Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Not gonna lie, I’m happy this is the first room of the house that I’m stepping into after eight years. Because creeks and groans may be louder than before, but other than that very little about it has changed. Unlike the living room and the dining area that I just walked through. But I’m trying not to dwell on all that. Or any of the changes that might have occurred in the last eight years.
To that effect, I glance at Ax, who’s sprawled on one of the armchairs by the desk, playing on his phone. Then, looking at my older brother, seated behind the desk, I ask, “What’s he doin’ here?”
Ax doesn’t give Mars a chance to reply. “Ah, you got your shirt back on. Good.” Then, “This is a family meeting, ain’t it? I’m family.”
I inhale a sharp breath, glad to notice that the air still smells like leather and whiskey with a hint of the woods. Perfect embodiment of my brother who rules all from behind this desk, but from what I can remember, before our parents died and our lives changed, wanted to be just a cowboy instead of a landowner. He didn’t get that freedom, though. Not like me and definitely not like Ax.
I wave those thoughts away and say, “This is not a family meeting.”
Finally, Mars gets a chance to reply: “It involves family. And Ax is eighteen now. He gets to sit in.”
I know how old Ax is. If Mars or anyone else thought I forgot that my younger brother turned eighteen five and a half weeks ago, then they were wrong. I remember. I also remember that when I got put away, he’d reach my chest—even at ten years old—but now he’s as tall as me. His voice was still childlike then, only starting to turn deep. He was all elbows and knees, but now I can see the definition of his muscles through that blue T-shirt he’s wearing. He’s more tanned now, and the lines of his face have matured under the sun, telling me that eight years ago, he was a cowboy-in-the-making whose hat would sit too big on his head, but now I bet he’s as good a cowboy as any one of those ranch hands out there.
Mars would’ve made sure of that. Like he did with me and Rad. And speaking of which, I know my older brother has aged as well. There’s silver in his hair, and the lines on his forehead and around his eyes are deeper. When I left, there was no indication that he’d end up marrying the girl me, Rad, and Ax grew up with. But a little over three years ago, Mars called and shared the good news. I know they celebrated their three-year anniversary two months ago. Well, celebrated may be a stretch, given that she calls Mars Mr. Grayson, like she still works for him and he still signs her paychecks.
I did have a chance to meet them during visitations, but after the first few times, I refused to see them. In the beginning, they’d still come, especially Axton, but like an asshole, I wouldn’t budge. It was just too painful, to look them in the eyes and see sadness and regret for me. For what I lost. For how my life changed. I didn’t need that from them.
I didn’t need their pity, their grief. I was there because I deserved to be there, and once all of this was over, I would still be stuck. In the past. In that night eight years ago. So no, I didn’t need their sympathy. I also didn’t need them to waste their time on me. I wanted them to move on with their lives. It was just that I didn’t know how hard it would be to witness that, all these changes in my brothers.
Ax looks up from his phone, tips his hat at me in salute. “Lookit, bitches; I got a seat at the table now.”
Mars has a million rules about things. Probably the only way he knew how to deal with our parents’ sudden death and all the responsibilities that he inherited. In our family, when you turn eighteen, you get inducted. As in, you get to find out business secrets, land secrets, secrets about the bloody history of the Graysons and the Turners. I’m not sure how much Mars has shared with our younger brother—probably not much, since he just turned eighteen and I can still see some youthful innocence in his eyes—but it’s coming.
Mars sighs, possibly praying for patience when it comes to Axton. And I decide to fuck it. The sooner I accept that things changed in my absence like I wanted them to, the better. So I take a seat, indicating my silent agreement. I regret it a second later, though, when Ax asks, “So first question, what happened to your shirt anyway?”