Page 141 of Five Brothers
“Tizz.” I shake her again.
That’s not her real name, but that’s all anyone has ever called her since we were kids.
“What?” she mumbles, turning over.
“Get out of my bed.” I toss the towel down. “Both of you, get out.”
It’s fucking eleven o’clock.
The brunette on Iron’s bed rises, her eyes still half-closed as she holds the pillow to her naked body and searches around for her clothes. Tizz throws off my covers and swipes her shit off my floor. “Asshole.”
Yeah, yeah. Until next time when you’re drunk and horny.
She dresses and whips open my door so the handle crashes into the wall. Both of them stumble out into the hallway, hair in their eyes and each other’s hickeys on their necks, looking beautiful but not exactly profound yet. That will come in about a half an hour as they cry in their showers and own up to their responsibility and self-loathing over what no one but themselves made them do with me in my room last night.
I’ll be drunk again before my own self-loathing hits. Fuck, I hate sex.
Opening my drawer, I see it’s empty, and dig into one of Iron’s, finding a clean black sleeveless T-shirt with the sides cut out. Slipping it on, I leave the room, but as soon as I step foot into the hallway, I hear the commotion downstairs and catch Krisjen rushing past me with a picnic basket. It takes a second, but I recognize it as ours. I wasn’t aware we still had it. She must’ve found it in the attic.
“What’s going on?”
She turns her head, her face lighting up, but she doesn’t stop. “Can you help?”
“With what?”
I watch her scurry down the stairs, but then Trace coasts past me, holding an old Yeti cooler I didn’t realize we still owned, either. “Forty-First Annual Bug Jam!” he answers for her.
“What?”
“You know what he’s talking about,” Krisjen calls back. “I need you all. It’ll be fun. Come on!”
I follow them down, the heat in my chest expanding, but the rising anger warms my stomach, too. I don’t even want to stop myself. “I don’t give a shit about St. Carmen’s reindeer games,” I growl, rounding the wrought iron banister.
Army stuffs a backpack with Dex’s shit, tossing in some sunscreen and diapers. His son sits on the couch, digging his hand in a cup and then stuffing little crackers into his mouth.
“Why is she in our house?” I snap.
No one answers me. Trace sifts through keys, deciding which truck to take. His baseball cap sits backward on his head, his greasy hair slicked back underneath.
Krisjen folds a picnic blanket.
Army turns, arching an eyebrow at me. “Just give us a break, will you? For once? It sounds fun. A nice break from the same shit we do every day.”
“Like Krisjen Conroy?” I throw back, turning my eyes on the girl who thinks she lives here. “You fuckin’ me next, honey?”
“If you want,” she chirps, unfazed. “I’d be excited to see if I have to fake my orgasm. Or if you can tell.”
Trace loses it, a chuckle erupting from deep in his stomach. He doesn’t dare look at me.
“There are children here,” Army tells us, but I head over to the kitchen and squat down, opening a low cabinet. I can’t be sober for this.
But when I look, the cabinet is empty. All the bottles are gone.
I pop up, looking over the counter at them. “Where’s the liquor?”
“I dumped it,” Krisjen replies.
I whip my arm, slamming the cabinets closed and zoning in on Army. “Her or me?” I grit out through my teeth as I walk back intothe living room. “I’m not living in this bullshit anymore.” I turn to her. “Who the hell do you think you are?”