growl. "Ma can marry you off if she's so damn ready for a wedding."
As soon as the words are out, I want to punch myself in the face. Remin gton can be a dick, but he always had the softest heart of anyone I know, and I just squeezed fucking lemon juice all over the one wound that even my happy-go-lucky brother can't scab over.
"I'm sorry, man." He's already standing. "Remington! I'm sorry!"
He's staggering back to the house, and I have a feeling my stupid comment is about to unloose a whole wild chain of craziness.
I j ump up and kick at the sand, but it's not remotely a good enough release for all the pissed-off shit I have bottled up.
"Fuck!" I scream into the night, loud and long as a wolf's howl.
I stalk back to the house and search all his usual sulking haunts, but my brother isn't anywhere I expect him to be. In the main room, people are sardined shoulder to shoulder, gyrating on the dance floor, guzzling liquor, collapsing in humping pairs on couches, poolside chairs, and every other flat surface, but I can't find Remington .
Finally I see Lala's long blonde hair and tanned skin, exposed by a total lack of any but the most necessary clothing. She executes her best dirty dancing moves, but she's not dancing with any professor.
My brother droops at her side like he's about to pass out on top of her. She presses a palm to his chest to keep him upright, then turns her back to him so her ass is crammed against his junk, and a sick disgust rips through me.
She catches my eye , and her smile is all triumph.
She thinks I'm jealous. If she wasn't grinding against my brother, if she didn't know full well what he's been through recently, I might actually feel sad for how pathetic she is. But using Remington to punish me is going to get her hot little ass nothing but trouble, and I need to send a clear message tonight, before she does damage I can't undo.
I stalk over and give her a look that sets her mouth into a pout.
"Get lost before I lose my shit, Lala ," I growl, pushing her off the dance floor and toward the gate out.
I pull Remington back and force him into the house, ignoring his slurs and weak-fisted attempts at punches.
"Fuck off, Winch. Seriously, man, I'm sick of you always playing big daddy. Go act your goddamn age, alright? Go chase some tail. Go drink til you puke. Go get the fuck off my back."
"What are yo u thinking, asshole?" I shove him against the wall and bang his head back into it a little. " Lala ? You know she's trouble, so what are you doing?"
"You don't want her," he snarls, bucking against me.
A year ago, I wouldn't have had a chance in hell of holding my brother back. He could have thrown me across the room with one arm. But a lot's happened in a few months, and it rips me the fuck up that I can pin him so easily like this.
"You don't fucking want her either, so stay away. That girl's got schemes, and we don't need to get tangled in them right now."
I shove him back one more time, hard. His head droops forward and his shoulders shake up and down unevenly. He's crying, and panic crushes me like an elevator car with a snapped cable.
"Stop. It's okay, Rem. It's okay. You just need to sleep it off. You need to sober up."
I lead him to the hall of family bedrooms, the ones I keep locked when Remington throws these big, stupid house parties. I yank the key out of my pocket and get his door open. The cleaning ladies get a bonus every month to make up for having to take care of my brother's disgusting room, so it looks alright tonight. But no amount of bleach and scrubbing can take away the dejected, wasted feel that seems to fill every space he's in.
I walk him to the bed, his arm around my shoulders, and let him drop. He moans and his head rolls back and forth. I pull him to the edge of the mattress, tip him on his side, and set up the little garbage can next to the bed.
"Puke now if you need to," I tell him, my voice low. "No shame in it, man, and that way you don't choke."
My
As soon as the words are out, I want to punch myself in the face. Remin gton can be a dick, but he always had the softest heart of anyone I know, and I just squeezed fucking lemon juice all over the one wound that even my happy-go-lucky brother can't scab over.
"I'm sorry, man." He's already standing. "Remington! I'm sorry!"
He's staggering back to the house, and I have a feeling my stupid comment is about to unloose a whole wild chain of craziness.
I j ump up and kick at the sand, but it's not remotely a good enough release for all the pissed-off shit I have bottled up.
"Fuck!" I scream into the night, loud and long as a wolf's howl.
I stalk back to the house and search all his usual sulking haunts, but my brother isn't anywhere I expect him to be. In the main room, people are sardined shoulder to shoulder, gyrating on the dance floor, guzzling liquor, collapsing in humping pairs on couches, poolside chairs, and every other flat surface, but I can't find Remington .
Finally I see Lala's long blonde hair and tanned skin, exposed by a total lack of any but the most necessary clothing. She executes her best dirty dancing moves, but she's not dancing with any professor.
My brother droops at her side like he's about to pass out on top of her. She presses a palm to his chest to keep him upright, then turns her back to him so her ass is crammed against his junk, and a sick disgust rips through me.
She catches my eye , and her smile is all triumph.
She thinks I'm jealous. If she wasn't grinding against my brother, if she didn't know full well what he's been through recently, I might actually feel sad for how pathetic she is. But using Remington to punish me is going to get her hot little ass nothing but trouble, and I need to send a clear message tonight, before she does damage I can't undo.
I stalk over and give her a look that sets her mouth into a pout.
"Get lost before I lose my shit, Lala ," I growl, pushing her off the dance floor and toward the gate out.
I pull Remington back and force him into the house, ignoring his slurs and weak-fisted attempts at punches.
"Fuck off, Winch. Seriously, man, I'm sick of you always playing big daddy. Go act your goddamn age, alright? Go chase some tail. Go drink til you puke. Go get the fuck off my back."
"What are yo u thinking, asshole?" I shove him against the wall and bang his head back into it a little. " Lala ? You know she's trouble, so what are you doing?"
"You don't want her," he snarls, bucking against me.
A year ago, I wouldn't have had a chance in hell of holding my brother back. He could have thrown me across the room with one arm. But a lot's happened in a few months, and it rips me the fuck up that I can pin him so easily like this.
"You don't fucking want her either, so stay away. That girl's got schemes, and we don't need to get tangled in them right now."
I shove him back one more time, hard. His head droops forward and his shoulders shake up and down unevenly. He's crying, and panic crushes me like an elevator car with a snapped cable.
"Stop. It's okay, Rem. It's okay. You just need to sleep it off. You need to sober up."
I lead him to the hall of family bedrooms, the ones I keep locked when Remington throws these big, stupid house parties. I yank the key out of my pocket and get his door open. The cleaning ladies get a bonus every month to make up for having to take care of my brother's disgusting room, so it looks alright tonight. But no amount of bleach and scrubbing can take away the dejected, wasted feel that seems to fill every space he's in.
I walk him to the bed, his arm around my shoulders, and let him drop. He moans and his head rolls back and forth. I pull him to the edge of the mattress, tip him on his side, and set up the little garbage can next to the bed.
"Puke now if you need to," I tell him, my voice low. "No shame in it, man, and that way you don't choke."
My
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