Never Doubt Me: Judge Me Not #2

by S. R. Grey

  While Cassie is preparing to jump down from the bed of the truck, Kay turns back to me, pins me with a meaningful look. I catch on quickly—this is another opportunity for her to get through to Cassie. Kay plans to close the deal, so to speak, in convincing Will’s girlfriend to talk with her mom before the week is up. Kay has already made good progress.

  After Will and I returned with the popcorn, seconds before he and I became immersed in the movie, what Kay whispered to me was that Cassie told her she wants to go back to Vegas—she misses her friends and her mom—but she fears her twisted stepdad, Paul, will continue to harass her. As it stands, things have gone from bad to worse. He propositioned her in very vivid terms last week. That’s what dragged Will away from the airport. That’s why he didn’t fly to Ohio to visit as was originally planned. And that fucker Paul’s proposition is what led to Will and Cassie running away.

  As far as I’m concerned, the sick fuck has to go—and soon. I swear, if Kay can’t convince Cassie to tell her mother what’s been going on, I’m flying my ass out to Vegas and laying that motherfucker out myself. There was no tolerance for pedophiles in prison, and I uphold the same philosophy here on the outside.

  Eventually, Kay and Cassie return, but there’s no opportunity to get an update. Everyone is tired and ready to go home. We return to the house, and as soon as we’re parked, Will jumps out of the truck.

  “I’m exhausted,” he announces as he heads straight to the house.

  I linger in the driveway while Kay and Cassie fold the blankets, trying to assess if they need help.

  “Hey, bro,” Will calls over his shoulder when he reaches the porch. “Come on.”

  “Yeah, give me a minute,” I yell back.

  Cassie is fumbling with one of the blankets, so I take it from her and say, “Why don’t you go spend a few minutes alone with your boyfriend before we all turn in?”

  Cassie smiles thankfully and heads over to the porch. But before Kay gets started on telling me how sweet of a gesture that was, I drop the stupid blanket and grab her up in my arms.

  Showering my love in hungry kisses, I say, “I’ve been dying to do this since we were interrupted earlier.”

  I am up—in more ways than one—for Kay sneaking over again, but I can tell she’s beat. It’s probably best if we don’t push our luck. Two nights in a row of Kay calling out my name while I fuck her senseless is sure to wake up Will. Not that I care if my brother hears us. I’m just worried he’ll take the opportunity of my being preoccupied to sneak over to the apartment and engage in the same sort of activities with his own girlfriend.

  After a few more minutes of holding my girl and sharing with her how much I love her, we reluctantly part.

  When I reach the porch, I yell in through the screen door for Cassie to come out. “Time to wrap things up,” I say.

  Will and Cassie are in the dining room, which is directly off to the left of the hall. That allows me to hear every word of them telling each other how much they love one another and can’t wait to hook up. Kissing noises follow, and I roll my eyes.

  Seconds later, Cassie scurries past me. She tosses a “Good night, Chase” over her shoulder before she catches up to Kay.

  When I step inside the house, chuckling and shaking my head, Will is standing at the base of the stairs. “Hey,” he says, yawning, “I’m going to take a shower before bed.”

  “Okay, cool.”

  “Good night.” Will says, yawning again.

  “’Night…and stop yawning.” I stifle a yawn of my own. “That shit’s contagious.”

  Will laughs and heads upstairs. Meanwhile, I make sure everything is locked up, since, unfortunately, there will be no visit from Kay tonight. When I’m done, I jog up the steps. But as I’m making my way to my bedroom, I just about trip over something that’s lying on the floor. I turn on a light and discover it’s Will’s duffel bag that’s in my path.

  Standing at the bathroom door, it’s clear that the shower is still running. I shake my head and start to toe the bag out of the way, but suddenly, this feeling comes over me, like maybe I should take this opportunity and check to make sure my brother’s not toting around any drugs or alcohol. I hate to go through Will’s stuff, but he did recently borrow money from me under false pretenses. Shortly after I (ill-advisedly) loaned him some cash, our mom found his stash—weed he had bought with my money.

  With my foot, I push at the duffel bag. What should I do…what should I do?

  I’m not so much worried about weed in particular. I already told our mom the kid’s bound to try it. But I do worry bud will turn into a gateway drug for my brother. After all, he has the same genetics as Mom and me, and God knows, she and I have fought our addictions.

  Mom spent years gambling. And me, well, I was into just about every drug you could name, except for heroin. That one exclusion didn’t mean I wasn’t in deep. Cocaine had me by the balls for a long time. And I sure as fuck don’t care to stand by and watch my little brother follow in those same footsteps.

  Despite feeling shitty for what I’m about to do—rummage through his things—I push all that shit aside and crouch down next to Will’s duffel bag. With the shower water echoing in the background, I reach out, unzip the bag, and proceed to go through my little brother’s belongings.

  I’m relieved at once when I find no drugs—no alcohol, either. Will’s bag is crammed with mostly clothes, in addition to some other things, like shaving cream, disposable razors, shit like that.

  I chuckle when I come across a box of condoms. When I tuck them back under one of Will’s T-shirts, I send up a prayer that my brother is actually using them.

  With my search complete, I start shoving things back into the bag. But in doing so, I discover a sketchbook at the very bottom. I pull it out, lean back against the wall, and start thumbing through a bunch of colorful comic panels Will has drawn.

  A few of the scenes are familiar. I recognize them as the same pages Will e-mailed to me when we started talking again back in June.

  Taking in the intricate detail of Will’s futuristic, annihilated Las Vegas, I can’t help but smile. Despite the bleak subject matter, Will’s art is fucking impressive. It’s good, really good—professional, even. My brother’s comic book is definitely polished enough to be published. And that makes me feel so fucking proud of him.

  I become so wrapped up in Will’s creations that I barely notice when the water abruptly shuts off. But once I do, I hurriedly toss the sketchbook back into the bag.

  When I start to pull the zipper closed, unfortunately for me, the teeth catch on a pair of Will’s cargo shorts. “Fuck,” I hiss.

  I fumble a few seconds with the zipper, manage to get the shorts unhooked, and shove everything deeper into the bag. And that’s when my thumb brushes over what feels like a folded piece of paper that’s been jammed into an inside pocket. The paper feels like a page from a sketchpad. But it’s too smooth, like in a worn-out way.

  This can’t be what I think it is.

  But when I lift the piece of paper, carefully from the narrow inside pocket, I discover it is indeed a page from an old sketchbook, a page from one of my old sketchbooks. And it’s exactly what I think it is.

  With shaky fingers, I unfold the yellowed page. Still feeling stunned, I stare down at the tree house sketch Will told me the other night he no longer had. This is the same sketch my brother once told me gave him hope. So that begs the question of why Will would lie to me. Why did he say the sketch I drew him all those years ago was long gone?

  I blow out a breath. My brother has had his hope with him all along. But perhaps even more mind-blowing than discovering the tree house sketch still exists is the fact my brother took the time to pack it in his bag and carry it with him across the country.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  My eyes tear up. I mean, shit, all this time I’ve been thinking my brother has been struggling to forgive me for letting my ass get locked up. But maybe he never really gave up on me in th
e first place.

  Why else would he hold on to this sketch—one of the first things I ever drew for him?

  I shake my head. I failed this kid, but he obviously never stopped believing in me. He held on to hope even when I’d forsaken it.

  I run a fingertip over what I drew so long ago. The blue walls of the rooms are faded, and there’s a double water ring on top of the green foliage on the tree, like someone used the sketch as a coaster once or twice. But despite the wear and tear, the truck parked at the base of the tree—Will freaking loved that thing—still looks good, all big, badass, and bright yellow.

  More importantly, though, when I look past all the aesthetics, I finally see what Will has seen all along in this drawing, what he saw so many years ago. I realize why something created by my hand once gave him hope. Somewhere, in between faded blue rooms and water-marked leaves, every ounce of love I felt the day I sketched this for my baby brother is clear. My love for him resonates in every line, every curve of colored pencil. There’s love even in the once-colorful shades. This sketch is something special. It’s from a different time, a time when we all had different lives, lives filled with so much love it was fucking unbelievable.

  But that was before everything changed.

  The water stopped a while ago, but I make no move to stand. I don’t really care anymore if Will finds me out here in the hall, seated next to his open bag on the floor. I just can’t bring myself to put the sketch back where I found it. Not yet.

  The bathroom door swings open and thick, hot steam wafts out. I don’t look up, but my brother’s bare feet step into my line of sight. He clears his throat, and that’s when I tilt back my head.

  Will’s upper body is damp and bare, but his lower half is covered in basketball shorts that look familiar. “Those mine?” I ask with a quick jerk of my head indicating the shorts.

  “Yeah, they were clean. Is that okay?”

  I shrug.

  Will glances down at the sketch in my hand, but his eyes dart away when he notices me watching him.

  He sighs, loudly. I fully expect him to start yelling and calling me every name in the book. I deserve as much for so blatantly invading his privacy.

  But Will does none of these things. Instead, he sits down next to me and leans his head back against the wall.

  “So you were going through my shit, huh?” He motions lazily to his open bag.

  He doesn’t sound angry, just resigned.

  I clear my throat. “Yeah, I was going through your stuff. Sorry, bro.”

  “I don’t have any drugs, if that’s what you were looking for.”

  “I know, Will. And yeah, drugs were exactly what I was looking for.”

  He doesn’t say anything in return; he just accepts. My brother closes his eyes and rakes his hand through his wet hair. Yeah, I have the same quirk. I also notice Will’s hair wet like this is the exact same shade as mine, the strands more of a light brown color instead of his usual dark-blond shade.

  Will may resemble Mom the most, but like me, he’s got a lot of Dad in him, too. It’s becoming more obvious now that he’s maturing.

  With his eyes still closed, Will mutters, “I’m sorry, Chase.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  “For lying to you about the money I borrowed.”

  Exhaling loudly, I say, “Yeah, that wasn’t too cool, bro.”

  “I know.” Will opens his eyes and shoots me a sidelong glance. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

  “You still smoking?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Not since Mom found my stash.”

  I nudge his shoulder with mine. “Hey, you know why I worry about that shit, yeah?”

  “I know, I know,” Will replies. “You and drugs. Mom and gambling.”

  I sigh. He sighs. Sometimes there’s nothing left to say.

  But then Will gestures to the drawing still in my hand. “I see you found the sketch,” he says softly.

  After a beat, I ask, “Why’d you tell me it was gone?”

  Will turns away and doesn’t respond.

  I can’t see his face, but I see him swallowing hard. “Will?”

  When he turns back to me, his eyes are brimming with tears. “Fuck, Chase, I don’t know.” He scrubs a hand down his face. “What’s it matter, anyway? It’s just a stupid sketch, right?”

  It’s not, but he sounds so distraught that I agree. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

  I start refolding the sketch, with every intention of putting it away, but Will smacks my hand. “Don’t,” he croaks. “Just…let it go.”

  Talk about a loaded statement.

  Despite Will’s protests, I finish folding the paper. He hits my hand again—hard. So hard that the sharp report slices though the silence in the hall.

  I release the sketch and let it drop into the bag. “Happy?” I snap.

  Will smacks my hand again, harder still. But I let him. He chokes back a sob. I know he’s upset; this shit isn’t about some old sketch.

  “Hit me if it makes you feel better,” I tell him.

  I mean it. This one time, I’ll let my little brother raise his hand to me. He can beat the fuck out of me if it makes him feel better. Just this once, I won’t fight back.

  But instead of hitting me again, Will grabs up my hand and clutches at it desperately. That shit just about guts me.

  “Shit, bro,” Will sobs, chokes on his words. “This is so fucking dumb. I’m such a fucking pussy.” My brother’s tears don’t stop, despite him grinding his fist into his eyes. “Chase…”

  “Fuck, Will.”

  I gather my brother in my arms. He resists at first, but I work to soothe him.

  When he keeps trying to push me away, though, I say sternly, “Stop fighting me, goddammit. Just let go, okay? Let it out, Will. You’re safe with me.”

  With a strangled sob, my brother gives in. He wraps his arms around me and lets his heart pour.

  “I feel so alone all the time, Chase. I pretend like I’m okay, but I’m not. Most of the time, I’m just winging it. Really, I honestly don’t know what I’m doing half the fucking time.”

  “Will.” His words break my heart.

  He chokes back another sob that reverberates in my own chest. “I mean, Mom… She tries.” Will loosens his hold but still clings to me. “I know her intentions are there, but she’s just… I don’t know. She’s just Mom, you know?”

  “I know,” I say, nodding.

  God, I know all too well what he means. Mom’s not been solid in the way we’ve needed since Dad died.

  “I didn’t know what to do when Cassie called,” Will continues, “when I was at the airport. I didn’t mean to blow off coming here that day. But what was I supposed to do? When I got to Cass’s house, it was just so…bad. But I am sorry we ran away like we did. I didn’t mean to show up here and put you on the spot. I’d never want for you to end up in trouble because of me. It’s just that I…I can’t keep doing this shit all on my own. I can’t, Chase, I can’t…”

  Will trails off, and I lean down and kiss his head of wet hair.

  “You don’t have to keep doing everything on your own,” I whisper soothingly. “I’m here. Even when you’re in Nevada, Will, I’m always just a phone call away. And if things ever get really bad, I’ll be there for you. I’ll fly out to Vegas, bro, I swear, whatever you need.”

  “Thank you,” he sobs.

  I knew this fucking bullshit would catch up to my brother—this saving Cassie, this running away. Will can’t save the world. He’s only fifteen, for fuck’s sake. With all this in mind, I hold on to my brother like I used to when he was a small child. I let him cry it out. He’s practically curled up in my lap, so I bury my nose in his shoulder. He smells the same way he used to when he was a small child—clean. And it’s not the kind of clean from just showering, though there is that, too. But my brother also smells innocent, unsullied by maturity.

  We don’t say a word for the longest time. There’s simply no n
eed to.

  As if the sketch wasn’t proof enough, the fact that my brother lets me hold him like I used to convinces me he still needs me—a lot. He may never call me “Chasey” again, like he did when he was little, but he’ll always be my baby brother. To me, he’ll always be that uncoordinated little kid who used to look up to me, who once longed to be like me, the little boy who needed me. And what’s become glaringly obvious tonight is that Will still needs me.

  I’m going to be here for him, just like I promised.

  When Will calms and pulls away, he looks embarrassed. I punch him in the arm. Not hard, but not completely easy, either.

  “Ow! What the fuck, dick.” My brother rubs his bicep.

  “That’s for hitting me earlier, like multiple fucking times.” I pause, catch his gaze. “And also…just because.”

  Really, I am giving my brother the chance to save face. Not to mention, it’s my fucked-up guy way of letting him know I love him.

  But he likes to press, so he says all cocky like, “’Cause why?”

  I ignore his inquiry and stand up. He stands up, too. I try to stare him down, make myself look all stern, but hell, I gotta smile. The little shit is giving me attitude, all in good fun.

  I reach out and fuck up his still-wet hair. “Don’t worry about why,” I tell him. “Just get the fuck to bed.”

  Will ducks under my arm, but not before grabbing up his duffel bag. I notice he makes damn sure the tree house sketch is secure before he takes off down the hall.

  “Good night, Will,” I call out over my shoulder.

  When he doesn’t answer, I turn around. He gives me the finger.

  “Hey, Will,” I say, more serious now.

  He stops, but doesn’t turn to face me.

  “I fuck with you because I love you, all right? And I’ve missed being around you like this. I’ve missed being your brother.”

  Will’s shoulders sag, and he starts into his room. But before he closes the door, I hear him say, “I’ve missed you, too, Chase. I love you, bro.”

  The next day, I take Will to work with me, and since Cassie has no desire to hang out all alone at the house, she asks Kay if she can tag along, too. Of course, Kay’s cool with that.