Chapter 21: : Part 2 – Chapter 21

Theo, age 25

“You’re such a sucker, Bailey.”

I smirk as our cruiser rolls to a stop at the back of the country club, where a small group of dolled-up teenagers are sucking on cigarettes. “We’ll just do a quick sweep and make sure these kids are being law-abiding citizens. Can’t have any underage drinking or wild orgies commencing, eh?”

“Because you were such a saint at eighteen.”

Kip throws me a knowing grin and kills the engine. I shrug, fondly recalling my own senior Prom. Monica blew me in a utility closet.

It was great.

And it’s the exact reason I’m here right now—can’t have Peach finding her way into any sketchy closets, getting pressured into performing despicable acts with that son-of-a-bitch, Ryker.

Dumbass name.

Kip follows me through the lot as the four teens toss their cigarettes to the cement, snuffing out the cherries with their shiny shoes and glittery heels. They look terrified, silencing their conversations and pretending to check their phones. I nod my head at them as we pass and enter through the back door, sighing at their reaction.

I hate it.

Most of the cops in my department love the power trip… the air of intimidation that comes along with a badge and a uniform. They plod around with puffed-out chests, somehow thinking the loaded weapon in their holster is making up for the inadequacy between their legs.

Not me—I really fucking hate it when people cower when I walk by, or avert their eyes when I try to send them a smile. I hate that they avoid me when I’m only trying to help.

Kip gets it. His passion for saving people is just as great as mine, ever since he lost his parents in a suspicious boating accident. He’s not about meeting ticket quotas, or terrifying civilians into submission. He just wants to make a difference.

This is why we make damn good partners.

The sound of shitty mainstream music fills our ears as we move through the rear of the venue, peeking into empty rooms, making sure there are no teen moms in the making. Static from our radios penetrates the otherwise quiet hallways.

Kip takes it as the perfect opportunity to ambush me with his unwanted sister advice.

“You’ll need to start loosening that leash soon, so you don’t lose your mind when she breaks away for good.” Kip’s words of warning trickle through me, and I respond with a grumble. He adds, “You can’t keep an eye on her forever.”

“Says who?”

“Says the guy who tried to do that very thing and failed. Jocelyn despised me for two solid years because I micromanaged her personal life and scared away her boyfriend at the time.”

“Good for you. If the pussy ran, he wasn’t good enough for her.”

Kip lets a grin slip. “One hundred percent.”

We fist-bump.

“But that’s not the point,” he continues, taking long strides beside me, his thumbs hooked into his belt loops. “The point is, she hated me. Didn’t talk to me for years because she was pissed off and resentful, and that hurt like hell after already losing our parents. I had nobody.”

I rub a palm down my jaw with a sniff. “Yeah, well, Peach isn’t prickly like that. She’s too soft to stay mad at me for long.”

“That’s because she hasn’t found a guy you actively want to murder yet. Wait and see how she reacts when you try to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, and the guy she loves breaks her heart.” He spears me with a pointed look. “She’s going to break your heart in return.”

The thought sends a nasty shudder down my spine.

Glancing at my partner, his sharp, angled features seem to mellow at the flash of worry in my eyes. I clear my throat, trying not to appear ruffled. “I got it covered, partner. Peach isn’t going anywhere, I can promise you that. Family is everything to her. Mom and Dad, me, Brant…” My skin hums with subtle intuition. An irritation, really, like tiny needles tiptoeing all over me.

I scratch at my arms.

“If you say so, Bailey.”

The music gets louder as we round a corner, then traipse up a staircase that leads to an upper level. I realize Kip is making some valid points, but I’m a stubborn bastard, and my stalwart love for June has always trumped reason. Ever since I was a rascally kid, I wanted a sister. A little princess I could protect. I thought it’d be easy to keep her safe from dragons and black magic, keep her tucked away inside a stone castle, but sometimes the enemy isn’t always black and white. Sometimes the monster slips through undetected, disguised as things we don’t expect.

Sometimes, the monster is already inside.

The guilt and sense of responsibility I still feel to this day, when I discovered little June crumpled in a pile of dead leaves at the bottom of our beloved treehouse, tethers me to my mission in a profound way. Bone-deep. I’d promised to always protect her, and I let her down the instant some immature girl batted her pretty eyes at me. June almost died that day, and I know I never would have forgiven myself.

So, all I can do now is make up for it.

Every good deed, every life saved, chips away at that hollow block of shame.

And Brant? Well, he’s always been my trusty sidekick. My partner in crime, but more so, justice. A brother through and through, despite his inability to accept that title.

It bothered me.

It bothered me a whole hell of a lot as we were growing up, and I never understood why he ran from something most people craved.

Family.

It still doesn’t make sense to me, but he suffered through a tragedy, and I don’t think anyone can really make sense out of tragedy.

Only… something else has been bothering me lately. Something that’s kept me up at night, made my wheels spin out until I hydroplane so bad, I pull myself from the ugly wreckage and convince myself that I’m seeing shit that isn’t there. Shit that’s too fucked-up to warrant even an ounce of speculation.

Something far worse than any monster, demon, or foul beast I could ever imagine or create.

“The dance is this way.” Kip’s voice breaks through my dark thoughts when I veer off in a random direction. He gives me a sharp smack on the shoulder, but it doesn’t rattle me as much as my own inner workings. “You good?”

“Yeah, I’m good. I—” My cell phones buzzes in my front pocket. Veronica’s name lights up the screen with a text message, and I smile, a warm fuzzy feeling replacing the poison. “Hold up, it’s the girlfriend.”

Kip waves a hand at me, as if to say, “carry on.”

Veronica: I have a surprise for you 🙂

Ooh. A surprise from Veronica either results in sexual favors or…

Actually, that’s it.

She’s pretty easy to figure out, but I’m sure as hell not complaining.

Me: New toy, new lingerie, or new position to try… ? 😉

Veronica: *gasps with horror* How dare you assume that I’m only trying to get into your pants. Lingerie.

Me: Cheeky minx. I guess I might have to dip out of my shift early. Not feeling so well tonight.

Veronica: It’s not flu season, but it could be flu season. Hurry home, Theodore. 😉

Ah, the full name.

She’s definitely horny.

I send her a few suggestive emojis as Kip chuckles beside me. “What?” I’m still smiling when I glance up at him.

“Nothing. I just miss that.”

“Sex?”

“That’s not the issue—it’s the other stuff.” His finger circles in front of my mouth, where I’m still grinning like a lovestruck idiot. “The feelings. Being smitten. You know… love.”

“I’m not in…” I stop short because I don’t necessarily believe what I’m about to say. Maybe I’m in love. Hell, I’m not so sure I know what it even feels like, but it’s different than my relationship with Monica. That was a roller coaster of toxicity and back and forth insanity.

This is… something sweeter.

Veronica is someone I’d draw my sword for in a heartbeat.

Maybe that is love.

My palm glides along the banister overlooking the lower level as I glance back down at the inappropriate meme Veronica just sent me. Laughter slips through as I tell Kip, “You know, I think I do lo—”

Two hands suddenly plant against my chest, shoving me backward.

My hackles rise, confusion blanketing me.

“What the hell are you—”

“Go. Turn around.” Kip’s face is pinched with distress. His voice is gravelly. His body blocks me from moving past him to see what the fuck is going on.

I shove him to the side, but he immediately swoops back into my line of sight. “Kip. Get the fuck out of my way.”

“Turn around and walk, Bailey. That’s a goddamn order.”

Our eyes lock.

My heart pounds.

And then I hear something.

A moan, or a gasp. Something from right below us that has me glancing to my right, unable to see anything due to Kip’s hulky frame. My gaze flicks back to his. A dark warning glints in his eyes, and I think I know. I think I fucking know.

A surge of adrenaline has me plowing past him until he stumbles back, and I storm over to the railing and peer down over the edge.

My veins freeze with ice.

Bile burns the back of my throat as my stomach churns, and I almost double over and retch.

Brant and June.

Brant and my baby sister.

Kissing.

Grinding.

Panting and moaning.

His tongue is down her throat.

His hands are in her hair.

His hips are thrusting against her as he desecrates the sweetest thing I’ve ever known.

I fucking fly.

I book it down the staircase, two, three steps at a time, nearly spilling down head first as June pushes Brant away, then makes a mad dash through the double doors.

“Theo!” Kip flies after me. I can hear him, barely, but it’s hard to hear anything over the sound of my blood hissing, my heart exploding, and my sanity snapping in two.

Brant stares at me, unmoving.

Like he’s in shock.

My fists turn to stones as I race toward him. “I’m going to kill you.”

Inhaling a sharp breath, Brant shakes his head back and forth, his hand finally extending as if he’s trying to slow me down.

No chance.

Fuck that. Fuck him.

He’s fucking dead.

I tackle him, my knuckles flying at his face. “She’s your sister.” I punch him again, blood spurting from his nose. “She’s. Your. Fucking. Sister.” My arm lifts again, angrier than the first two times, but it’s stopped short when Kip grabs me by the wrist and yanks me off of him with some kind of superhuman force. “Let me go, asshole. Let me fucking go!”

Brant lies there, one knee drawing up, his hand cupping his face.

I think I hear something come through on our radios, but blind rage rings louder.

My arms are still flying, legs flailing, while Kip continues to drag me back in a deathlike grip. I’m snarling like a rabid bear, saliva dripping down my chin. I point at Brant, who’s trying to pull himself up on his elbows as rivers of blood paint his face red. “That’s it, isn’t it? I finally fucking figured it out.” My chest heaves with anger, madness, sorrow. “You never accepted me as a brother because that meant you’d have to accept June as a sister.” Brant is breathing heavily, still swinging his head back and forth. Blood spills down his nose, jaw, mouth, staining his suit collar. “And you couldn’t, could you? Because this whole time you wanted to fuck her!”

The last two words purge out of me in an animalistic roar.

“Theo, get a fucking hold of yourself.” Kip still grapples with me, keeping me reined in before I let loose and kill the man I’ve considered a brother since I was seven years old. “We have to go. A call came in.” He spins me around, fisting the front of my uniform with one hand as the other smacks against my jaw. “Do you understand me? We have to go. Get it together.”

He shakes me a little. The red haze over my vision starts to desaturate, and I blink, swallowing down the soot and squalor in my throat and nodding my head. “Yeah, okay… fuck. I hear you.”

I shove his arms away, bending over to collect myself. I think I hear Brant behind me, pulling to a stand, his own breathing as ragged as mine. He doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing he could possibly say.

“This isn’t over,” I grit out through bared teeth.

Kip grabs me by the arm. “Let’s go.”

He’s probably worried that I’ll fly off the handle again.

He should be.

“You hear me, asshole?” I don’t want to see his face. I don’t want to look at him, but I do. I whirl around and find Brant staring off to the side, hands pulling at his hair, his hazel eyes wet with pathetic fucking tears, face smeared with blood.

He looks gutted.

Shaking.

Guilty.

I growl, my anger escalating. “This isn’t fucking over!” My body moves to lunge at him again, but Kip whips me backward, practically dragging me down the corridor. My words echo through the hall as Brant stares after me, looking nothing like the brother I thought I knew.

We make our way to the scene with lights flashing, sirens blaring, and tires speeding down congested streets.

My heart pumps viciously beneath my ribs.

I can’t shake the image of Brant and June tangled up like lovers, their tongues twisting, bodies writhing.

It’s nauseating.

Maddening.

Kip hasn’t said a word from the driver’s seat as we cruise at a breezy sixty-miles-per-hour, my fists squeezed white-knuckled in my lap. He just sits there in heavy silence, one hand on the wheel, and the other holding his jaw like he’s deep in thought.

There’s been an accident along Route 83, our main drag.

I wonder if it could possibly be any worse than the trainwreck I just uncovered.

A sigh finally fills the space between us as Kip shifts in his seat, glancing in my direction. “Tell me you’re good. If you’re not, I’ll get Mitchell on the phone right now and—”

“I’m good.” My fingernails bite into my palms. “I’m good, Kip.”

“You didn’t know?”

My head jerks to the left. “Did I know what? That my adopted brother has been wanting to put his dick inside my little sister?”

Queasiness claims me.

I feel lightheaded.

Dizzy.

I suck in a deep breath.

Kip is quiet for a few beats, leaning back, his fingers tapping along the wheel. “I just mean… you’ve had a front row seat to their relationship your entire life. If anyone would have suspected anything, I figured it’d be you.”

Suspected.

Yeah, sure, it’s crossed my mind more than once lately—that dark shadow following me around, whispering down my back, filling me with nasty thoughts. There’s been signs. Fleeting touches, heavy eye contact, long hugs that teeter the line of innocent and illicit.

But I thought I was going crazy, losing my damn mind.

How could he… ?

How could they… ?

I swallow. Brant and Peach have always been close—extremely close. They’ve shared a bond so concrete, so unbreakable, even I could never hammer my way through. I never understood it. I was never able to pinpoint what drove their mad affection for one another, what nourished it, or hell… what sparked it in the first place.

My relationship with June was built on loyalty, security, and a fierce, protective love.

My relationship with Brant was built on shared interests, respect, and a powerful common denominator—June.

But Brant and June? They were always something else entirely.

I asked Mom one day when I was just a little punk, pissed off because June wanted to ride her bike with Brant instead of have a swordfight with me in the backyard, why June loved him more than me. Mom told me I had it all wrong.

She didn’t love him more. She just loved him differently.

I thought it was a stupid answer at the time, but now I can’t help but spot those “differences” as my mind reels in reverse like a spinning time machine.

Was this inevitable?

If Brant had never come to live with us, would they have still gone down this same path?

It’s too much to process right now.

My fists still tingle with suppressed rage.

My heart still feels galloped on by steel hooves.

“Talk to him. Fix this.” Kip’s voice is calm yet assertive as he sits beside me, listening in on all the things I’m not saying out loud. We pull up to the scene of the accident, my teeth grinding together as he finishes, “Life’s too short to hate the people we love the most.”

I sniff. “I’m not the one who needs to fix anything.”

“Then allow him to fix it.”

We spare each other a sharp glance as he veers off to the shoulder, where two mangled cars sit before us. “I don’t know if I can.”

“That’s your ego talking, Bailey,” Kip says, unbuckling his belt. He pauses for a beat. “Trust me on this. It’s not worth it.”

My jaw clenches.

“Listen… June is going to end up with somebody, right? It’s inevitable. You can’t keep her from falling in love, no matter how hard you try. At least you know where Brant stands. You know him. And you know he loves her.”

It’s too much.

It’s too much to consider right now as I run a hand through my hair, shaking my head. “Yeah,” I mutter. “I guess.”

I unbuckle my own seatbelt and force the situation from my mind for the time being.

Time to be a saver.

Exiting the patrol car, we make our way toward the three pedestrians that are standing near the guardrail, one woman tending to a gnarly gash along her temple.

I make the rounds to check injuries and take statements when Kip says, “Bailey, there’s a child over here.”

I turn to the red sedan with the right end smashed up against the concrete barrier. The engine smokes as pungent fumes travel over to me, and I zone in on a little blonde head whipping around in the back window. A girl.

My feet start moving.

Kip is already ripping open the back door as I glance into the driver’s seat and discover an elderly woman slumped over the steering wheel, unconscious and unmoving, while her tiny lone passenger cries in the backseat, strapped to a booster. The girl is on the passenger’s side, partially entrapped by the crumpled metal.

Pulling open the driver’s side door, I dip inside to check the woman’s vitals while the little girl wails in terror from the backseat. “Hey, hey. You’re okay.” I look back, taking in her tearstained face and bloody lip that looks like she bit right through it. “What’s your name, little princess?”

The woman has a faint pulse. I breathe out a sigh of relief while we wait for the ambulance to pull up. We’re trained not to move anyone who’s been injured in an automobile accident, so we need to wait for the medics to arrive. All we can do is keep the little girl calm and distracted.

“How about that name?” She must be only three or four. Her golden ringlets remind me of June at that age. “My name is Theo. This is Officer Kip.”

Kip has the backdoor open, one hand resting atop the hood, his head poking inside as he smiles at the preschooler.

She sniffles, her eyes wide and glistening with blue fear. “Anna.”

“You’re okay, Anna,” I tell her, giving her a look of reassurance through the crack in the seats. “We’re both here to help you. You’re going to be just fine.”

“Gamma fell ‘seep.”

The elderly woman in the driver’s seat hasn’t moved. I force a half smile onto my face, nodding at her grandmother. “She’s just taking a little nap. Do you like naps?”

Kip adds, “I love naps.”

Anna shakes her head, tears tinged with blood. “No.”

“You will when you get to be old like us.”

I swear I see a little grin stretch onto her face. It takes me back. It takes me way back to the days of imaginary fairytales, treehouse sleepovers, and whimsical adventures in the backyard with Brant and June beneath cloudy skies and giant mulberry trees.

Innocence.

For a minute, I can see it. I can envision June’s rose-stained cheeks and dark blonde curls as she ran as fast as her stubby little legs would allow, with me and Brant purposely trailing behind her. We’d let her think we couldn’t catch her—that she was fast and clever, mightier than us both. We’d always catch her, though. Brant would tackle her to the ground and blow raspberries onto her belly, while I’d pretend to fight off the invisible goblins and warlocks until the sun began to set behind a crimson-orange horizon.

Then we’d pass out beneath the treehouse in sleeping bags and ratty old quilts, sunburned and sapped, but happier than we’d ever been before.

I miss that.

Swallowing, I shake away the memories as an ambulance sounds in the distance. Anna stares at me from her half-tipped booster, her eyes big, filled with worry. “Do you have a big brother or sister, Anna?”

“Yes. A bwuva.”

Kip’s smile is laced into his voice. “Wow, a brother, huh? I bet he takes good care of you.”

She nods.

“I’m a big brother, too. We both are. I bet he really misses you right now.”

She nods again. “He call me Anna Banana.”

I share a charmed glance with Kip, then reply, “I call my little sister Peach, so that’s—”

And then I hear it.

Screaming.

Terrified screaming that sends a flurry of chills down my spine.

A shrieking voice behind me fuses with squealing tires, yanking me out of the car, and I spin around to find a flash of headlights careening right at us. Out of control. Erratic.

Destined to hit us.

It’s one of those slow motion movie moments that no one ever thinks actually happens in real life. But it does. It really does.

Your heart is in your ears, beating like a hollow drum.

Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.

Your blood is pumping hot and fast, reminding you that you’re still alive. For a few more moments, anyway. It’s almost like an out of body experience, and it’s so fast, so quick, just the blink of an eye.

You only have a split second to make a choice.

A decision.

And I always knew what I’d do if I was ever faced with a decision like this. Ever since I was a young boy. I just knew.

I wanted to be saver.

So, that’s why I do it.

That’s why I use that second to shove Kip into the backseat, knowing that it’s the only second I have. I don’t have another one.

I don’t have two seconds because that next second has me pinned against the red sedan from the waist down as the vehicle slams into me, shattering my bones, devastating my insides, while a sharp, strangled breath is forced out of me.

The pain doesn’t register right away. I’m not sure what exactly registers as my arms lay draped over the top of the sedan while my eyes glaze over. I’m slightly aware of the spattering of blood sprayed across the hood, the blood that came out with that rush of breath.

I’m partly aware of the ambulance that pulls up beside me as people gather and gasp, while a smoking hunk of metal is the only thing keeping my insides together.

I’m vaguely aware of Kip screaming at me from the backseat of the vehicle, trapped, unable to help me.

“Theo! Theo!” He’s shouting at the top of his lungs, somewhere far away. Muffled, murky. “Fucking answer me, Bailey! Goddamn you!” His voice drowns out with radio static and a dull ringing in my ears. “Officer down…”

Officer down.

But it’s not him who’s down—it’s me.

Kip is okay.

He’s alive.

It’s not him.

My lips quiver as I try to speak, too quiet for Kip to hear me. But I pretend he’s right here, laughing with me, telling me this will be a good story to look back on one day as we reminisce over a beer. “I… I knew it was a good day… to save someone,” I tell him in a choppy breath.

The thought brings me peace as my eyelids flutter, a dull, hot pain slicing through me. It’s the kind of pain that sends you into dizzying spiral, into a black abyss, where your mind shuts off because it just can’t fucking deal.

Fuck, it hurts.

Cold sweat slicks my skin. My teeth start to chatter as everything around me blurs. Just a haze of shrill noise, undistinguishable words, and dancing tendrils of light.

I hate that it’s going to end this way.

I hate that Brant’s last memory of me is filled with violence and bloodshed after he’s already experienced so much of that.

A tear slips.

A single tear trickles down my cheek, filled with so much regret that I’m not sure what hurts more—my pulverized insides, or my heart.

My shattered legs, or the heavy burden of grief resting on my shoulders.

And hell, maybe it’s the Pale Horse galloping up beside me, or maybe truth shines a little brighter in the floodlights of mortality, but… fuck, I get it now.

I know.

I think I’ve always known.

A weighty sigh falls out of me as I blink through the film over my vision. And when I rest my cheek atop the hood of the car… I think I see her. Golden blonde curls bouncing behind her as she floats over to me, a picture of sweetness weaving through the chaos.

It’s little June, small and young.

She’s moving closer to me as my tension drains, my body going limp, and a smile lifts through the pain.

She looks like an angel; like the little princess I’ve always tried to save.

But not today.

Today, I think she’s here to save me.

“Peach.”

I know it’s not her. I know she can’t really be here, fifteen years younger. Everything is shutting down, and I’m hallucinating. Going into shock.

It’s just a trick.

“Pretty as a peach, you are. You’ll keep dancing, right?” Little June does a twirl, the pink skirt of her princess dress fluttering as her laughter tickles my ears. “You gotta… keep dancing.”

Another face materializes in the crowd; a medic, I think, rushing toward me. Nothing more than a fuzzy shadow, saying things I can’t understand.

He looks frantic. Trying to reach me. Desperate to help me.

But there’s only one thing I need help with.

A message.

This paramedic is my only messenger.

“Tell Brant…” I inhale a slow, shuddering breath. My teeth are still chattering as I force out words. “Tell him… it’s okay.”

Darkness whispers down my neck, eager to swallow me whole, but I force it away. I fight it. I drown it out before it drowns me because I need to purge before I plummet.

“You have to tell him… June… it’s okay.”

I don’t know if I’m making any sense.

Colors and noise swirl around me, and I think he’s speaking to me.

Telling me not to worry.

It’s not me I’m worried about.

“Please, tell him. Tell Luigi…” I shiver. I exhale. I use the last of my strength to give Brant strength.

To give him peace.

He can’t think that I hate him. God, he can’t think that at all.

“We came first… Mario and Luigi, right?” A nostalgic smile twitches on my mouth, and for a moment, I pretend the paramedic is Brant. I picture his dark hair and dimples, his hazel eyes glimmering with grief. I turn this blurry stranger into my brother.

I pretend that he’s Brant because I need him to be Brant.

“I need you… to be Mario, now.”

I think I hear giggles.

Childlike giggles.

Calling to me, beckoning me.

Not yet. Not yet.

“Take care of Peach because… no one…” My eyelids flutter. My throat tightens. My heartbeats stutter and slow. “No one will ever love her… like we do.”

I start to fade out.

Dizzying lights flicker in my mind’s eye.

I think I hear something, a horrible cry, a ghastly moan, but it dissolves into the giggles still tempting me someplace else. “Promise me… you’ll tell him, right?”

Tell Brant. Please, tell Brant. He has to know.

I’m not sure if the medic ever responds, but I think he does.

He must.

He must promise me because something inside of me releases.

A burden. A weight.

I feel free.

Sound evaporates as I drift away, clinging to those giggles I hear echoing in the distance. Just beyond the beacon of light.

I race toward them.

Peace blankets me as I run, my bare feet tickled by grass blades while I chase a ladybug through the backyard. There’s a sword in my hand. A gallant sword, designed for battle.

Created for saving worthy things.

Those worthy things are sprinting beside me through the yard, young Brant on my right and a tiny June on my left. Her soft curls are glowing in the golden sunset, smelling of baby powder and lilacs. We collapse underneath our magical treehouse with adventure in our eyes and innocence in the air.

Brant moves in next to me, and we sit shoulder to shoulder with a little princess tucked safely between us. He looks over at me with a watery smile. “I’ll take care of her, Theo. I promise.”

I smile back as the sun settles behind a fluffy cloud.

We’re happy here.

We’re untouchable.

We’re forever young.

“I know you will.”