9. Barrett
9
BARRETT
It had been a long night, or day, if I wanted to consider the double shift I’d worked. One blended into the other, and before I knew it, I quietly entered the apartment so I wouldn’t wake my brother. I crawled into bed and let out a long sigh. I was finally home.
A low groan came from Marshall’s bedroom. I waited, not sure if he was dreaming or in pain. Marshall still got migraines, even though he was on medicine. Not everything helped though. Some didn’t work at all. Plus, his insurance wasn’t the best. It was what we could afford since it was out of pocket.
With Marshall only working part time, I paid for him to have insurance. It was steep, but nothing I couldn’t handle. The better the insurance, the more it cost though. And with the money I kept in the bank as a cushion and me doing less work for Jordan, thanks to the new case I was on, I had to be careful with money. I was always planning for a what-if future. What if I wasn't here? What if Marshall had to pay all the bills? How many years could he do what he loved on what I’d saved without having to find a full-time job he’d hate?
Another groan had me pushing the blankets aside and climbing from bed. I went to Marshall’s room, slowly opening the door.
“Mars?” I whispered.
“My head.”
“Did you take anything yet?”
“No, don’t want to move.”
“Okay, let me get it.”
Sometimes, he took his migraine abortive, and it worked right away. In others, the migraines were so bad they didn’t seem to touch it. I always checked with him before handing him the little dissolvable tablet, so I knew how much, if any, he’d already taken.
I found the blister pack in the bathroom and tore off a tablet. The good thing was he didn’t need water to take it. The bad part was sometimes he felt sick to his stomach from the migraine and the taste of the pill didn’t help.
Back in his bedroom, I handed him the tablet and watched as he put it in his mouth. There was enough light coming from the window, where the blinds didn’t cover it, that it wasn’t pitch-black in the room. The last thing I would do would be to turn the light on.
“Thanks,” he muttered and turned onto his side.
I pushed the small garbage can over, just in case he felt sick. He didn’t usually throw up, but I always had to be prepared.
Instead of sitting beside him, I chose the floor. Movement on the bed could make him feel worse. He said it sometimes compared to the rocking of a boat.
“Where’s the pain?”
“Left eye.”
I tried to recall the weather and remembered there was a system coming through. It wasn’t cold enough to snow so it would just be a heavy dose of rain. That meant the barometer was down and most likely causing his migraine.
“Do you want an ice pack?” I asked.
“No.”
There was another medication he could try—another abortive. The cost was over two thousand a month out of pocket since Marshall’s insurance refused to cover it. There were also injections he could take, but that was another medication they declined to cover that was expensive. They stated he had to try a list of other medications first. He’d been through a few, but not all. My brother needed medication to feel better and had insurance, yet they didn’t want to cover what the doctor prescribed. They wanted him to try cheaper alternatives before paying for the expensive drugs, the ones specifically made for migraines that could help him.
If I brought up paying out of pocket for the medications, Marshall immediately shut me down. He didn't want to spend money on it and preferred to take what the insurance covered.
He’d been doing good too. The past week or so he only had one mild migraine. The weather shifting wasn’t his friend.
I wished I could do more for him, that I could take the pain away. Not only did it make him unable to do much, but it affected other aspects too. If this migraine was as bad as I thought it was, he was going to feel hungover tomorrow. Not in the same way being drunk affects people, at least that was what I’d gathered when he tried to explain it to me. It was more of a mental fog, where he couldn’t focus or do what he wanted quickly enough. Like his brain wasn’t back to fully functioning yet. The pain would be gone, but the side effects from the migraine would linger.
Since I couldn’t do anything, I stayed on the floor and was ready to jump in at a moment’s notice. I also watched the clock. At the two-hour mark, I could give him another dissolvable tablet to help with the pain.
When I heard his soft snores, I quietly stood to retrieve my phone from my bedroom and tiptoed into his room to sit on the floor once more. I really should get a chair for in here.
Opening the bank’s app on my phone, I checked the balance in my savings accounts. One was the money I was able to put aside from work. The other was Jordan’s money. The money that helped me save what I could and save for those what-if scenarios.
Yes, Jordan paid me well, but it wasn’t steady. It was sporadic as hell and more when shit went sideways. For instance, when Vail was being held by his crazy-ass ex, and I helped stage the scene of bloodshed and kept the heat off Jordan. I got a nice lump sum for that. Of course, that was when my car decided it had enough of running and needed more repairs than it was worth. So, some of the money went to a car. Not a new one, but a decent one. A car to get me where I needed to go and didn’t have over two hundred thousand miles on it.
Jordan was wealthy. He was a mafia boss with more money than he knew what to do with. I was one of the many cops he leaned on when needed. He wasn’t throwing a hundred thousand dollars at me when I did good work. One, it would look suspicious. And two, I wasn’t about to have an account somewhere else to hide the money. With my luck, it would be found. Plus, the money had to look legit. Not a check cut from Jordan himself. I couldn’t raise any flags. Everything had to be done carefully.
Just thinking about it stressed me out. I wanted to give Marshall everything, but I couldn’t because of who I worked for. By choice, yes, and all for him. If I wasn’t here, Marshall needed to be able to use the money with no one investigating how I had what I did.
By the two-hour mark, Marshall was still sound asleep and settled, which was a good sign that the medication was working. I left his room, partially closing the door so I could still hear him if he needed me.
As I walked past his art room, I stopped to go inside, toeing the door so I could turn the light on. Marshall had completed paintings propped up against one wall. There were supplies scattered about and a canvas still on the easel. I looked at it and stood in awe of his talent.
This right here was why I wouldn’t push him to get a full-time job with benefits. He shouldn’t be wasting away doing work he hated. This was where Marshall thrived.
There was an art expo next weekend in one of the hotels in East Dremest. It was a place for up-and-coming artists to showcase their work and find potential buyers. They each were allowed two pieces. Marshall was still deciding which he wanted to take with him. The best part, and one of the reasons he was excited to go, the owner of the hotel was matching the price paid for every piece of art and donating it to the city. Not only could Marshall find buyers who loved what he’d created, but it was for a good cause. I was going to be the proud big brother, standing by his side, cheering him on and calming his nerves.
He’d done exhibits before but on smaller scales, selling here or there but nothing that would draw the attention of art buyers like this.
East Dremest Luxury Hotel & Spa was one of the newer hotels in the city, and it was beautiful. The owner was part of Jordan’s inner circle, as one of the attorneys who’d be called upon when needed. Usually, I wouldn’t mix anything to do with my brother with a chance Jordan would show up, but this wasn’t high-end art. This wasn’t the fancy shit he had in that home of his he paid millions for. Jordan would have no reason to go to this event.
That thought had me relieved and a bit sad at the same time. I wanted to see Reghan again, even though I shouldn’t. It was clear as day how wrong we were when we were together. I thrived on the arguments and threats. I wanted to revel in the way he could overpower me and bend me to his will. Not on the street, in the bedroom. My thoughts ultimately ended up there when it came to him.
Sighing, I turned from the beauty my brother created, shut off the light, and retreated to my room, where I crawled back into bed. The ceiling became completely fascinating since I couldn't fall asleep. Work would come early tomorrow. My mind didn’t give a fuck.
I shouldn’t want Reghan. I shouldn’t desire him with every fiber of my being. He was right when he said I wore a mask. I did. One that hid my vulnerabilities. One that kept my brother away from the life the mafia led. None of that should touch Marshall ever.
Jordan wasn’t all bad. He’d do whatever he had to for the people he cared about. That said a lot about who he was. At the end of the day, Jordan would always choose who he loved, who was loyal to him, and who he needed.
Me, I was disposable, no matter what I said to Reghan. I could talk a big game. We both knew it was bullshit.
My mask couldn’t fall. Marshall had to stay on the side of my life that was good. He was innocent and kind. Loving and so damn talented. Nothing should dim his light.
Reghan wasn’t Jordan though, was he? Reghan merely worked for him. Guarding a powerful man was a dangerous job. Reghan was skilled. He knew his shit. Not once had he come across as having no compassion for a person who deserved it.
Did he shoot to kill when need be? Absolutely. I couldn’t blame him for it. I did the same, whether for my job or Jordan.
However, Reghan didn’t live in the light. He resided in the dark with Jordan. Reghan might be a good man. In fact, I knew deep down he was. That didn’t change his profession or who he was loyal to.
There was no point in wishing for what I couldn’t have. Reghan wasn’t meant for me. Not in this life, anyway.
My eyes finally slipped closed as sleep crept in. As much as I tried to push Reghan from my mind, knowing nothing promising would come from seeing those dark eyes in my dreams, I found I could only push him so far. I didn’t want to remove him completely, even if I should.