Page 53 of The Older Brother
“She might notice when there’s a tuition bill, since that’s your scholarship,” he points out.
I nod because bills are something she notices. My life has been one long string of trying to level up and fit in. We have always lived paycheck to paycheck, so she can drive the best cars and put me in the top private schools. I know David helped pay for a lot of those things, too, so maybe the tuition bill should go to him.
My mom’s SUV screeches to a halt right in front of us, and her eyes narrow on mine as her head tilts with that special touch of judgement only she can express. I think she’s just realizing that my car isn’t here, and that I’m inthisone. With a different Anderson brother. The rebellious one.
“She looks pissed.” Rowan shifts in the driver’s seat, seeming uncomfortable in his own skin. It’s the only time I can recall seeing him this way, and it makes me angry that my mom is doing this with one look.
“She probably is.” I turn to face him and lean over the console, pulling his chin to me until our lips meet. I cling to his lower lip, sucking him in for a few seconds, reveling in the feel of his tongue along my lip. When I pull away, my mom has given up and finished backing out of the driveway. I wait until her taillights disappear around the corner before getting out of Rowan’s car and scurrying inside to finally get some sleep.
I slide across my velvet, yellow comforter, almost missing the envelope waiting for me on the center of the bed. The paper scrapes my knee, though, so I grab it as I roll to my back. I recognize Caleb’s handwriting instantly, the way he scratches the letters of my name, something that I always found to be aggressive. I sigh, but open the envelope to see what’s so important that he took the time to put pen to paper. Other than birthday cards or notes with flowers, Caleb never wrote me letters. That kind of expression wasn’t his thing, so it’s not terribly shocking when the first line of his apology note reads:
I’m sorry about the things I said to you, but . . .
I speed through the rest of his words, his reasoning to justify calling me a prude, which isn’t even an insult to be honest. It’s a laundry list of his motives for cautioning me to stay away fromRowan, and though he never directly comes out to say it, I can tell that he thinks his brother is dangerous. What he doesn’t get, though, is that it’s Rowan’s dangerous side that I like. If I wanted safe and boring, I’d still be pining for him.
Chapter 17
I haven’t seenSaylor’s dad since I helped him pack up his truck for the last time. I always wished I knew him better. He seemed like a good soul. So different from the woman who worked for my dad. How Saylor’s mom and he ever married baffles me. They were exact opposites. I always admired her dad’s character. He held all the cards that day. He could have burned the world down and made a lot of people pay or pay up, at the very least. But he knew what was best for Saylor, and that’s how he drew his lines. He couldn’t take her on the road with him, and as much as he resented her mom, he knew Saylor’s life would be easier here.
Even dirty money is money, and it can buy opportunity.
I don’t know that I could have been such a bigger person. I’m flawed that way. Too bent on revenge. Though I have managed to keep a lot of secrets over the years. I guess the pain of speaking to them out loud could cause innocent people to outweigh the temptation to hurt my enemies. I suppose I have some sort of moral compass.
I think I can keep my poker face in check when we watch her father’s gig. I just hope he can. He’s been the bigger man for awhile now. Eight years is a long time to keep painful things in a box. And sometimes, all it takes is a little reminder to set off chaos.
I have a week to ready myself for that test, though. Right now, I need to get my emotions collected for my first visit to my dad’s office while wired up like a CIA agent. I spent the morning testing sound and capturing clips on the app Steve-Mike had me download to my phone. Everything I record gets sent to him instantly, so this morning his inbox was inundated with my coffee order and a brief conversation with myself about how I need to suck it up and quit being a pussy. I know he listened because the version of him that sold me a car messaged to tell me that he forgot to mention the sound quality of the Vette’s speakers. They’re sensitive, he wrote.
It's a hundred and four degrees outside, which limits what I can wear to cover the straps wrapped around my chest. I’d feel a lot better if I could throw on a hoodie, or at least toss on a flannel over my T-shirt, but that would raise suspicions. And I can’t exactly flip a switch and suddenly show up as the guy who wears a long-sleeve button-down to my dad’s office. Jeans and a black T-shirt will have to do. I’m probably being paranoid, anyhow. It’s not like the wires are bulky or I’m going to run into anyone insisting on a pat down. It’s mostly that I canfeelthem, and that’s a constant reminder that I’m about to sell my dad down the river.
I turn the air on full blast in my car and roll down my window as Jersey waves from across the garage. He’s holding up what looks like Saylor’s part.
“Is that everything?” I holler so he can hear me over my engine’s rumble.
“Almost. I got a good deal on this, but she’s gonna need some wires, too. That engine fried real fast.”
I nod and mentally add up the amount I’m going to need to cover. No way am I letting Saylor pay for any of this, but I’d also prefer to keep what’s going on between the two of us private, at least private from Jersey. Mig knows the bare minimum, and that’s way too fucking much.
“Okay, do what we need to get her running. She can cover it.” AKAIcan cover it.
“Right on, man. I’ll need your help when the wire kit comes in, maybe Tuesday,” Jersey says. I build in an extra day because he’s terrible at scheduling shit. He’ll probably call in sick or something that day.
“I’ll be here all week. Oh, but hey . . . I’ll have to dip from the auction early Saturday. You think you and Mig can handle the afternoon dockets? I’ve got . . .” I struggle with the right lie, but thankfully, Jersey bails me out.
“No problem. Deal with your family shit. I know you’re still digging out of that hole.” He snorts a laugh and nods at me before dropping his headphones back to his ears and returning his focus under Saylor’s hood.
Family shit. Yeah, that basically covers anything going on in my life, except for Saylor. I need to start using that as my blanket statement anytime I don’t want to delve into details.
I’m going to have to pull from my very pathetic savings to cover the wire harness for Saylor’s car. I don’t want to write too many IOUs to the shop. That’s a bad habit that might land me in the exact hot seat my father’s in, though at a much,muchsmaller scale.
I’ve done my homework on my dad’s case, at least the small pieces that Steve-Mike shared with me. It’s the same scam he’s been running for years. The same shit he tried to pin on my mom when he thought the feds were starting to sniff around his brokerage. This time, he’s going to pin it on me or Caleb. Maybe both of us. Of course, good ole dad won’t pull the safety brakeunless he needs to. I suppose that should make me feel better, less expendable.
My temper is making its way to my lead foot, and I’m suddenly barreling down the freeway at ninety while muttering to myself. Thankfully, I notice as I whip past a pair of motorcycles and let up on the pedal before I get myself a felony speeding ticket and a new set of shackles to my dad.
Caleb’s car parked in the visitor spot next to my father’s provides some relief. Hating my brother will make for a good distraction, and I might just be able to use him to get closer to my dad. I park on the second level of the garage and stuff the parking ticket in my back pocket, mentally noting to have Allison validate it before I leave. I’m suddenly bleeding money today, so I’m going to need to save that twenty bucks for better things.
I stop beside a pitch black, massive SUV to scope out my reflection and check my shirt for wrinkles or other signs that I’ve got anything going on underneath other than a white undershirt and a shit ton of audio wires. Satisfied that the only thing left to smooth out is the stress wrinkle on my forehead, I head to the elevator and start my box breathing to keep my pulse down. Slow counts of four times every breath in and out, as well as the holds in between, until I’m in the elevator and on my way to my father’s floor.
The ding when the doors open into my father’s office lobby acts as a hard reset for me, and I’m instantly focused on getting what I need today. The man loves to talk, and he loves the idea of me wanting to finally give in and fit his mold. All I’ll need to do is show a genuine interest in his work, and he’ll spill something. I’m sure of it.
