Page 16 of Heartfelt Pain
CHAPTER 4
Roma
“Care to explain the sad face, brother?” Elijah asks.
It’s a Saturday night and I’m moping on my brother’s couch. Is it a new low for me? Probably. But I can’t seem to fix my life.
I’ve gone to work. Tinkered around with my Barracuda down in the shop. I even called my mother back, though, the call only lasted a couple of minutes.
Uncle Dima’s words keep playing in my ear. His worry and concern bit into me. He probably thought he was being helpful, but it’s had the opposite effect. I’m even more morose than usual.
Something happens on the TV screen and the crowd at the hockey game goes wild. When I turn I find a pair of gray eyes on me.
“Do you think I’m sad?” I ask my brother.
“Pathetically,” he replies with little empathy.
Though, I know that’s a lie. Most believe my twin or I have more heart than Elijah. But Max is an empty cold vessel unless Russet or Sailor are around. And I’m well. . . me.
Elijah isn’t some tin man. He’s cold and calculating, buthe’s got more heart than any of the Zimin brothers. My earliest memories are in the form of Elijah helping Marnie, our chef, in the kitchen. He demanded we tell him when other kids gave us trouble. Not because he loved retribution like most think. He’s always had a drive in him, this need to protect his younger brothers.
He smiles more now, thanks to Lennie. She officially moved in a couple of months back. Elijah’s space is crowded with romance books and there’s a hot pink fluffy blanket on the back of the couch. Albert, the Bernese mountain dog, isn’t watching hockey with us. He’s in the bedroom, steadfast in his devotion to Lennie.
Elijah has a home. It hits me more and more each time I come over.
“What is it little brother?” Elijah asks.
I shake my head, planning on blowing him off.
But he presses. “I have ways of making you talk.”
“Lennie won’t like blood stains on the rug.”
“There’s an entire empty warehouse below.”
“What are you planning on doing with it?” I ask. He’s renovated the top floor. It’s a mixture of exposed brick, green potted plants, and some sort of sport constantly playing in the background.
“It doesn’t matter.” Elijah crosses a leg over his knee. He’s got on a pair of trousers and a button-down. “Much like your attempt of misdirection. Shall I call Maxim?”
“No.” I sink into the leather couch, ignoring my brother’s gaze. Two hockey players wail at each other.
I fucked Ren’s life up.
Those are the near-constant words berating me each and every day. But Uncle Dima’s visit has dislodged a truth.
The past five years have bled together and I’ve got nothing to show for it.
Ren on the other hand has a successful business. She hasfriends. I know she hangs out with Lennie and Russet at some book club they’ve created.
Every crumb I get, I hear about her hanging out with Ben and Abe. Jane Fujimori treats her like her own daughter.
Frizzy pricks of longing dance in my chest when I think about Ren. I don’t come into contact with her often. But I’ve seen her at Fujimori’s. She wears black pants that fit like a second skin against her tight ass. She stopped wearing sneakers at some point and now only wears stilettos.
At first, I took this as proof that I had ruined her somehow. That I forced the girl into painful heels.
Except the truth is I don’t dictate Ren’s shoes.
She’s moved on. Her suit might be her armor, but it worked. She has a thriving career, much to Dad’s chagrin. Friends. A life in the city.
