Page 106 of Tourist Trap

He turns to me again, his smile wide, his look fuckingevil.

I can't believe this fucker came from my mother, the kindest person I know, or my father, who was the most hardworking from what everyone who knew him has told me. I can't believe my grandmother saw the good in him until the very end.

Icanbelieve that he was able to play the game long enough to win Claire because she so desperately wants to see the good in people.

"I sold my stake." My gut drops to the floor. "Yeah, a little bird called, told me you were fucking my ex and gave me an offer I couldn't refuse." Even though he doesn't say it, I can guess who he sold it to, and I'm not going to like it.

"How the fuck?—"

"He's got good lawyers, read through our agreement, and there's nothing that says I can't sell my stake, just that I can't sell the housewithout your approval." His smile is villainous as he crosses his arms on his chest. "And now you get to argue with him about whether or not you sell."

My head goes light with the betrayal as his words sink in, as I come to terms with what he's telling me.

"I can't believe you did this, Paul," I say, low. "Mom is never going to forgive you for this, you know that, right? Grandma would be rolling in her fucking grave."

"Yeah, well, what have they ever done for me?" I stare at him in utter shock, not even bothering to give him the long list of things both of them have done, knowing it will fall on deaf ears. "Exactly," he says as if that silence was because I couldn't think of anything instead of it being because I was coming to terms with the fact that I'll never have a good relationship with my brother, that this is the end of any kind of relationship.

I shake my head. "So what, you cashed out and you're heading off into the sunset? Knowing you, you're going to fucking blow it in a month or two."

"What do you care?" he asks, his jaw going tight. He never likes it when someone holds up a mirror to him and reminds him of his shortcomings.

"I guess I don't." I take in a deep breath before I ask my next question. "Who'd you sell to?" I ask finally, though I know the answer.

Of course I know the answer.

With the way I've been poking him all summer, the way Claire embarrassed him at the block party? I should have seen this coming when he asked about my brother. I should have?—

"Baker," he confirms, and I close my eyes, taking in another deep breath as reality crashes over me. Time is up. There's no way he's going to give me time, no way he's going to make this easy on me.

"He said to tell you if you want to talk, he'll be over at Surf tonight. Celebrating."

Even though I shouldn't, even though I should drop it where it is and move on, I don't. For the first time in my life, I snap at my brother.

"You're a piece of work, you know that? You did all of this—sold me out, sold the family out, sold the fuckingtown out—for what? Seventy-five grand? One hundred grand? That's all that was left, four years of payouts. And you know, I probably would have kept sending you money because it's what Grandma would have wanted, at least until you got on your feet and figured out what you wanted to do with life. But you fucked me over instead. You took the easy cash and ran, the way you always have."

His face shifts.

"You always hadeverything, Miles," he says with venom, and something in me snaps, the last thread of hope that my brother would turn around dissolving before my eyes.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I shout. "Are you really so deluded that you believe that? I got a job when I was twelve because Mom needed help. I was the one who gave you a fucking allowance until you left the house because you didn't want to work. You went to college; you got to leave the town you hated so much and go off and pretend to be a rockstar, which, news flash, Paul: you fucking suck."

I have no reason to preserve this relationship anymore. My brother is dead to me, so what's the point?

"And you're so pissed about Claire coming back to town and connecting with me, but you didn't even care about her. You never did. It was always just to get at me because youknewshe meant something to me. You fucking knew, and just like everything else, you wanted to take that from me."

I expect him to argue, to tell me that's not true, to give me some reason for it, but instead, he smiles.

The asshole fucking smiles.

"And what if I did?"

"Then it makes you a bigger fucking asshole than I thought."

"Just remember, Miles, next time she's under you, moaning your name, she moaned mine first." And then he's out the door.

When he leaves the house, in a fit of rage, I slam my fist into the wall, then sink to the ground in misery.

THIRTY-SEVEN

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