Page 5 of Burning for You
I walk the two horses back to the stable, and Jesse follows. I kiss Grudge, whispering, “Good to see you again, buddy.”
As I make way into Grudge’s stall, my big brother hovers his hand over my combed-back fringe, and then he studies my top. “New York has turned you into a spendy pussy. Look at you!”
I might not possess a rancher’s ruggedness like him, but I don’t think I scream New York with how I look—a plain white t-shirt, a hoodie, and a pair of Wranglers.
Jesse then presses my biceps, tutting at the tattoo of the Weeping Virgin Mary. “Full house here.” He examines the rest of my inked arms. “You gonna start carving your back now?”
“Maybe,” I say nonchalantly.
My brother studies me some more, my butt this time. I’m sure I would’ve got an earful if he saw a Levi Strauss label. He’s been calling me Jeans (yet another nickname) since he knew of the denim brand.
“How have you been, Jesse?”
“I still dope.”
“Well, maybe you should stop and start helping Dad.”
“Well, maybe you should start looking for another job.” He looks at my cast-bound arm. “Where’s the money you promised?”
Compassion has never been in my brother’s vocabulary. I broke my wrist in a building site accident, where a temporary wall collapsed on me and my two colleagues. My employer and their filthy lawyers managed to let me go without compensation, claiming negligence on my part.
“I brought money. Don’t you worry about that,” I say, not about to let my brother accuse me of being a pathetic son. At the same time, I’m hoping my remark doesn’t lead to a question of ‘where did it come from?’
But Jesse’s attention switches to an object lying on the floor, not far from the stable door. “Heh! What have we got here?”
My damn wallet.
He looks inside and inevitably comments on the photo of a girl I’ve kept in there. “You should start dating girls your age. You look like her sugar daddy.”
With my tats, I’m surprised he didn’t say I was her pimp.
“Gimme that!” I snatch it away from him.
Most people think I’m in my late twenties, even though I’m actually twenty-three. So the age gap between my girlfriend and me is somewhat amplified. But she’s nineteen. My brother whines about it as if I have a habit of going out with underage girls.
Jesse adds, “God, she reminds me of—”
His voice is almost toneless, but I know he’s looking for confrontation. I’m sure he’s saying my girlfriend reminds him of Lucy, our little sister whom we lost when she was only seven.
I angle my head away from Jesse, giving my attention to the horses instead. The last thing I want is a homecoming brawl with my brother.
Jesse sniggers. “Did you choose that girl to punish yourself? Or to taunt me?”
My love life has got nothing to do with Lucy, but Jesse will extract honey from a snake if it means he gets a fight out of me.
“You always pick the same kinda girls.” He further fans my rising annoyance.
Hearing nothing back, and realizing no retaliation is forthcoming, he leaves.
After settling Grudge and the other horse, whose name I don’t know yet, I go back to the house, only to be greeted by the sight of Jesse sitting on the couch with his legs wide open, showing off the bulge under his tight jeans. He sips his beer and asks, “Why are you here?”
“To see Dad.”
“You just want free meals and time away from your girlfriend.”
I pass him by and head into the kitchen. “I’ll cook,” I tell Dad, taking over the slab of beef he’s just grabbed out of the fridge.
“With one hand?” Dad says.