“I’m not in a very hospitable mood,” I snarl. “Get out!”
“No,” Maddox says. “Bet is ten.”
“I’ll see your ten,” Declan says, “and raise twenty.”
“What part of get the fuck out of my house do you assholes not understand?” I scream, turning to look at them.
“I’ll see your twenty,” Maddox replies before I hear the distinctive sound of cards being dealt. “You’re still showing the high card.”
“No bet.”
Two more cards.
“Dealer high,” Maddox says. “Fifty.”
“I call.”
There’s a moment of silence, then a yes from Declan as the chips clatter.
“There, your game is over,” I say. “Now leave.”
“How about we play a new game?” Maddox counters. “I think a teenage favorite is on the line since you’re acting like a child. Truth or dare.”
“I fucking dare you two to leave before I call the damn cops!’
Maddox stands, walks over, and looks down at me. “You want us to leave?”
“That’s what I just fucking said!”
“Then you’re going to tell us what’s wrong. The truth, not some bullshit about needing a break.”
My breath caught in my throat. “What do you mean?”
Maddox crossed his arms. “A break doesn’t make you forget what day of the week it is. A break means you might go outside at least once in several days or turn on your phone. This isn’t a break. What the hell is going on, Axel?”
“I’m scared!” I scream, standing.
“Of what?” Maddox challenges.
“Look at me!” I shout. “I’m dressed in sweats and eating reheated takeout. Things have gone to shit! If I go outside, I’m scared I’m going to head to the nearest bar and get shitfaced, and I don’t know if I can come back from that. I don’t want to end up like mom and dad!”
Maddox nods. “Finally.”
“What?”
“Look around here, you damn idiot! You could just have easily used those delivery drivers to bring you bottles of whatever top-shelf liquor you wanted. But you didn’t! I don’t see any empty bottles of vodka.” He points to the coffee table. “Was the first thing you went in search of drugs to make the pain go away? No. I don’t see any needles on the coffee table. Instead, you’re here, wallowing in your own misery, but you’re not trying to self-medicate your awareness of it away.”
He walks around the couch and faces me. “Look around, Axel. If there was any time a person would break, it would be now. You’re miserable, but I didn’t see so much as a beer can in your trash. You haven’t broken, and you’re not going to. You’re nothing like them!”
The words are like a slap to the face.
“Now,” Maddox snarls. “Clean your damn ass up, and figure out what the hell you want.”
I can only watch in shock as my normally mild-mannered twin storms out of my house. I stand there, eyes glued on the door for several minutes before sinking down onto the couch again. I hear Declan get up and put away the poker chips. I expect him to follow Maddox out, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he heads to the kitchen, where it sounds like he’s making a pot of coffee. A few minutes later, he comes back in, sets a cup on the table in front of me, then takes a seat in a nearby chair. I pretend to watch the movie, making it as clear as I can that I want him to leave. But he stubbornly finishes one cup, then sits down with another.
What do I want? Harper? Yes, but I can’t have her. Why can’t I have her? Because when things go bad, she makes choices that I don’t agree with. Why is that a bad thing? Because it’s unexpected. Is unexpected such a bad thing? Yes. Why?
“Because I need control over my life.”
“Why?” Declan asks.
My inner voice is asking the same question, and the answer comes just as easily when I say it aloud.
“I never had control as a child,” I admit. “I never knew when my parents would be drunk, high, or both. I never knew when I’d come home from school to see yet another eviction notice. I kept everything important to me locked away. Control is the only thing that keeps me together. I controlled what I was able to keep by putting anything important in my backpack, so I knew where it was. I studied so that I could get out of that uncertainty and control my own future. If it’s not something I’m not in control of, then I can’t count on it.”
“Not even me or your brother?”
I waver, then shake my head. “I can trust you, but I still need control over my own life.”
Declan laughs. “Bro, look around. You’ve already lost that.”
It is another sucker punch.
He stands and makes his way to the door. “Let me know how much longer you expect to be out.”
I turn off the television. The noise and light are distracting.
Declan’s right. I lost control long ago. It was gone the moment my resolve broke, and I touched Harper in the conference room. I haven’t been able to control my reactions about and around her since. And the more integrated she became in my life, the more control I gave up, willingly.
But can I give it up again? Which is more important, Harper or control?
25
Harper
“Hello?”
“Harper?”
I blink. “Lauren?”
“Oh good, I was worried your phone would be off again, and I don’t have the number to your apartment.”
“Huh?”
“I’ve tried to get in touch with you several times this week, but it kept going to voicemail.”
I flinch, suddenly feeling like an ass. I’d kept my phone off most of the week, assuming if it was important enough, somebody would try the house. I didn’t realize my stepmother didn’t have the number.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“For the most part, but…”
My stomach clenches.
“Do you know how to keep your dad resting instead of trying to do every chore he can find? No matter what I do, I can’t keep him in bed. He’s supposed to relax, but every time I go to check on him, he’s off mowing the lawn or taking out the garbage, or any number of other things, and then he’s exhausted.”
I chuckle, and it feels foreign but good. Maybe two weeks of moping is long enough.
“How about I come over?” I offer. “I can spend some time distracting him for you.”
“Would you? That would be a godsend.”
“Let me shower and change, and I’ll be right over.”
“Oh, you can wait until after work.”
I flinch. “It’s okay,” I say. “I had the day off.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. I’ll be there soon.”
“Okay.”
At dad’s, I feel more myself.
“Go fish.”
My dad chuckles and takes a card from the top of the draw pile. He scowls and adds it to his hand. “Your turn, kiddo.”
“Give me your sevens.”
Dad makes a face, shifting to see if I can see his cards before pulling two from his hand and passing them over. I grin, show off the four sevens, and set them aside.