Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
KENNEDY
One thing I hadn’t realized until this very moment: I have no idea where Ziggy lives. I mean, I knew that, but it wasn’t something I ever worried about knowing.
Except now it’s been three days since I’ve seen him, so I’m worrying about it a lot. The next time we play hooky, I’m making him take me there so that I don’t always have to wait for him to come to me.
“Do you know where Ziggy lives?”
Hudson’s sitting on the floor not far from me, and he looks up from the plans he’s checking over. “No. How would I know that?”
“Because Wilde showed you around. I thought you might have seen it.”
“Why would he show me Ziggy’s place?”
“I dunno. I’ve seen where that psycho Lynx lives.”
Hudson tosses the plans aside and slides closer. “You have? Is it in a cave?”
“Nah, it’s a little fairy-tale cabin type of thing.”
My brother hums as he thinks. “Like Wilde’s. Maybe we should burn it down?”
“Or maybe we don’t anger the monster any more than we already have.” There’s a burning intensity inside Lynx that I don’t want to see explode. Maybe I’m a wimp, or maybe I’m exercising basic self-preservation, but I have no interest in discovering the answer.
“You could take him,” Hudson says like I was contemplating that in the first place.
“Not a theory I want to test out.”
“So …” He turns his attention to balancing a nail on its head. “Why did you want to know about Ziggy?”
“He hasn’t been around. I wanted to make sure he’s okay.”
He’s quiet while he plays with the nail. The tiny chicks of it hitting the floor over and over swell between us. “You’re a really good person, you know.”
The comment catches me off guard. “I try to be. Don’t always manage it though.”
“You do more than you think.”
“A good person wouldn’t have messed up your relationship.
” I’m half holding my breath as I say that because I’ve wanted to bring it up properly ever since he got back, but there hasn’t been a good time to do it without him getting mad again.
The thing about Hudson is that getting mad is his way of covering all the other emotions lurking under the surface that he doesn’t want to face.
But I guess we’re doing this now, and I just hope I’ve picked my moment right.
“Nah, I … You were right.” He shrugs aggressively, like he’s expecting me to rub it in. “We weren’t talking. We didn’t really know each other, and the fight fucking sucked, but it made him open up to me, so …”
I’m still not confident in their relationship, but what would I know? To me, romance is all about grand gestures and public affection, wanting to spend all of your time with the other person. That’s never been Hudson, and I can’t understand that way of loving. I probably never will.
“I’m glad things are going well.”
He lets out an aggressive exhale. “I should never have called you a loser.”
Something inside of me relaxes. It’s as good an apology as I’ll get from him, and the fact that he’s bringing it up now proves that it’s been on his mind since it happened.
Did I like hearing that from my big brother?
Not really. But I didn’t let it get to me because I’m not in elementary school, and I know he only went there because he was hurting.
Hudson doesn’t know how to hurt.
Just explode.
Whereas I’ve held hurt in my heart since my first girlfriend dumped me. It was a prickly lesson to learn that even when you think someone is more beautiful than the sky, they don’t have to feel the same way back.
So I can handle being called a loser.
“You shouldn’t have,” I confirm. “We’re good though. I’ve been called worse.” Needy, clingy, suffocating, Mommy issues. It would be a lot easier to deny those things if they weren’t partially true.
“No one should be calling you worse.” He scowls, looking ready to fight all my past demons.
I give him a teasing shove. “I don’t like when people are assholes to my brothers either. Now will you believe me when I say you deserve better?”
He glowers and turns back to the nail. “I already do.”
“What?”
“Know that,” he grumbles. “It’s why I left when I did.”
“I thought you left because Wilde broke up with you?”
“No, I left because he couldn’t open up to me, and everything you kept telling me got into my head, and I realized that if Wilde couldn’t even say he wanted me, then we were doomed already.”
“Wait. You ended it?”
“Kind of.”
I’m so happy, I could hug him. All of his past relationships have been horrible, and knowing that he’s finally put his foot down fills me with more relief than I’m expecting it to. “You chose yourself.”
“I guess.” He dusts his hands off and pushes to his feet. “And so did Wilde. So it all worked out okay.”
I know I should quit while I’m ahead, but I can’t. “And if it didn’t? If Wilde didn’t step up, would you have come back? Would you have forgiven me?”
A small smile sneaks through his defenses. “I was never mad at you. Unfortunately, you’re my safety, and Wilde wasn’t here to yell at, so you caught it all. I shouldn’t have done that. And I’m working on it.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“You have?” His messy eyebrows lift toward his hairline.
“I don’t think I’ve heard you yell at anyone all week.”
“It’s a start.”
“And we all start somewhere.”
“You need to make motivational posters.” He leaves, passing Hart in the doorway, who’s back from his drive.
“What are you doing?” Hart asks, letting go of his tape measure with an aggressive ziiiip as he eyes where I’m sitting on the floor.
“Motivational posters, apparently.”
“I think I’d be great at that,” he deadpans. “Like … hang in there.”
“That one’s already taken.”
“Yeah, but instead of having a cat, mine would have a picture of a noose.”
I should have picked that he was going somewhere like that. “Sounds more demotivating to me.”
“Art is up for interpretation.” He points to the back frame of the house. “I think we went too short. I’m about to measure it, but we might need to bump out that back wall.”
Of course we do. Nothing about this build is going to plan, and hoping that something as simple as a measurement would go smoothly feels like too much to ask for at this point.
“I’m not doing that today,” I grumble.
“Did I say you had to?”
“I’m getting in before you do.”
He ignores me. “Grab the end of this and stand there.”
I grab the end of the tape measure and do as I’m told as Hart pulls it the length of the room.
He’s quiet for a few moments.
“Is it too short?”
“Yes. But I think it’s close enough that we can get away with it.”
“Are you sure?”
He gives me a flat look. “What part of I think tells you I’m sure?”
I let the snark go. Having lived with Hart for my entire life, he doesn’t get to me. Just like with Hudson, I know they have their own demons, and I love them no matter what. That’s family. “I’m assuming you can find out?”
“Yes. I’ll head into town tomorrow and call my guy.”
I let go of the tape, and it zips loudly back into the holder.
“Or …” I’m pushing because he’s gone more than he’s here. “You could stay here and try to call. The reception picks up best on the road.”
“Or I can drive to a slightly bigger shithole town and waste most of my day rather than spending it here. That sounds like the better option.”
“What do you have against this place?”
“There are only so many times I can list how much I hate it.”
“Then maybe you should give loving it a try.”
His expression fills with disgust. “Should I love the smell? Or the constant work? Or our draining finances? Or the way someone out there wants to kill us? There’s so many options, it makes it hard to pick.”
“When you’re determined to only see the bad, of course it’s hard.”
He lifts his hands either side of himself and looks around. “My bad. There’s a lot of timber here too.”
At least one of my brothers is heading in a good direction. And I’m working on myself too. Hart has always been the one of us who doesn’t have ambition or drive or … passion, maybe? Whatever that flicker of something is that most people have pushing them along. It’s absent with him.
Sometimes I want to know what’s happening in his head, and other times I assume it would only scare me. I’m not going to give up on him, but Wilde’s End might not be the answer like it was for Hudson, and I’m hoping it will be for me.
“And if you look outside,” I say, matching his tone, “you’ll see some trees. And the sky. And maybe even hear birds calling.”
“Think the birds will still be calling after we flatten their home, or …”
“You’re not going to put a dent in my good mood.”
He plays with the tape measure, pulling it out and letting it snap back, over and over. “Never do. Wouldn’t want you to end up like me anyway.”
“Nothing wrong with being like you.”
“Uh-huh,” he monotones. “Say it again and I might believe you.” There’s a short pause. “Ziggy’s out the front, by the way.”
My gut flips suddenly. “Why didn’t he come in?”
“I’m assuming it’s hard to clean the car while it’s out there and he’s in here.”
That isn’t at all what I meant, but there’s no point in arguing with Hart about it.
Ziggy’s been gone for days, and then he suddenly shows up to wash our car?
It’s not the first time he’s done it, and no matter how many times I tell him not to, he ignores me.
I’m really starting to see that Ziggy has a mind of his own. I like it.
I hurry for the front door, something inside me lighting up that he’s back.
I brush the dirt on my hands off onto my shorts, and I spot him the second I step outside.
He looks exactly the same as he always does.
He’s in baggy jeans and a loose T-shirt, and his wild black hair is pulled back into that wire headband he always wears.
“Ziggy-zag!” I call on my way over, and his head snaps in my direction.
His whole face softens whenever he sees me, and I hope it’s because he’s comfortable with me around. Whatever the reason, I like that I get that reaction from him.
“I’ve told you that you don’t have to wash our shit.”
He rolls his eyes at me and turns to dip the sponge into the bucket. Talking or not talking, no one can call Ziggy a pushover.
I hate washing the car, but I’m not about to let him do it alone, so I grab a cloth floating in the soapy water and take the place beside him. His curious gaze runs over the side of my face, but I pretend not to notice.
Finally, I’m treated to the sound of his voice. Soft as the breeze and craggy like it crawled out of the depths to reach me. “What are you doing?”
“Helping.” I shoot him a little wink and acknowledge the curiosity staring back at me this time. “I figure the sooner this is done, the sooner you can take me somewhere.”
He tilts his head for me to go on.
“Maybe you can show me your favorite place. That would be cool, right?”
He goes back to washing the car without a response, and I have to trust that he’s thinking about it.
I want to ask him where he’s been and what he’s been doing, but those kinds of questions are the type that would overwhelm him and make him disappear on me.
So I keep them inside, and instead of expecting him to tell me about it all, I stay silent.
Painfully, patiently silent.
Ziggy will show me when he’s ready.