Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
boston
I groan, rolling over onto my side. It’s the middle of the night. My bedroom is pitch black, so the light from my phone screen feels like a flashlight pointed right at my face. I squint through the darkness, slowly coming back to reality.
My phone is ringing. At three in the morning.
My heart sinks.
Never a good sign.
I reach for it, peering at the name on the screen. My heart drops to the ground now. Explodes a bit, flooding me from the inside until I choke.
I answer.
“Kane.” My voice is hoarse and thick with sleep.
A long, tired sigh. “Hey, Boston. I know it’s late. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I grumble, sitting up. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to come out and say it.”
Ice hits my veins.
“They found a female body.”
My eyes shoot open. A weird, torpedo of emotions shoots through me.
Something like relief first, which is exceptionally fucked up.
I know. But this is a call I’ve been waiting years for.
It finally happened. I won’t have to wonder what she’s up to anymore, if she’s cold, safe, or scared.
Even though a big part of me hates her for what she did to me, how she took my dad from me, my brothers—she’s still my mom.
“Shit.”
Kane sighs again. “Yeah. I know you probably don’t care for the details, but I’m about to go down there to make an identification. They need somebody to confirm it’s her.”
Fucking Kane. My poor, little brother. This shit never stops for him.
“Miller,” is all I say.
“Yeah, Miller.” He scoffs, and I can practically see him shaking his head. “Called him already. He thanked me and hung up. He knows.”
I’m stunned he even answered the call.
He’s never been able to deal with his shit, Miller.
Put all his energy into school and getting the fuck away from us.
Hated Mom. Hated Dad even more for not leaving her.
But I remember being that little guy who found his brother unresponsive.
I remember Miller bulldozing into the room, screaming at my mother, and ushering me to safety.
I remember him making her cry on my behalf.
He called the first responders. Not my mom.
That was the last time I ever saw my big brother cry. He went kind of stoic after that. Hard around the edges.
“Shit,” I grumble, rubbing my eyes. Mom might be dead. It’s very…weird to think about. Gone. Just like that. “What about Dad?”
“No word on him.”
“Jesus, Kane. I’m sorry.” For what? I don’t know. All of this. The life he has to live, while the two of us fucked off as fast as we could. For having to make these horrible phone calls at least once a year. For being born into the same family I was born into.
“Look, Boston,” Kane says, and not for the first time, I can hear how exhausted he is.
He works hard. Took on the emotional toll, too, when his brothers left him in that city.
He became Mom and Dad’s keepers. “I’ve got this.
Remi’s here, and she’s taking care of the boys.
I’ll be okay. If it’s her…I don’t expect you to want to be here for this.
I know life has always been complicated for us. For you. I can do this alone.”
I stare at my bedding, listening to my little brother suck in a breath.
“But…I’ll need my brothers, man, and there is only one of you who I think will actually give a fuck about that.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, resting my head back against the headboard.
Kane has taken on more than his fair share of this familial burden over the years.
The second I hit the pros and got enough cash in my bank account, I bought our farm under his name.
Gave it to him without blinking. He didn’t have to worry about losing it or having Mom and Dad run it into the ground anymore.
I send him money for the ten rehabs we’ve tried when one of our parents wants to get clean.
I pay for his kids to play hockey, even though he tries to resist the offer every year.
The sport is expensive, and the two older boys play, but Bennett has potential like I’ve never seen.
We don’t talk, so that’s how I remind him I still care.
He posts videos of his sons playing the game we loved as boys, and I know they’re for me. I watch every single one, but there are always more of Bennett, because the kid is good. In each and every video, Bennett is wearing a Black jersey. Number twenty-nine. My jersey. With pride.
He looks a lot like me, too.
I’m present in my brother’s life financially, since I’m too big of a pussy to do the rest of the work.
Not once in all these years has he ever asked.
Not once has my little brother expected anything from me, wanted anything from me.
When he calls, it’s to tell me Dad overdosed or Mom’s in jail.
It’s never to talk. It’s never to ask me to be his big brother.
He just asked.
“You keep me updated and I’ll be there.”
“Okay.” He lets out a little breath, almost relieved that I didn’t reject him. “Okay. I’ll let you know the second I’m out of there.”
“I’ll stay up.” I toss my blankets off me. There is a weight in my chest now. A bit of sympathy for my brother and twisted, complicated agony over the mother I don’t even know anymore. “I can stay on the phone if you want. So you aren’t doing it alone.”
A small noise leaves him, but he covers it with a cough.
It cracks open the coldest parts of my heart.
He needed to hear that. He needed me to get my head out of my ass and to offer my support for once.
He’s scared, and it kills me. He’s my baby brother.
I’m supposed to take care of him. I’m the one who is supposed to chase away the monsters he’s afraid of.
I’m supposed to be handling all of this screwed-up shit instead of him.
“I’ll be okay. I’ll call you afterward.”
“I’ll be here.”
“Thanks.”
He hangs up just as I start to fill the espresso machine. I shop for new skates for each of those boys on my phone while I wait. If they don’t fit, Kane can exchange them. I always send the receipts.
I sit there for hours until the sun is in the sky and the dogs rush into the house for breakfast.
It wasn’t my mom.