Page 133 of The Oath We Give

I just never expected it to be Alistair Caldwell to give us that test. I'd always thought it would be me.

"What the hell are you talking about--"

"Wayne Caldwell is my father, Van Doren. Learn to read the fucking room, dumbass." Easton snaps, leaning up from the car like he might try and go for him, but he stumbles too drunk to stand on his own. "A druggie heir. A rotten spare. And a bastard. The completed trio for the king of Ponderosa Springs. How fucking ironic."

Even though I tried not to, I turned my gaze to Alistair for a brief second. Just to see his face, only to find it solid as ever.

"Where is he, Sinclair. I know he didn't call to rehash old memories." He asks, ignoring the revelation of his new brother, ignoring it because he'd already known about it, this wasn't a shock to him like it was the rest of us.

"Don't you mean Caldwell, bro?" Easton spits, painting Alistair’s black shirt with saliva before grinning, proud of himself.

The sound of glass shattering rings out as Alistair grabs the front of Easton's shirt, slamming him into the side of the police car with so much force, it breaks the back window.

"You're still a sick fucking piece of shit Sinclair. You will never be family to me." Alistair seethes, knuckles white as he grips the material of his shirt, "You want a chance to bond with the dad you never knew about? Then I'll ask again, where the fuck is Stephen."

They say blood is thicker than water.

Whoever they were didn't grow up in Ponderosa Springs.

"I don't know where he is right now." He swallows, flicking his eyes to me, the pain in his back dulled by the booze, I'm sure. "But I know where he'll be on the day of your wedding."

The entire space seems to go quiet as the officer returns. Taking Easton away from us and to jail for the night to cool down. Leaving us with more answers than questions and broken faith.

"I-" Alistair starts but Rook interrupts him.

"You want to talk? You can do it at The Graveyard."

* * *

My dark boots meet the weathered and cracked asphalt. Pockmarked with weeds that grow through the splits, pitted with decades of abandonment. Despite how empty it is, the smell of gasoline and blood still hits my nose reminding me of high school.

The Graveyard is barren dead space, that gave birth to anarchy.

An abandon racetrack that the children of Ponderosa Springs turned into a haven for rebellion. Illegal fights, unsanctioned races, and pure adrenaline.

I'd spent most of my weekends here, fought in the very grass circle in the center of the track I stood in right now.

I've grown up watching Rook and Alistair fight. It's not a novelty for a kid who lives for inflicting pain and another who needs the hurt to survive.

But this was the first time where it was meant with malice.

Rook's knuckles are split open as he sends another fist into Alistair's jaw. When he rears back to attack again, I wrap my arms around his middle picking him straight up from the ground.

He fights me like a child, jerking against my hold.

"How long!" He screams towards Alistair, who is sitting on the ground wiping his hand across his bloody mouth, "How fucking long!"

I sling Rook to his feet, putting my hands on his chest to keep him from charging again. His hair sways in front of his face, rage that looks like hurt morphing his face as he points behind my shoulder.

"How fucking long did you know he was your brother!"

Alistair's jaw goes taunt, pushing himself from the ground, glancing at Thatcher who didn't bother offering a hand. We felt divided, and I seemed to be the only one who understood where Alistair was coming from.

Guilt awoke in my stomach. Hot and urgent, churning like fire waiting to consume me.

"How--"

"Two years." Alistair grunts, spitting blood onto the dying grass, "Wayne told me right before I left Ponderosa Springs, I didn't think we'd be fucking back here. It wasn't supposed to be a goddamn problem."

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