Page 37 of Tears and Other Fears

Mama didn’t have a will. Those things were meant for people that actually had shit to pass down or plans for their legacy once they were gone. Instead, she left me her beat-up Toyota, a phone number, and a name: Lance.

“Who’s your brother?” the Doorman asked as I tore my eyes from the building to stare back at him. He was clutching a water bottle, squeezing the plastic in his fist.

Well, wasn’t that a good question? Who was my brother? “Lance Trask,” I replied with a frown.

The man’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Mr. Trask is your brother?”

“That’s what I’m told. I don’t really know him though.” Why I was admitting this to a complete stranger was beside me. I watched the doorman grow uncomfortable at my honesty.

Lately, I tended to have that effect on people. Like when our landlord reclaimed Mama’s trailer. I’d told him that he was a piece of shit for not giving me a week to bury my mother. People took one look at my face and assumed that a pretty girl like myself should smile and be complacent, like somehow bright green eyes and blonde hair suddenly made me incapable of rage.

Deciding I couldn’t wait much longer, I walked up to the door, nodding when he opened it. “Good luck,” he said, like he didn’t know what else to say.

Luck was a cruel, petty bitch that didn’t visit me often. Karma, though? She and I were best friends. She spoke with my depression and knew all my dirty little secrets; she knew I bred skepticism in my mind and taunted me with the idea that I didn’t deserve happiness.

The inside of the building was beautiful. In one of our brief phone calls, Lance explained that he was an architect and designed the place. I wondered what about this place made him decide to set up roots here.

The traditional arches were broad and gave unobstructed views of the hallway leading to the apartments. It felt open but mysterious as well. It seemed like there were secrets hidden around every corner. The warm tones of the design looked welcoming and masculine. It had a contemporary edge but a timeless quality about it that I could appreciate.

I took the stairs instead of the elevator to prolong the inevitable. With my backpack weighing me down, I trudged the three flights with unease.

I could do this, right? I could face him. Introduce myself. I didn’t have any grand ideas about living with Lance. Even though he’d offered, I made a backup plan to camp out in my car until I could find a job and get a hotel room. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d slept in Mama’s old Corolla. I guess I just wanted to know him. I wanted to figure out who the fuck he was and maybe even find pieces of the person my mama pretended to be in him.

Something she told me stuck like a pin needle in my chest. Not big enough of a cut to do any lasting damage, but small enough to feel annoying, something that pricked at me every damn time I took a breath. I still remembered her last day, asking why she gave him up, why she didn’t keep him.

“I loved him too much. I wanted to give him the kind of life he deserved,” she answered with simplicity, like it was this grand sacrifice.

So why the fuck did she keep me?

This was all so ridiculous. One death. One phone call. One offer to move here and start over. I didn’t know Lance, but he was like every other man that swooped in and tried to save my mother and me. He made grand gestures, offered to let me live with him until I got on my feet. Even helped pay for the funeral bills when I realized how fucking expensive caskets were.

I’d never even seen his face aside from the photo he sent me of him in Cozumel. I spent many nights staring at that photo of him. I guess I was trying to find hints that we were cut from the same cloth. He had blond hair and bright blue eyes. His skin was tanned, and the boyish, carefree grin on his face hinted at the burdenless life he’d had.

Oh, but Lance knew all about me. He spoke with my social worker, called my school, and paid for repairs on my car so I could drive out to Memphis. Lance did his homework the moment he found out he had a sister and decided right then and there he wanted to save me.

With my eighteenth birthday just last week, the state kept an eye on me, then eagerly signed me off as a legal adult. I was one less temporary problem to solve, one less kid on the streets. He said he would have come to pick me up himself but a busy project at work was keeping him here.

I walked down the long hallway, dread filling me with every step. Reading the numbers as I passed each door, I noted a man leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, glaring at my back as I passed.

He was hot, despite the furious expression on his face. He had a mess of black waves touching the tips of his ears. His eyes were dark and demanding, framed by long lashes and thick eyebrows that were perfectly shaped but also masculine. His nose was rounded at the tip, and a demanding frown kissed his lips, which were plump and addictive.

I couldn’t help but feel like he was watching me. He looked poised and ready for action, and the swirling intuition in my gut made me question if he was waiting for me. I knew he wasn’t Lance. My brother had blond hair and blue eyes according to the photo he’d sent me. This man was dark and dangerous. A shiver traveled up my spine, telling me to run.

Once I made it to the right door, I lifted my hand to knock and hovered it over the wood. I debated on scrapping this entire trip and running back with my tail between my legs to Texas. What’s the worst Lance would do? Come and get me?

“Who are you?” the strange man with a deep voice asked behind me. I turned to stare at him as he smoothed his jacket with his right hand. He was wearing a navy suit that was fashionable and cut to mold his tapered silhouette.

“I’m Blakely. My brother lives here. The doorman let me in,” I hesitated, not sure who this hot, pissed-off dude was and why he was talking to me. He pushed himself off the wall and stalked toward me. It made my pulse rush. Sweeping his eyes up and down my body, his gaze lingered on the spot where my white summer dress hit mid-thigh.

I felt silly, then, for dressing up to meet my brother for the first time. For some reason, I had wanted to make a good first impression. This was, after all, a fresh start for me. No one knew me as the daughter of a poor, single mom. I figured I could be anything I wanted to be, and I wanted to be happy.

“So you’re the girl that’s moving in to mooch off Lance?” he sneered. It felt like someone had stepped on my heart with stilettos.

My mother was a mooch. She always latched onto people and held on for dear life. She would bleed them dry if given half the chance. It was why I was so prideful, why I took care of myself and struggled so much with coming here. Lance didn’t seem bothered, so who the fuck was this guy, and why was he saying this?

“I’m here to meet him, yes,” I choked out, feeling unsure how to proceed. It was bad enough that I had to meet my brother for the first time, I didn’t need this. “Who are you?”

How did he know Lance? Was this his boyfriend? His boss? The landlord? Feeling like I needed to salvage this unexpected greeting, I forced a smile on my face. He reached out his hand to shake mine almost reluctantly. I took it as he introduced himself in a deep tone that I could practically feel in my bones. “I’m Decker Harris, Lance’s best friend and temporary roommate.”

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