Page 43 of The Older Brother
“Sure is. Seems like he’s working through something. He’s been going for an hour and a half straight. You thinking of giving him a little competition?”
I glance down at my legs and bunch my mouth. I am wearing joggers and decent enough sneakers.
“Maybe,” I consider.
“Well, go on in,” she says.
My pulse kicks with the excitement of competition. I don’t miss the organized game of basketball. I was never going to play professionally. Sure, I might have been a decent college player, better than Caleb for sure. But it was never about the carefully structured plays, the defensive strategy, the passing and setting of picks. I was a selfish player because I loved the one-on-one. I liked the duel. So many things in my life were about accommodating others. It’s in my nature. But on the court? I liked to be king. And there’s only room for one of those.
I push through the double doors and am greeted with a howlfrom a player being knocked to the floor. The guy plays up the flop, immediately getting to his feet and rushing at my brother, who merely stands in place while slowly dribbling the ball at his side.
“Fuck you, you know that was a foul!” The guy pushes his chest into Caleb’s, and I lean against the wall to watch from a distance. I’m curious how my brother handles confrontation with others. I know how he deals with me. He puts up a good front, but underneath, I know I’m the one walking away on top. Caleb fears me as much as he wants my respect. That’s where his insecurities are rooted, and I’m just enough of a dick to exploit them.
“Yeah? You think that was a foul? How about this?” Caleb shoves the ball into the man’s chest. His opponent is maybe a decade older, but he’s in good shape, his leg covered in tattoos that appear to honor military service. My brother is bold to think he can handle this guy. He might be taller than him, but I have a feeling this dude’s seen some shit. Caleb hasn’t even seen the bottom of a clothes hamper.
“Watch yourself,” the guy barks, dribbling a little too hard as he marches to the line.
I know before he even releases the ball that the guy’s going to toss up a brick. The ball ricochets hard off the rim, but rather than feeling embarrassed by his bad shot, dude rushes in for the rebound, body-checking my brother to the ground on his way to a lay-up.
“What the fuck, man!Thatwas a foul!” Caleb hops to his feet and immediately shoves the guy in the chest.
I push away from my quiet spot against the wall and saunter onto the court, reaching the duo, now surrounded by their teammates, just as both men have their sweat-soaked T-shirts wadded in fists.
“You two about to kiss?” I tease.
I get instant scowls from them both in return.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Caleb grunts, letting go of the guy’s shirt and pushing him away with a flat palm to the ribs.
I step in between them before the guy has a chance to retaliate, and I do my best to meet the stranger’s stare with my own.
“He’s my brother. But don’t think I’m sticking up for him. He’s a fucking dick. I’d just like to be the one to deal with him.” I shrug a shoulder and squint my right eye as the guy glances over my shoulder but backs away.
“Yeah, alright. I’m done here anyway. I better not see you starting shit again,” he says, pointing at my brother.
Caleb opens his mouth because he can’t help it, but I manage to turn to face my brother before he can form an actual word. I slap my hand over his mouth.
“Shhh,” I hiss.
He backs away with a jerk, his face red with rage and his eyes fixed on me now. Good. That’s where his focus should be, because I have shit to say.
“I brought your graduation gift from mom. You know, the one you should have gone to get yourself?” I pull the box from my pocket and flatten it against his chest. He scrambles his hands up to take it before I walk away and let it drop to the floor.
“I would have gotten around to it,” he huffs, turning his back to me as he walks to the bench where his workout bag is sitting. He tosses the box in without even opening it.
“She put a lot of thought into that. You’re not even going to look?” I should have let that guy throw a punch before I broke them up.
“I’m sure it’s nice. I’ll look later.” His head tilts back as he guzzles water from a bottle. He snaps the cap back in place, then turns to me after tossing the bottle in his bag along with our mother’s gift.
I shake my head at him.
“Sorry, fine. I’ll look,” he whines, reaching into his bag. He pops the box open for two seconds.
“Cufflinks. Nice. Tell her thanks,” he says, dropping the box back on top of his change of clothes.
“Tell her yourself, asshole.” I start to walk away, knowing that if I stick around much longer, I’m not going to be able to restrain myself.
When the ball hits me in the back of the head, though, I turn around and stare him with dead eyes. Seems Caleb wants to be challenged. He must be craving the same kind of pain I am. He wants a fight.
