“Fuck you,” he says, his hand moving in slow motion as he attempts to make contact with the bottle. Finally, gripping it with a shaky hand, he takes a long guzzle, swipes his mouth, and sets the water down. I need to get his ass to bed before Jax gets home. My older brothers, they fight; that’s their relationship now, and I try to be the buffer.
Since my parents’ death, Jax, who’s a few years older than Slate and me, became the sort of father figure in our lives. I don’t think he ever had a choice. I still remember the day my parents were killed and how the cops tried to get me talk. I wouldn’t say a word and rocked on my bed until Jax and Slate walked into my room. I looked at Jax, the spittin’ image of my dad, ran over, and jumped into his arms. He held me, protected me, and I’ve looked up to him ever since. Slate did too until the fire, until he turned to drugs to help make his demons go away. Jax and I have tried to help him, but he doesn’t want our help. He’s not ready. I’m just hoping someday, before he kills himself, he will.
I glance at the microwave. Jax should be walking through the door any minute. I turn back to Slate. He has the customary hoodie pulled up over his head, hiding his scars. He downs the last of his water.
“Ya going to bed?” I tilt my head toward his room. “Or ya up for a game of Grand Theft Auto?”
He stands up and shoves his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. “Bed,” he says and sways to the left. I grab him before he tumbles to the floor. I slip his arm over my shoulder and steer him to his bedroom. Head bobbing, Slate doesn’t utter a word as I get him safely to his bed. Face first, he falls onto the mattress. I wait a second or two then I head back into the kitchen.
I pick up the empty bottles and toss them into the recyclable bin. Jax comes through the front door; cheek bruised and lip cut. He doesn’t usually get in the ring, he manages the financial aspect of the business, but Slate was in no shape to fight earlier. With me already scheduled for a match, Jax had to step in for our fucked-up bro, and he wasn’t too happy about it.
“Hey, old geezer. Heard you kicked some ass tonight. That dude from Pasadena didn’t have a chance.”
“Oh,” Jax drops the moneybag from the night on the counter, “he had a chance. He was a tough fucker.”
“Yeah,” I chuckle, “but so are you.” Jax is the biggest, the strongest, and the smartest of the three of us. He’s composed, doesn’t break easily, and I never know what he’s really thinking. He’s a private guy.
“Slate?” He arches a brow.
“In bed,” I say, resting back against the stove.
“He-”
I nod. “He’s okay.”
He takes a deep breath, scratches his head, and looks around the kitchen. “You alone?”
“Yeah.”
“Thought you’d have that cute redhead here. What?” He rests his palms on the counter. “She wouldn’t agree to your rules?” A quick grin cracks his lip open; blood trickles out, and he brushes a knuckle across it.
“Thought you’d bring Emmie Rue home with you tonight,” I say in an attempt to deviate the conversation away from the cute redhead.
“Lurlene.” Jax smiles again, tapping his bottom lip. “That’s her name, in case you didn’t get that far, loverboy. She’s a friend of Emmie and Rayna’s. She’ll be here for the summer. She’s an English teacher. Seems like a nice girl, a good girl, ya know. The kind of girl you steer clear of.”
“Yeah, not interested,” I lie. Lurlene? Don’t think I’ve ever fucked a Lurlene. She’s certainly different from all the others. Jax is right. For their safety, I stay away from girls like her.
“More like chicken-shit.” Jax chuckles.
“Says the man who doesn’t date either.” I smirk. “Hey, at least I get laid, buttercup.”
Jax gives me a sly grin. Yeah, I know he’s getting some. I just don’t know when or with whom. Unlike me, he’s discreet about his sex life.
CHAPTER SIX
Day four at the Bayou and I’m the sober one driving the golf cart back from the Declan brothers’ apartment. After a few drinks, Rayna persuaded Emmie into going to see Jax. I don’t think it turned out the way that either of them thought it might.
I open the door to Rayna’s place, drop the keys on the coffee table, and fall onto the couch. Rayna and Emmie follow suit, both with bitter expressions, plopping down next to me.
“I don’t get it.” I look at them, my hands out in the air. “What is so damn special about these Declan brothers?”