throat.”

“Whoa, there, Super Chuck. Sounds more like you’d be the one tearing me up. What’s this girl to you? You got a crush on her or something? Don’t blame you, those tits—”

“Darren, knock it off. Don’t talk about Lucy that way. Also, I hate it when you call me Super Chuck. So stop.”

“All right, all right.”

I drop my head into my hands, a frustrated sigh blowing through my lips. “I don’t have time for this right now. We’re busting our asses on this project and don’t have a second to spare to get it in on time, so tell me what you’re doing here or get out of my office.”

“Well…” Darren wipes his hands on the jeans he’s got on, wincing when he gets to the part of his thigh that gives him trouble. I remind myself that chronic pain is a bitch to deal with and I should be more sensitive. Darren’s been a pretty crap brother, but he’s still a person. So I take a deep breath and try not to hurry him.

When he looks up at me again, his brows hover low over his eyes. It’s the same look he used to get during football practice or a video game when he was concentrating and about to do something difficult. This is his psych-up face.

“I came to say thank you.”

That is not what I was expecting at all.

“Thank you?”

“Yeah.” He takes a swallow and fiddles with a thread at his knee. “Mom was hella pissed after you called. She’s probably still carrying on about what kind of terrible mother she must have been to deserve such an ungrateful and self-centered son and if only she’d been around more, yadda, yadda, which is part of the reason I left but…”

He shrugs, and his brows crease. He suddenly looks very young, even with his scruff. It’s that look he’d get when he’d done something bad as a kid he actually felt guilty for. “I don’t think I’ve actually ever said thank you to you. I don’t know what the numbers are because of course Mom doesn’t tell me that shit, but I know it’s gotta be a lot. I’ve seen the bills lying around. And I think it’s time…it’s time for me to take more responsibility. I can’t have my big brother looking out for me forever.”

If I weren’t sitting down, a stiff breeze could knock me over. Less than that. Like air being let out of a balloon would drop me.

---