Page 77 of The Twins

And then I hear it.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” I ask Remo. If I’m not mistaken, I just heard a sob. He hides his face from me behind his trembling hands. He bends over the table, using his arms as pillows for his head. I sit there with a lit cigarette in hand, incapable of thinking ahead.

When we moved to LA, I never thought I’d be left babysitting two grown men heartbroken over a girl.

A girl that I miss as well.

“Why am I suck a fuck-up?” Remo asks. His body shakes in gloom. “I can’t do anything right. He hates me. He can’t stand me.”

“He’s your younger brother, and he loves you,” I remind him.

Remo turns to face me, and I can’t ignore the red of his eyes. “He’s jealous that you allow me to work with you. He hates that he’s stuck at home. He hates me for not stepping in front of the bullet that hurt Grey.”

I put the cigarette out on the make-believe ashtray on the table, a plastic cup filled with water.

“Your brother’s not your responsibility,” I say. I get up, and I pat the guy on the back. “Get up. Let’s go have a beer.”

I miss Leipzig Street, as nasty as it was. Even fuckface Ryan. He betrayed me, but he was a good sport to have a beer with on occasion.

“I don’t drink,” Remo tells me. He sniffles with his head bowed.

“I know. You will tonight.”

* * *

A beer turnedinto two beers. That evolved into three.

I can hold my drinks, but Remo… He behaves as if it’s the first time he’s ever been drunk. I let him play around.

We sit by the bar, the apparent spectacle of the night. I give away broody vibes, itching for a cigarette. I’m a cop in a big city. Smoking inside bars… That’s a big no-no.

I miss San Ricardo and my life there. Fuck, it was easy, and I never appreciated it.

Meanwhile, Remo’s nerdy ways earn him the attention of all the girls in our periphery. He gets an offer every thirty minutes, but he’s faithful to our girl.

The girl we haven’t seen in years.

The girl we collectively have hard-ons for. It’s a love story of lust, and in Grey’s absence, we have realized that we don’t want any other pussy.

Any other woman, period.

As the daddy of the family, I take on the role of the designated driver. Remo chuckles at that, and he drinks double to honor me.

The girls that keep propositioning him don’t help boost his confidence, his mood.

He’s not well, and behind the wall of fight he puts up whenever his brother’s around, there’s a story to be told.

But he never does, and we never ask.

“It’s his birthday,” Remo blurts out. He slurs the words, and I can barely understand what he says. The music’s too loud, and the surrounding chatter distracts me. I have an eye on the door, and the bouncer keeps checking us out every ten minutes.

My mother may be dead, but there are other demons at play in LA.

My task force is on their tail, waiting impatiently to eliminate them.

“It’s his birthday,” Remo repeats. “He loved his birthday, you know?”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, but Remo doesn’t hear me. He picks up the shot glass I never emptied, and he downs it.

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