Page 164 of Five Brothers
Macon walks over, peels him up off the ground, and I know he’s about to hit him. Or threaten him.
But that’s not what happens.
He hugs him.
I see him whisper something in the man’s ear as the guy cries and his wife climbs to her feet. Then he wraps his arms around Macon again, sobbing.
“Don’t ever do that again,” Aracely suddenly says at my side.
But I don’t care. “He’s a hypocrite,” I bite out. “He drinks.”
“Yeah.” She turns to face me. “Because he cares more about their lives than he ever did his own.”
19
Krisjen
If Macon’s way of doing things for that guy works, then everyone will believe it’s right.
Knowledge, skill, talent, hard work—they help, but how much of the outcome just ends up being the luck of the draw? A fifty-fifty shot? That man could sober up, find inner peace, grow stronger …
He could also hurt himself. Macon is constantly playing the odds. Do any of the people here know how brittle that game is?
No.
They trust him.
They put all their security into one man because he’s the reason they eat when they lose their jobs and stay in their houses when medical care takes all their paycheck.
I crane my neck under the shower spray, my hair pinned on top of my head as I let the hot water spill down my back and legs. What do I know about anything, right? I didn’t grow up here, with these challenges. There’s a reason he doesn’t look at me or talk to me.
The shower curtain slides open, and I pop my head up, seeing Trace step into the shower with me, naked.
I go wide-eyed. “Get out!”
He pulls the curtain closed again, holding his arms out around me to feel the water.
“Trace,” I grit through my teeth. “Get out!”
“I got a date,” he grumbles.
“Right now!”
He pushes me aside and leans back under the water, wetting his hair. “I won’t be long.”
I cock an eyebrow, moving as far away from him as I can. My eyes fall to his flaccid dick. “You never are.”
“Ouch.”
His nonchalance as he closes his eyes and smooths back his hair under the water makes me feel … I don’t know.
Like we’re four, best friends, and our moms are bathing us together.
He starts shampooing his hair, and I grab my loofah, lathering it with soap. I hurriedly wash my arms, the back of my neck, my stomach, and my breasts, and I look up to see him watching that part. He grins, and I drop my eyes again to see he’s hardening.
I turn away.
“You can look,” he teases. “I know I’m bigger than Army. Iron, too.”