I can already picture Graham, pacing in front of the doors, nervous for his girl, who is also our stepsister, on her debut with the city ballet, ready to pounce on me the moment I walk through the doors. The show won’t begin for another twenty minutes, but I was told to be here twenty minutes ago.
The thought of sitting for an hour, waiting for the show to start, sounds as appealing as chewing rusty nails. I love my… stepsister? Since her bitch of a mom is dead, I’m not sure that’s the appropriate title anymore. Future sister-in-law? Because there’s no doubt it’s coming. I won’t be surprised if he asks her tonight.
Who fucking knows what the legal title is anymore? If I think about it for too long, my head will hurt because it’s so weird and convoluted since Graham and Casey most definitely do not see each other as siblings.
Truthfully, it doesn’t matter. For me, Casey will always be my little sister. I’d lie, steal, and kill for that girl. Do almost anything to put a smile on her face.
But sitting for that long amongst society’s stuffy sophisticates isn’t my idea of fun. Though I will admit I take a small amount of pleasure when they stop to stare at the guy in the ripped jeans and leather jacket with long dark hair brushing his shoulders. Not to mention the piercings.
Okay, so I’m not dressed like that. Suits aren’t my thing when I can help it, but a pair of slacks and a dress shirt, sleeves rolled to my forearms, is okay. And the eyebrow ring is at home in the glass tray I keep on my sink. The gash and butterfly strips didn’t pair well with the barbell.
The nose, lip, and tongue rings are all still in place.
I probably shouldn’t be allowed inside, but my brother would own someone’s balls if they denied me. Literally. He’d make the offer before the night was done and have a nice pair of testicles sitting in formaldehyde on his desk by morning. I’m the impulsive hothead. He’s the controlled psychopath.
My boots click against the concrete as I walk toward the entrance, pulling my leather coat up to protect against a cutting gust of wind blowing between the buildings. A smirk tugs at the corner of my lips when I approach the doors and see my brother pacing the lobby just as I imagined, jerking at the collar of his shirt. His dark eyes zone in on me the moment the doors close behind me, and his scowl deepens. He meets me halfway, his expensive shoes sounding like thunder, even over the echoing voices of patrons scurrying into the theater.
No matter how fucked up my head is, I always take pleasure in seeing my uptight brother about have an aneurysm.
“Where the hell have you been?” His eyes lift, looking behind me.
“I told you I wasn’t coming just to sit for a fucking hour,” I retort with a smirk I know will annoy the hell out of him.
But then I see the questions forming when his eyes narrow, zeroing in on my face. He grips my face, twisting it to the right. I yank away from his hold. “What happened?”
I didn’t think about seeing him before I climbed into the ring last night. Probably should have.
“Ran into a door.” I shrug and try to go around him.
Of course, he doesn’t just let it go. Graham can’t let shit go. Ever. “Why don’t I fucking believe you?” Jesus, why does he stay up my fucking ass?
He looks behind me again, the space between his eyes forming two lines. “Are you expecting someone else to show up?”
“Where’s Renee?”
“Renee?” My head tilts, confusion narrowing my gaze.
“Your girlfriend, or at least, the girl you’ve been fucking.”
I drag my hand over my face to cover the eye roll. I haven’t seen Renee in almost six months, but Graham wouldn’t know that. He may try to meddle in my business, but I keep him at arm’s length the best I can. Deep,deepdown, I know he means well. Graham wants to take care of things—the people he cares about. It gives him a sense of control. Tonight, he’s in peak form with his growling demands. But I don’t want or need any of it.
I’m not a problem to be solved. A project in need of fixing. I’m a mess that he can’t understand. I know he wants to, but he can’t.
“Yeah, she won’t be coming.”
He nods approvingly. “She’s not good for you.”
Pressure builds behind my ribs, bitter and rising, annoyed that he’s butting into my life, even if he’s not wrong. But his opinion isn’t required or requested. And that’s the reason I stayed with her way beyond our expiration date. I hate it when everyone tries to tell me what to do. “Back off, Graham.”
“I had to bail you out of jail, Jagger.”
“It was one time and a fucking misunderstanding because of nosy ass people that should’ve minded their own business,” I say, too calm. The kind that promises more damage than yelling ever could. “The charges were dropped. Let it go.”
His hands drag down his face as he huffs and shakes his head. “You two were fucking toxic.”
I can’t argue with that. We were from the beginning, when we met a couple of years ago, and our off-and-on relationshipbegan. We enabled each other’s habits and triggered violent emotions, but the toxicity was part of the appeal. Two kids—okay, so we were adults, but most days it didn’t feel like it—with mommy and daddy issues, siblings we could never live up to, and a drug problem. We didn’t judge or ask each other’s deep, dark secrets.
“It is what it is. Let’s get inside.”
