Chapter 36 – Miles
THIRTY-SIX
MILES
As always seems to happen, once my life settles into something good and easy, it comes crashing down. Two weeks after the block party, Claire is out with Lainey and June having a girls' game night, and I'm relaxing, waiting around for her to make her way home to me when there's a knock at our front door.
Thinking it must be Claire forgetting her keys again, I walk over to the door, a smile on my face as I open it, only to find my brother, who looks a lot more disheveled than the last time I saw him but with a cocky smile on his lips.
My face falls instantly.
"Not happy to see me, big bro?" he asks, snark in his words.
"No, I, uh—" I start because the real answer is no, I'm not happy to see him, but I also know giving him that answer will be a bad idea.
The fact of the matter is that Paul only comes to me when he needs something, and him standing on my doorstep is never a good sign. He left Seaside Point when he was eighteen for college, visiting occasionally, and the longest he spent here since graduating was the summer he met Claire, which I now realize he brought her everywhere he knew I'd be just to rub salt in the gaping wound he'd made.
Still, whatever drama he's brought to my doorstep is not something I want the entire boardwalk to bear witness to, so I step aside and open the door wider. "Come on in."
He gives me a look that seems much too happy and makes my stomach churn.
When he walks into the house we lived in for years after our dad died, before Mom got a place of our own, he looks around, taking in the small changes Claire has made since moving in.
She moved her shell collection down to an end table she bought at a thrift store last week and started hanging pictures and art, some of it from piles of things she found from my grandmother in a guest room that either Paul didn't want or didn't sell. In the corner near the door are a pair of running sneakers and my work boots neatly lined up with at least four of Claire's flip-flops in a messy, colorful pile next to them.
His eyes zero in on that before he looks at me again, the intrigue gone from his face, venom replacing it.
For the first time, I let myself wonder what the fuck happened to him. What made him hate me so deeply? I used to wonder what I did wrong, but I've come to realize I did everything I could to repair this relationship, but a one-sided effort only goes so far.
"So, you're dating my sloppy seconds?" he asks bluntly.
My first instinct is to punch him.
My second is also to punch him.
My third is to tell him to leave.
I don't get to do any of those before he continues running his mouth, my jaw tightening and my hands curling into fists at my sides as I force myself not to use them.
"I should have known, you know. You always wanted her, always were looking for some reason to get close to her, take what was mine."
I take in a deep breath because violence is not the answer .
"Paul, come on?—"
"You can have her." He says it like he's doing me a favor, though neither of us needs his stamp of approval. But then a smile spreads on his lips, and I know this won't be good. "You can have her. I was only with her to fuck with you, after all. Mission accomplished."
My jaw goes tight at the thought of him using Claire that way, at the confirmation of what I knew in the back of my mind. But it's one thing to think it; it's another for your flesh and blood to admit it to your face they wanted to make you miserable.
"You think I didn't see the way you looked at her? The way she looked at you?" He shrugs. "You two can go run off into the fucking sunset for all I care. Too bad you won't have this place to raise your demon spawn in."
My brow furrows, and nausea churns in my gut, knowing how much Paul loves his dramatics and knowing somewhere deep down where this is going.
"What are you saying?"
He turns to me again, his smile wide, his look fucking evil .
I can't believe this fucker came from my mother, the kindest person I know, or my father, who was the most hardworking from what everyone who knew him has told me. I can't believe my grandmother saw the good in him until the very end.
I can believe that he was able to play the game long enough to win Claire because she so desperately wants to see the good in people.
"I sold my stake." My gut drops to the floor. "Yeah, a little bird called, told me you were fucking my ex and gave me an offer I couldn't refuse." Even though he doesn't say it, I can guess who he sold it to, and I'm not going to like it.
"How the fuck?—"
"He's got good lawyers, read through our agreement, and there's nothing that says I can't sell my stake, just that I can't sell the house without your approval." His smile is villainous as he crosses his arms on his chest. "And now you get to argue with him about whether or not you sell."
My head goes light with the betrayal as his words sink in, as I come to terms with what he's telling me.
"I can't believe you did this, Paul," I say, low. "Mom is never going to forgive you for this, you know that, right? Grandma would be rolling in her fucking grave."
"Yeah, well, what have they ever done for me?" I stare at him in utter shock, not even bothering to give him the long list of things both of them have done, knowing it will fall on deaf ears. "Exactly," he says as if that silence was because I couldn't think of anything instead of it being because I was coming to terms with the fact that I'll never have a good relationship with my brother, that this is the end of any kind of relationship.
I shake my head. "So what, you cashed out and you're heading off into the sunset? Knowing you, you're going to fucking blow it in a month or two."
"What do you care?" he asks, his jaw going tight. He never likes it when someone holds up a mirror to him and reminds him of his shortcomings.
"I guess I don't." I take in a deep breath before I ask my next question. "Who'd you sell to?" I ask finally, though I know the answer.
Of course I know the answer.
With the way I've been poking him all summer, the way Claire embarrassed him at the block party? I should have seen this coming when he asked about my brother. I should have?—
"Baker," he confirms, and I close my eyes, taking in another deep breath as reality crashes over me. Time is up. There's no way he's going to give me time, no way he's going to make this easy on me.
"He said to tell you if you want to talk, he'll be over at Surf tonight. Celebrating."
Even though I shouldn't, even though I should drop it where it is and move on, I don't. For the first time in my life, I snap at my brother.
"You're a piece of work, you know that? You did all of this—sold me out, sold the family out, sold the fucking town out —for what? Seventy-five grand? One hundred grand? That's all that was left, four years of payouts. And you know, I probably would have kept sending you money because it's what Grandma would have wanted, at least until you got on your feet and figured out what you wanted to do with life. But you fucked me over instead. You took the easy cash and ran, the way you always have."
His face shifts.
"You always had everything , Miles," he says with venom, and something in me snaps, the last thread of hope that my brother would turn around dissolving before my eyes.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" I shout. "Are you really so deluded that you believe that? I got a job when I was twelve because Mom needed help. I was the one who gave you a fucking allowance until you left the house because you didn't want to work. You went to college; you got to leave the town you hated so much and go off and pretend to be a rockstar, which, news flash, Paul: you fucking suck."
I have no reason to preserve this relationship anymore. My brother is dead to me, so what's the point?
"And you're so pissed about Claire coming back to town and connecting with me, but you didn't even care about her. You never did. It was always just to get at me because you knew she meant something to me. You fucking knew, and just like everything else, you wanted to take that from me."
I expect him to argue, to tell me that's not true, to give me some reason for it, but instead, he smiles.
The asshole fucking smiles.
"And what if I did?"
"Then it makes you a bigger fucking asshole than I thought."
"Just remember, Miles, next time she's under you, moaning your name, she moaned mine first." And then he's out the door.
When he leaves the house, in a fit of rage, I slam my fist into the wall, then sink to the ground in misery.