Page 115 of Five Brothers

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Page 115 of Five Brothers

I shudder inside. I don’t want to leave. Did he get sick? Maybe he leaned on the sink too hard? Or fell into it?

Or … he got angry and ripped it off the wall.

I hold his eyes while his soften on me. “You look pretty,” he whispers.

And I study the drop streaming down his wet face, telling myself it’s just water from the broken pipe. I want to touch him. I want to help.

I hold back.

Rising, I walk away and start to close the door. “I’ll take care of Dex,” I tell him. “I’m right downstairs.”

And I twist the lock on the inside of the door, leaving him alone.

I set the glass on the breakfast table the next morning, listening for Macon’s footsteps on the floor above me. He’s usually up by now.

I cleaned up the water in the hallway, fixed the breaker, and got Dex a snack and a drink, and put him back to sleep before the boys even got done with my car last night.

Then, I slipped into Liv’s room before they came upstairs.

Once Trace and Army were in bed, though, I still couldn’t sleep. I left the room three times over the course of the night to gently try the bathroom door, still finding it locked every time. I almost woke up Army, because I started to get scared. Something was definitely wrong, and maybe leaving Macon alone wasn’t the best idea.

But the fourth time, about three thirty in the morning, the door was finally open and the bathroom empty. The water on the floor had been cleaned up.

I stare at the icy, yellow drink I just placed on the table, but then I grab it again and pour the smoothie into a black mug. I set it at Macon’s seat.

I’m still in my dress, I haven’t slept, and I probably wasted my time, making him something for breakfast, but it’s only 6:00 a.m. and Mars is still asleep. I already called, and he told me to leave him alone.

Sounds like he had fun with his new friend in the Bay, at least. He didn’t want to rush home. Not sure why that makes me happy.

Army and Trace drift into the kitchen, Aracely busy cleaning up the mess the boys made when they got back last night.

“What the hell happened to the sink?” Dallas shouts, heading to the moka pot.

No one answers him, and I busy myself, wetting a dish towel before I sit down at the table to clean the mud still on my feet.

A long pair of legs walks past, and I instantly recognize Macon’s work boots.

“It’s on the goddamn floor,” Dallas keeps going. “One of you fucking her on it or something?”

I flit my gaze up, seeing Dallas throw me a look. Macon pours coffee, Trace pours cereal, and Army busies himself making Dex’s breakfast.

“Dallas, knock it off,” Army tells him.

But I go back to cleaning my legs. “We were on your bed, actually.”

“Good, you can wash my sheets.”

“You’re just a fuckboy, Dallas. I’m not auditioning to be your wife.”

Trace pours milk and grabs a spoon; Macon sits.

Dallas scoops some sugar into his mug. “Oh, I wouldn’t marry a slut.”

“You couldn’t keep a Saint anyway,” I mumble. “We’re hard to impress.”

“That hasn’t been my experience.”

I look at him, smiling as I rest my chin on my hand. “Oh, tell me about it.”




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