She put a hand on his shoulder, her touch gentle. Hesitant. “What can I do?”
Like a stubborn child, Angus refused to look her way. Instead, he shook his head and swiped at his tears despite the pain throbbing through him whenever he moved. He’d forgotten about the cuts on his face, and they broke open when he touched them, the blood trailing down his cheeks and mixing with his tears. It felt like a reminder that no matter what he did, he would never be able to escape the pain. It made him sob harder.
Naya’s hand left his shoulder, and he thought she was going to leave, thought she was disgusted by his whimpering and she could no longer stand the sight of him, but then her hand slipped into his. It was small and thin but comforting as well, and he clung to it, holding on like she was the only thing keeping him from going over the deep end. Her skin was warm and soft, and having it against his made him feel more human. Made him feel less pathetic and alone. Made him feel stronger even though he still couldn’t stop the tears.
He continued to cry, and she never let go. She didn’t say anything, either. She simply sat there, letting her presence calm him, and slowly, Angus’s sobs began to ease until finally they were nothing but sniffles. Exhaustion swept over him then, and he allowed his eyes to close. His throat felt as if he’d swallowed a mouthful of hot coals and every inch of him ached, but somehow, against all odds, he managed to drift off.
The wail of sirens dragged Angus from his alcohol induced sleep, and he’d opened his eyes to find his trailer swathed in darkness, the only light a soft, green glow from somewhere to his left. His brain had been working just enough to register that the sirens were getting closer. He’d pushed himself up, looking around as he tried to figure out what was happening. Had he gotten himself in trouble again? Were the cops coming for him?
Vague memories of the night before came back to him then. It had been payday, and he’d grabbed a case of beer on the way home from his shitty job, drinking it by himself in his trailer before finally passing out. He was on his couch and wearing nothing but a pair of thin boxers, and there were a half a dozen empty beer cans lying around him on the table and floor. Most of them crushed as if he’d been in some kind of contest even though he’d been drinking alone. He’d had another can clutched in his hand, this one still half full, and he took a swig without thinking, cringing when the warm liquid filled his mouth. He’d been out for a while.
Not caring if he ruined the carpet—it was already stained in too many places to count—Angus had tossed the can aside and climbed to his feet. He closed his eyes when he’d swayed a little, waiting for the room to stop spinning, and lifted his hand to his pounding head. The pulsing of his brain against his skull had forced a groan out of him, and he silently cursed himself. He’d had too much to drink. Again.
He was still standing like that—eyes closed and hand braced against his head—when someone had pounded on the door of his trailer. For a moment, he wondered if he was imagining it, then he’d heard his name.
“Angus!” his neighbor called through the thin barrier separating them. “Angus!”
He grumbled to himself as he’d stumbled to the door, kicking an empty can across the room in the process. It hit the wall with a metallic thud, but the sound had barely registered to Angus as he ripped the front door open.
“What the fuck do you want?” he’d growled.
Ken, the fifty-something guy who lived in the trailer across from him, had lifted his hands and taken a step back. “There’s a fire.”
“What the hell do I look like?” Angus shot back. “A fuckin’ fireman? Who gives a shit?”
He’d started to slam the door in Ken’s face, but his neighbor threw his hand out to stop him.
“It’s on the other side of the park. Gotta be close to your mom’s place.”
Angus’s blood ran cold.
He didn’t give a shit about his mom, wouldn’t have cared if she’d burned alive, if he were being honest. She’d never done anything for him, and he was pretty sure she hated him as much as he hated her. But his brother…
Angus glanced over his shoulder, back toward the kitchenette, and had squinted, trying to force the little green numbers on the microwave come into view. They danced, and he had to shake his head to clear it. Cursing himself for drinking so much, he’d blinked and squinted harder. When the numbers finally came into focus, he swore. It was after one o’clock in the morning, and odds were good that Axl would be home—assuming he wasn’t with that chick he’d been dating. Lilly. Just thinking about her had made Angus’s lip curl in disgust.
“Angus,” Ken called again.
“I’m comin’.”
He left the door open and dashed across the room, grabbing his pants from where he’d tossed them on the floor and pulling them on one leg at a time—only swaying a little. The can he’d tossed aside must have landed on them, because the right leg was wet and reeked of beer—either that or he’d spilled something before taking them off. He hadn’t been able to remember what had happened the night before, and there was no time to focus on it. Plus, it hadn’t mattered. Axl was all that mattered. Angus had to get to his brother.
He didn’t bother zipping his pants before rushing to the door, and he didn’t pause to put shoes on either. He’d just run.
The night air had been cold against Angus’s skin when he took off. Ken was at his side, although Angus hadn’t had a clue why the man went with him. The wail of the sirens had died down, but red lights were visible in the distance, flashing through the trailer park. They had been nothing compared to the orange glow from the fire, though.
His neighbor had been right about the direction it was coming from, but Angus told himself over and over again as he jogged through the trailer park that it wasn’t his mom’s place. There were dozens of single and double wides in that direction, and any one of them could have been burning. Of course, even Angus had to admit it seemed unlikely that anyone else would be as unlucky as him. He hadn’t had a single day of good luck in his whole pathetic life, and he didn’t see why that should change now.
He’d turned when he reached the main road that ran through the trailer park, and the blaze grew brighter, lighting up the dark night. A pretty good size crowd had gathered in the street, anxious to witness someone else’s misery, and beyond that sat the firetruck. Angus could just make out a handful of men in protective suits, all of them hard at work freeing hoses and other gear from the truck. It was chaos, and between the people and the distance still separating him from the blaze, he had been unable to make out which trailer was on fire. Angus moved faster, and the muscles in his legs protested, but he kept running, panting as he forced his body to obey. The scene came into better focus with each step, but it wasn’t until he was two trailers away that his worst fears were confirmed. It was his mother’s trailer.
Angus started cursing and ran faster, pressing his hand to his side when a cramp started up. He’d never been fit and drank and smoked way too much, and even at the age of thirty the constant abuse of his body was beginning to show. He was huffing by the time he reached the crowd, and it was at that moment that he’d made up his mind to quit smoking. Let him get his nicotine fix another way. Dip or something that wouldn’t make him wheeze like an old man.
Desperate to get to his brother, Angus had pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring protests from the people he shoved aside. Focused on only one thing.
Before he had been able to get closer to the blaze, though, he was cut off by one of the firefighters. “Stay back!” the man had called, putting his hand on Angus’s bare chest.
“That’s my mom’s place.” Angus pointed to the trailer, glaring at the asshole who was preventing him from looking for Axl. “My brother’s in there.”
“We’re working to get the fire under control, and we need you to stay back and let us do our jobs.”
The hand on Angus’s chest was firm, the man’s expression not easing for even a second. There was no sympathy in his eyes, either. No unde
rstanding. This man didn’t give a shit that the only person Angus had ever cared about might be burning alive at that very moment, and it pissed him off. Made him see red.
“Fuck you,” Angus had snarled, not even trying to contain his urge to punch the man.
He shoved the firefighter, who stumbled back. People around him shouted protests and curses, Ken among them, but Angus wasn’t done. He’d grabbed hold of the man’s suit and got in his face, sneering at him. His own face hot, his worry over Axl so profound that Angus found it impossible to control his emotions. He wanted to beat the shit out of this guy. Wanted to see him on the ground bleeding. Wanted to scream. Wanted to curse everyone. Wanted to sob.
That was something he’d never do, though. Even if he had to beat the shit out of everyone there.
“You gonna tell me not to help my brother?” He’d stepped closer to the firefighter, still holding onto his jacket. “That the kind of asshole you are?”
“Back off,” the man said through gritted teeth, trying to break free. “Now.”
He’d given Angus a firm but not violent shove, and the suit slipped from his grasp. He stumbled back a couple steps, and heat moved through his body, making his blood simmer. This asshole was going to pay.
Angus moved closer to the other man, his eyes blazing with rage and his fist clenched. He was just about to strike when someone had called his name.
“Angus!”
He froze, stepped back, looked around.
He heard it again, and a second later, Axl had pushed his way past the firefighters and was running for him. He was only seventeen, but already as big as Angus, and unlike his brother, Axl was fit from years of playing football. At that moment, though, he looked like a scared child. Like the terrified little boy who’d hugged Angus’s leg when their mother screamed at him. The boy who’d hidden behind his brother when she started throwing punches and insults. Angus had taken the brunt of it all. The verbal abuse, the slaps, the kicks. He’d acted as a human shield, so she hadn’t been able to get to Axl. Determined to protect him. Determined to make sure his brother got through life unscathed. And he’d do it again a million times over, because that was how much he loved his brother.
Axl reached him, panting, and came to a stop. His face had been streaked with soot and sweat, but he’d seemed fine when Angus looked him over. Scared, but whole. Not hurt.
“You okay?” Angus had asked.
Axl nodded, his too long dirty blond hair falling across his forehead, then he’d shaken his head. “I couldn’t get to her. I tried. I swear.”
“Don’t you worry ’bout her.”
“She’s in there, though.”
Axl looked back toward the trailer, which had been engulfed in flames, and at that moment, Angus realized a startling truth about his brother. Axl was actually worried about their mother. Worried about the woman who’d never given two shits about them. Who had ignored and abused and belittled them their whole lives. It was in such stark contrast with how Angus felt that he couldn’t wrap his brain around it. He didn’t care if she lived or died, didn’t care if he never saw her again. But his brother didn’t feel that way. After everything she’d done, how the hell could Axl still care about her?
His brother was too soft, Angus had realized. He’d tried hard to make Axl tough, but somewhere along the way, he’d failed. Maybe Angus had shielded him too much. Maybe he should have let their mom get a hit in every now and then. It had made Angus strong, after all. Had hardened him into a person who refused to take shit from anyone. Especially the woman who’d given birth to him.
The brothers had stood side by side, silently watching as the firefighters worked to get the blaze under control. The trailer was small, and thankfully it didn’t take long, and the second the men put the hoses down, Axl headed their way. Angus had followed, more out of curiosity than anything else. Their mom hadn’t emerged, hadn’t called out for help, telling him she was probably dead, and as he followed his brother toward the trailer, Angus found himself wondering if he really cared about her as little as he thought. He had a strong suspicion he’d soon find out.
“We’ve got a body!” a man had called just as the thought went through Angus’s head.
“No.” The word had been a whisper on Axl’s lips as he shook his head. “I tried. I really tried.”
He looked toward Angus, his eyes wide and begging. Like Axl thought his brother might somehow have been able to change things. When Angus said nothing, Axl’s gaze returned to the trailer. His hands were trembling when he curled them into fists, and Angus could tell he was close to breaking down. It was dark and late, but it seemed like the entire trailer park had come running at the sound of sirens, and everyone was gathered nearby. Watching the commotion, staring at the brothers as they waited to learn their mother’s fate. Waiting to see if they’d cry or make a scene. Dying to know just how weak they were.
Angus had straightened his back, put a neutral expression on his face, and slapped Axl on the shoulder. “Nothin’ to worry ’bout, li’l brother. I’m here for you.”
Axl tore his gaze from their mother’s trailer—the only home he’d ever known—and looked at Angus like he couldn’t comprehend the words that had just come out of his brother’s mouth.
Angus kept his expression blank, unaffected, and said nothing else. It wasn’t difficult, not really, because what he’d long suspected was true. Angus felt nothing when he thought about the possibility of his mother being dead.
“We’re going to need the coroner here,” a nearby firefighter said into a walkie-talkie.
That was when Axl broke down. He dropped to his knees, tears falling from his eyes as he shook his head. It had been years since Angus saw his brother cry, not since he was around nine or so, but that had been in the privacy of their trailer. This, however, was in front of their neighbors—most of whom knew what a piece of shit their mother had been—and it infuriated Angus, made him curse himself for not making Axl tougher.
He grabbed his brother by the arm and pulled him to his feet, forcing him to turn so he was looking Angus in the eye. “Cut that shit out, you hear me?”
Axl swiped his hand across one cheek then the other.
“You ain’t gonna cry like a baby,” Angus continued. “You’re tougher than that. I know ’cause I taught you.”
“She’s dead,” Axl had said, his voice strained with emotion.
“Who gives a fuck? What did that bitch ever do for you other than knock you ’round?” Angus spit at their feet, emphasizing how little he’d thought of their mother. “Got what she deserved.”
“She was our mom, Angus.” Axl’s tears were under control by then, but his lip had still trembled.
“She gave birth to us. That’s it.” Angus cupped the back of his brother’s neck with his hand, his grip firm. “I don’t wanna hear ’nother word ’bout it. Got it? She’s gone, but you ain’t, and you don’t need her. You got me. That’s all you need, ’cause I’m gonna look out for you. The James brothers against the world. Remember that.”
Axl sniffed as if trying to rein in his emotions, but he’d still looked like a beaten dog as they waited for confirmation from the firefighters.
Hours later, after everything had settled down and they’d turned in for the night, Angus had been able to hear Axl’s quiet sobbing from the other room. It had made him grind his teeth together, but he’d let it go. He told himself things would be different from then on. Angus would be harder on Axl. Get him to toughen up. No brother of his was going to go through life as a sissy, not as long as Angus had anything to say about it. Axl needed to learn to be hard if he was going to make it in this world.
It was years before Angus saw his brother cry again. He didn’t shed a single tear when they went to identify their mother’s body, or at the shitty funeral Angus had managed to throw together—pissed the whole time about having to spend his hard-earned money on a woman who’d never given a shit about him. It had been something of a source of pride for Angus,
the way he whipped Axl into shape, and it wasn’t until years later that he realized what a fool he’d been.
The next time he woke, the cabin was dark. Faint, flickering light from the other room provided just enough illumination to allow Angus to see his surroundings, and he found both a glass of water and a mug waiting for him on the bedside table. Moving even an inch made his body throb, but his throat was even more raw than it had been earlier, and he was suddenly desperate for the soothing balm a drink would provide. He pushed himself into a sitting position, gritting his teeth against the pain, and shifted until his back was pressed against the headboard. The effort almost took his breath away, and he had to pause to collect himself, his eyes closed, his teeth gritted.
Slowly, the pain eased, and while it didn’t go away completely, Angus no longer felt like he might pass out from it. He opened his eyes, took stock of himself, and once he was certain he wasn’t going to fall over, reached for the glass.
The cuts on his arms had scabbed over while he slept, and they pulled tight as he moved, threatening to break open. He kept his movements slow and easy, not wanting to start bleeding again and hoping to ease some of the pain. Avoiding it completely was impossible, though, and the bites on his shoulder and neck ached even when he remained totally still. It would take days for the pain to fade enough that he could move without wincing.
He gulped the water down, his injured throat throbbing with each swallow even as the tepid liquid soothed his insides, then he reached for the mug. The ceramic was warm, but not hot, and smelled slightly meaty. A soup of some kind, he realized as he brought the mug to his lips. He sipped it hesitantly at first, wanting to make sure it wasn’t going to burn his tongue, then sucked more of it down as soon as he was certain it wouldn’t scorch him. It wasn’t bad, not too bland and heavy on the protein, and as he drank, he found himself wondering what Naya had put in it other than the raccoon. Little chunks of meat went down with the broth, small enough that he didn’t need to chew, but there seemed to be nothing else floating in it. Still, he could tell something had been put in to add a little extra flavor. He just couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
Broken World | Novel | Angus Page 24