My Brother's Bad Best Friend

by B. B. Hamel

  “Motherfucker,” I say softly. That bastard just sold our weed to those goddamn drug dealers, and I’m betting they’re about to take that shit across state lines. That’s about as illegal as it fucking gets, and we could go to prison for that shit. “You stupid bastard.”

  I go back into my office and spend the morning trying to figure out what to do. The place slowly fills up, and when I check the café, I find Lane and Lizzie working side by side to fill orders. I slink back into my office and sulk there a while, trying to decide how I want to confront Ezra, when my phone rings.

  My breath hangs for a second, but it’s just Don. “We’re hitting the school,” he says to me. “You gotta come.”

  I frown a little bit. I should confront Ezra, deal with this Lizzie shit, get my life back together, stop fucking it all up. I shouldn’t run off with some skater kids and spend the day fucking around and filming them doing tricks.

  “All right,” I say. “When?”

  “Now,” he says.

  “See you there.”

  I hang up, slide my cell into my pocket, and leave the Half Pipe. I’m a fucking dick, as bad as anyone else. I can face my problems some other time. It’s nice outside.

  14

  Lizzie

  Even if I wanted to pretend like I hadn’t thrown myself at Jonas and slept with him, I can’t, because I’m sore and practically walking with a limp for a couple days afterwards.

  Well, that’s an exaggeration, but I am definitely sore. It’s a nice sore, like a dull ache, and it reminds me of the way he fucked me and filled me and completely dominated me.

  I want to pretend like I had complete control over that, but I didn’t. That scares me a lot, but it also sends a thrill down my spine.

  I’ve been craving control. Ever since the accident, I’ve needed to be in complete control of everything around me. It’s part of why I hate driving, and it’s definitely why I haven’t gotten my life together sooner. But Jonas has slowly but systemically shown me that I have no control, and maybe that’s okay.

  Riding my bike is freedom, but it’s also chaos. I can’t control what the drivers around me do, and that’s terrifying. There have been moments where I’ve been afraid a car might swerve too close, moments where I crossed when I shouldn’t have, and those moments are bad. I need to stay safe. But I also need to accept that I can’t live a safe life tucked away in a bedroom in a nice house in La Jolla. Even there, someone can get annoyed and punch me in the face.

  I can pretend like Jonas isn’t dangerous, but I know he is. There’s more to him beneath the surface of tattoos and anger and drugs, but he’s still that thug everyone used to be afraid of. Maybe he’s softened now, smoothed some of the rough edges, went into a legitimate business, but that darkness, that badness, it’s still inside of him.

  And I like it, as messed up as that is. I’m drawn toward it, because it’s that kind of chaos that I need in my life, it’s that chaos that makes me feel good.

  Even if I want more though, he’s barely looked at me these past few days. Ever since we slept together and he disappeared into his room after we got home, he’s barely come into the café and is constantly leaving to hang out with Don and the other skater boys. He says they’re finishing up the movie, but I think he’s trying to avoid me. When I see him at home, he’s always brief and nice, but it never goes past that. I can smell him smoking in his room, but he doesn’t come out to talk to me.

  I shouldn’t be surprised. He told me he’s a bad man, and I know he is, but I know it’s more than that. I know it’s Ezra.

  I decide to stay out later than usual. Instead of going right home, I take my bike out on a long ride, pushing my pedals, the wind on my skin. More than the freedom, I’m starting to like the actual burn of exercise in my thighs, the feeling of triumph when I’m finished. I like the discomfort, the pain, because I’ve embraced it and I’m choosing to feel it. The pain’s good, and in the end, it’ll make me a stronger person, a harder person.

  Or at least my ass is going to look fantastic from all this biking.

  Jonas’s Jeep is parked in the lot when I finally head back home. I go inside, carrying my bike up the stairs on my shoulder before unlocking our door and letting myself in. I park the bike against the wall and look around the living room, my eyes passing over the little nest where I sleep and finally stopping on the glass wall overlooking the back porch.

  There’s the bright orange glow of a joint out there. I can’t see Jonas since it’s dark outside but light inside, and as the orange cherry slowly fades away, any hint of him being out there disappears.

  I walk over to the door and step outside. It takes a second to adjust to the shadows, but there’s Jonas, sitting in a chair with the front legs in the air, a joint between his lips.

  “Hey,” I say to him.

  “Hey.” The chair drops down on all fours as he leans forward. “I just got home. Where’ve you been?”

  “Biking.” I run my hand through my hair, still slightly damp with sweat and pressed down from the helmet.

  “We have to get you a light,” he says, a little smile on his lips. “I mean, if you’re going to be riding all night.”

  “I like it,” I say, feeling stupid. I bite my bottom lip and glance away from his gaze as he takes another hit.

  “Good. I’m glad.” He stands, releasing the smoke from his lungs, and heads toward the door. He has to brush past me, but instead of letting him go, I grab his wrist.

  It’s like a tree trunk. He looks down at my hand and then meets my eyes, his eyebrow quirked. “What are you doing?”

  “You keep ignoring me.” I squeeze his wrist tighter.

  “You think maybe there’s a reason for that?”

  My heart quickens. He’s not denying it, which is good. “I know why,” I say. “It’s because of Ezra.”

  He nods slowly. “Yeah, it’s because of him.”

  “He’ll get over it. I mean, he hasn’t been so bad lately, and—”

  “You have no clue, Lizzie.” He shakes his head. I keep a grip on his wrist though, and he doesn’t pull it away. “It’s gone too far.”

  “What happened?” I ask, afraid of the answer. The image of my brother that I’ve built up in my head these past five years is slowly being eroded away before my eyes, and I know this is going to be the end of it.

  I thought he was so cool. He ran away from home, got out of that abusive trap, and started his own life. He hung around with guys like Jonas, did things I could never picture, had this whole existence outside of the comfortable little La Jolla bubble I got used to. I saw his Instagram posts, his Facebook posts, and I built up this whole mythology around him.

  But now that I’m here in his life, I’m seeing the cracks in the façade. I don’t want it to crumble, but sooner or later, everything breaks down. Kill your heroes, right? Well, maybe it’s time to get a gun and go for it.

  “You don’t need to know,” Jonas says. He’s trying to protect me, I realize, and a flush of warmth comes over me.

  “Tell me anyway.”

  He sighs and slowly brings his other hand to his wrist and pulls me away. His fingers linger against mine but he steps away and sits back down in his chair. He lights his joint again and takes a long drag.

  “He stole from us,” he says finally. “Not just the money from before.”

  “What happened?”

  “I went into work early and saw a bunch of shady guys leaving Half Pipe with big duffel bags. When I went into the grow room, it was obvious that a big chunk of our crop had been stolen.”

  I stare at him, uncomprehending. “We got robbed?”

  “No,” he says softly, smoking billowing around him. “No, Ezra was there. He gave the shit to those assholes.”

  “Gave it?” I feel numb, stupid. I lean up against the glass wall, palms flat against the cold surface.

  “Gave it, sold it, I don’t know. All I know is, he was a part of it.”

  “But that crop was his baby
.” I shake my head, not understanding. “He worked so hard on it.”

  “I know,” he says softly. “Which is why I think he’s in more trouble than we know.”

  We lapse into silence, each of us thinking about Ezra, this troubled asshole that’s keeping us apart. We both want what’s best for Ezra but I think Jonas resents him more than he likes him these days, and I’m starting to see my brother for what he really is.

  Drug addict, fuckup, asshole.

  Thief.

  “What do we do?” I ask him finally.

  “We don’t do shit.” He flicks the butt end of the joint onto the ground and stomps it out. “I’ll handle it.”

  “He’s my brother. I can help.”

  He stands up again, looming above me. His face is in shadows as he steps closer to me, and for a second I think I see the bad guy everyone thinks he is. But the light replaces the shadow and there’s a sad smile on his face.

  “Barely,” he says. “Trust me, little rose. You should leave this to me.” He walks past me and this time I don’t reach out.

  “He needs help,” I say as he opens the door.

  He shrugs a little bit. “Probably.”

  “Help him.” I step closer. “Please.”

  He raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “Why do you care? He’s never cared about you.”

  “He’s still my brother.”

  “Half-brother,” he says, but sighs and shakes his head. “Shit, I’m just being an asshole.”

  “I don’t care. Just help him.”

  “Fine. I’ll go easy.”

  “Tonight. Don’t wait. If he’s in trouble, there might not be time.”

  He watches me for a long second before sighing. “You really want to go down this road, little rose? You really want to see the guy Ezra is right now?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. The old Ezra is already dead, and I know the new one can’t get any worse.

  “Fine. Let’s go find your brother.”

  “You know where he is?”

  Jonas smirks at me. “Girl, I know where every fucking party in this city is going down. I can find your shithead brother.”

  Without another word, he stalks out into the living room. I hesitate a second, not sure I really want to see how this plays out, but I follow him eventually. We leave the apartment together, get into Jonas’s car, and drive out into the night.

  For the first time in a long time, I’m nervous and nauseous over what’s about to happen, not the fact that I’m riding in a car.

  15

  Jonas

  Lizzie tries to get Ezra on the phone, but I knew he wouldn’t pick up. We try a couple of spots first, the bar on the edge of La Jolla he likes to go sometimes to try and pick up rich sluts, and this warehouse party I heard about out in the suburbs. He’s not there, but Lizzie gets her first taste of the real San Diego.

  “I didn’t know places like this existed,” she said as we stepped into the drug-fueled rager. Some guy with spiked hair bumped into her, grinning like a moron, high out of his skull.

  “This is the real California, little rose.” I led her around searching for her brother, but nobody had seen him, so we left after a half hour.

  The third place we try is a little house party near the skate park. Don told me about it, said a bunch of pro skaters and their groupies were going to be there. Ezra loves hanging around that crowd ever since I dragged him into it, and I figured he might make his way over at some point.

  We get lucky. Lizzie stumbles in the door behind me, into another raging party. Maybe a hundred people are packed into what looks like it was once a pretty nice Airbnb, but is now pretty wrecked to hell. I spot Don and the guys in the kitchen, drinking beer and pretending like they’re not staring at the girls around them.

  “Hey, boss!” Don says as I approach the group. The other two grin and I shake hands all around. Lizzie smiles, hanging around my shoulder, sticking close like she’s never been to a fucking house party before.

  There’s no way the girl’s that inexperienced. I mean, she hung around with the rich assholes back before her accident, or at least that’s what Ezra told me. Maybe those rich kids don’t know how to have fun, or maybe little rose just isn’t used to crowds anymore.

  “Have you seen E?” I ask Don.

  He frowns and trades a look with Vinny. “Uh, could have, boss.”

  “Don,” I say, “tell me where he is.”

  “Out back.” Shrink speaks up, jerking his head toward the back door. Don and Vinny glare at him but he just shrugs. “He’s going to find out eventually.”

  “Find out what?” My eyes are narrow, watching the three skaters.

  “Selling,” Don says simply, since he doesn’t need to say more.

  I groan. “Come on.” I grab Lizzie and storm through the crowd, parting the assholes like an iron ship bursting through an ice sheet. Lizzie lets herself get pulled along in my wake, which is good, because I’m not slowing down for anyone.

  I push out the back door, scattering some girls taking selfies on the steps. “Watch it,” one of them says but I ignore the duck-lipped idiot.

  Ezra’s standing over near the back fence, talking to this tall guy with a mustache and skinny jeans. They shake hands and I spot something pass between them. The girl hanging on the mustache guy’s arm giggles and leans toward Ezra, saying something as she slips some cash into his palm. He smiles back as the two leave and he quickly counts the bills before slipping them into his pocket.

  “Amateur,” I grunt.

  “What?” Lizzie looks up at me, eyes wide.

  “He gave them the drugs before taking their money. That’s some fucking amateur shit. I thought I taught him better.”

  She stares at me for a second before laughing. “You’re pissed he’s not selling drugs good enough? I thought we were here to stop him.”

  “We are. But if he’s going to be a dickhead, he might as well do it right.” I move off again, heading straight toward him. Ezra doesn’t notice me until we’re right on top of him, and by then it’s too late.

  He looks like a dog caught with his face in the trash. And as far as I’m concerned, that’s what he fucking is.

  I bull right up to him, not stopping. “Hey, Jonas, man, I didn’t know—”

  His eyes go wide in surprise as I grab the front of his shirt and ram him backward, sending him stumbling into the fence. I growl and follow up, slamming my forearm into his chest just under his throat and pinning him back.

  “What the fuck?” he grunts, fear all over his face.

  I feel Lizzie on my back, coming close.

  “You’re selling fucking coke at a skater party,” I growl in his face. “Are you fucking stupid?”

  He shakes his head, fear not abating. “I know what I’m doing, asshole. You don’t have anything to do with this.”

  He doesn’t try to fight me. He knows it would be pointless even if he did. Ezra isn’t a small guy, although I’m definitely bigger, but that’s not the real issue.

  I’ve been in fights. I know what it feels like to get punched in the jaw by a stronger man. I can take a beating and keep going, because I know how it feels and I know I can keep pushing, keep swinging. I can scrap, but Ezra’s never had to. I’ve always fought his battles.

  Now he’s pissed off the one person in the world he knows he never should.

  “I know about the weed,” I say, snarling in his face. “I know you gave it to those fucking assholes.”

  “I had to, okay?” He puts his heads up, eyes still wide. “Look at me, okay, look. I’m sober, I’m dead sober. I’m not using the stuff, okay? I fucked up bad, Jonas, but I’m not using anymore.”

  I push him harder against the fence. “Jonas,” Lizzie says, but I just ignore her. I can feel the crowd growing behind me.

  “How much?” I ask him softly.

  “Too much.” He shakes his head. “I wasn’t moving it fast enough, they got impatient, so I cut them a deal. Weed to wipe out my debt. They w
ere going to kill me, Jonas.”

  “They should’ve killed you.” I push harder and he grunts. “Did you sell at Half Pipe?”

  He hesitates, looking away. He hesitates way too fucking long. “Look, man—”

  I step back, letting him off the fence. He groans and rubs his chest, looking up at me.

  I punch him as hard as I can in the jaw. His face cracks back and he stumbles into the fence. I hear Lizzie scream as I punch Ezra again in the gut, doubling him over. I shove him to the ground and as he’s gasping for air, I lean over him. “Never sell at Half Pipe again. You hear me? Unload what you have and be done.”

  “Yeah,” he gasps.

  I straighten up and face the gathering crowd. “What the fuck do you people want?” I bark at them. “Get the fuck out of here.”

  They slowly disperse. I notice Don, Vinny, and Shrink watching off to the side, looking concerned, almost afraid. Lizzie’s eyes are wide and she’s backing away from me.

  “Come on,” I snap at her.

  She shakes her head. “You went too far, Jonas.”

  I growl and get right in her face. “I told you I was a fucking bad man, little rose. Now you’re all afraid?”

  She does look afraid, I realize, afraid of me. That deflates my anger and I realize what I’m doing. I step away from her, rolling my neck.

  “You heard him,” I say more softly. “He was dealing from the store. He put us all at risk.”

  “I know,” she says softly. “It’s just… you scared me.”

  “I know I did.” I reach out and grab her wrist. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  I head back out through the party towing Lizzie behind me. People stare as we pass but let them. This is just another fucking bad example of the kind of horrible person I am, just another bullshit incident for people to gossip about.

  I don’t care. They don’t fucking know me. They don’t know why I just did that, why I hurt my own best friend. They have no clue the kind of risk Ezra forced on everyone at the shop, everyone I care about. He’s reckless and dangerous, way more out of control than I am, and he deserves everything he gets. But they don’t know that.