Chapter 4

I don't think about what will happen next. I have enough shit of my own to deal with. But I already have no illusions about Victoria. My sister got lucky with looks, not brains. Descendants of the Irish, Native Americans, and the Dutch, a hell of a cocktail, my brother and I were born dark-haired, with tan skin and blue eyes, while Vic inherited Father's burning dark eyes and Mother's changeable temper. So she is perfectly capable of hooking some idiot even at fourteen without bothering to think about what it might cost her.

Still, my sister was lucky in one respect: I knew how to make her stop wanting to trail after us until she grew up. I didn't give a damn about everyone else, but I did care what happened in my family and to the people close to me.

I manage to finish the conversation with Alex late that evening, when I come back from outside and enter the bedroom I share with my brother, switching on the night-light by the door and tossing my jacket onto the armchair. Our house is spacious enough, with enough bedrooms for all three Wright children to have rooms of our own, but my brother and I still live in the same one, the room we were carried into as babies. It feels like a physical necessity: knowing Alex is nearby. Looking at him, recognizing my own features, and making sure every time that he is all right.

My brother's bed is turned down, but I know he isn't asleep. Al is sitting on the windowsill in nothing but boxers, one foot propped on it, his sharp shoulder blades against the window recess, watching me.

I walk past and start undressing.

"The biker who dropped you off. That was Christian Palmer, wasn't it?" he asks quietly. "Lucas's older brother?"

 Damn it! I warned Chris to keep it down when he dropped me off twenty yards from the house, but that asshole loves showing off, and the sound of the Scrambler's snarling engine must have carried to my brother when Chris tore away.

"Yeah. So what?"

"I heard he's had trouble with the law. How old is he? Nineteen?"

"Listen, Al, what difference does it make? I'm not his mommy. I don't have to raise him."

I take off my sneakers and unbuckle my belt. Pull off my jeans, turning away toward the closet. I'm tired as hell and don't want to listen to Alex. The lecture from our parents was enough.

"You smell like cigarettes."

"Back off! You're not my mother either!"

But my brother isn't that easy to get rid of, and he lowers his feet, straightening on the windowsill.

"Carter, it's one in the morning! You could easily have run into cops, and Father would have had problems because of you! You're a minor, and at this hour you're supposed to be home!"

"Come on!" I lift my head and glance back at Alex. "I'm not stupid enough to get caught like that. Our parents will never have problems because of me. I told you that!"

This is not the first time we have fought over me coming home late, and Alex snorts distrustfully:

"If I were Father, I wouldn't be so sure, knowing no one can tell you what to do."

He's right about that, and I give a humorless smirk, suddenly thinking that my parents should have conceived one son instead of two. The result would've been excellent. But there's nothing to be done, so I'll have to disappoint them in order to win my own territory and the right to run my own life. In the end, that's exactly what will happen.

I pull off my T-shirt and admit:

"I'm grounded, Alex. For a whole week now it's only school, practice with Hurley, and sitting at home in the evenings. So go to sleep. Enough sermons! I'm tired as hell even without you! Don't worry, our old man outdid himself today!"

Hearing that, Alex jumps down from the windowsill and comes closer.

"Turn around, Carter," he asks suddenly, and my back tightens. I answer sharply:

"I said back off!"

"And I said turn around!"

I'm wirier and stronger than he is, but he is more stubborn, and a second later Alex sees what I wanted to hide from him: fresh bruises on my ribs and collarbone. And the smeared mark from Ray Walberg's ring on my chin, where the skin was scraped away.

"What... What happened?! Carter!" Alex breathes, going so pale it's as if he lost the ability to breathe in a single instant. "Were you beaten up?!"

"Me?" I can't help it, and I laugh. Quietly at first, then louder. The laugh is nervous and rough, and it breaks off almost at once. Shoving my brother away with my shoulder, I gather my dirty clothes in my arms and walk to the wall, where I toss them into the hamper. "Go to bed, Al," I ask Alex, taking a towel from the closet so I can go shower, "I'm fine. I got into a fight with Simon Adams after practice today, that's all! It happens."

If he had believed me, everything would have been easier. But he doesn't.

"Don't lie! There was nothing on your face at school. I would have noticed!"

I don't want to lie to him. I just want him not to stick his nose into those same dark corners I warned him about. Is that really so hard to understand?

"None of your business!"

Alex doesn't know how to stay offended. The two of us are almost one whole, and that's why his bitter but sincere admission catches at my soul:

"I wish I knew, Carter, what kind of life you live in the evenings. And what for. Are these marks on your body the freedom you were talking about? Freedom torn out with your fists?"

I can't stand it and slam my palm against the wall, only stopping myself at the last second from curling my fingers into a fist.

Why the hell is it so hard to talk to him? To explain everything to him, of all people. Why?.. Every cell in my body resists answering to anyone.

"For God's sake, Alex! I'm not going to argue or answer questions. I'm not going to, for fuck's sake, discuss anything! I'm just different, and I'm tired of repeating it! I need this, got it?! As badly as you need to write! Accept it already, or I'll get the hell out of here myself!"

That's it. I'm done for today, and I'm about to walk past my brother into the bathroom and slam the door properly when this idiot does something we would never show in public.

He blocks my way and hugs me around the shoulders with all his strength, pulling me to him. He exhales almost as fiercely as I do:

"Carter, how do you not understand? I don't want to lose you one day!"

His warmth unexpectedly paralyzes me, and I freeze, feeling my brother's cool cheek against mine, which is still burning after the fight with Walberg.

"Idiot..." I whisper, losing my voice. "Al... let go," I ask, but I do nothing to push him away.

"No!"

"You are such an idiot..."

"Promise me, Carter, that you'll stay home! Just one week! Let Father feel that he matters to you! Please!"

I can't answer right away, but when I do, it's honest:

"Who do you think I play this damn lacrosse for, Al? You think I have nothing better to do? Just don't tell him. Our old man is proud."

"I won't!"

 
When we're already lying in our beds, the night-light is off, and the evening breeze from the ocean slips through the open transom and stirs the blinds, Alex suddenly admits to me:

"You know, Carter, you were right today."

"When?"

"In the school parking lot, when you said I was a wimp because I still hadn't worked up the nerve to kiss Lena."

"I didn't say it like that. Don't make things up."