“You’re my brother. And you’re doing some pretty scary shit. You know I’m going to worry.”
“Nothing scarier than what you’re doing,” he counters.
“Maybe, but I don’t got shit in my past I gotta keep hold of.”
“I’m not wanting to use,” he bites out, shining a light on his demons. “All right? And if I start feeling those urges, I know to talk to someone. I got it handled.”
“Just looking out for you, man. That’s my job,” I tell him. “And it’s one I’m going to keep doing no matter how much you bitch about it, so get the fuck over it. You had a long deployment, Jake. I don’t know what all kinds of shit you saw over there and I’m not asking, unless you want to share.”
“Not really.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
“Shit,” he mumbles. I hear shuffling through the line.
“What?”
“I just spilled my Redbull everywhere. God . . . motherfucker. That was my last one.”
I smirk. “Probably for the best. That shit makes you mean.”
Jake breathes a laugh. “Whatever,” he murmurs.
“Seriously though. I’m glad you’re back and okay,” I begin, hearing my phone beep with a message. “Hold up a sec.”
I hold the phone out and read the text.
Riley: I just spent an HOUR trying to open that stupid coconut.
Chuckling, I bring the phone back to my ear.
“What’s up?” Jake asks.
“Nothing. This chick . . .”
“Uh oh,” he murmurs.
“Nah, it isn’t like that,” I tell him, wincing. “Well, it is, but it’s not.” I shake my head. “I don’t know. Shit’s complicated.”
“Sounds like a long fucking story I don’t want to hear. Actually, tell it to me. It might put me out.”
“Fuck you,” I laugh. “How’s Katie?”
“She’s good, I think,” he answers. “Didn’t get to talk much while I was gone. I think that was hard on her.”
“Sure it was.”
“I’m planning on going to see her now that I’m back.”
“You better be swinging by here if you’re driving to Texas, shithead,” I order.
Jake’s stationed in South Carolina, so to get to his girl he has to drive through Alabama. And considering it’s been over a year since I last saw him and he just survived another deployment, his third in six years, I’m going to be pretty firm on that request.
He chuckles. “I am. I’m gonna head up and see Mom and Dad too.”
“When?”
“Shooting for a few weeks,” he says. “I got some things I gotta do here, and I gotta wait for them to approve my leave. Bastards take their fucking time with that shit.”
I know all about that. He’s complained to me before. Jake doesn’t hide shit that gets on his nerves. Ever.
He’s better at hiding other stuff. Stuff he shouldn’t be keeping locked in.
“Just give me a heads up when you’re coming,” I request. “I’ll try and take off so we can hang out.”
“Cool.” His voice breaks with a yawn.
I smile.
Guess the Redbull does work.
“Fuck,” he murmurs. “I better try and get some sleep. I’m gonna be dead tomorrow.”
“All right, man. It was great talking to you,” I tell him, feeling good about this phone call. “Keep me updated on shit.”
“Yeah, I will.”
“Later.”
“Later.”
The line disconnects.
Limbs heavy with relief, I relax further into the couch and pull up the text from Riley.
She’s opening coconuts by herself? Using tools, no doubt?
That motherfucker . . .
Me: He didn’t help you with that?
Riley: I didn’t ask for help.
Me: You shouldn’t need to.
Riley: Stop it. It’s not like he saw me struggling and refused to help.
Me: What did you open it with?
Riley: A hammer.
Me: And where’d you get the hammer?
Riley: His tool box.
Me: Did he see you get it?
Riley: Yeah.
Me: There you go.
Riley: ???
Me: I see my woman getting in my tools, I go find out why.
Riley: I know how to use a hammer.
Me: Not the point.
Riley: *rolls eyes*
Me: Roll them all you want. Just know if I were there, you wouldn’t be handling your coconuts. That’s my job.
Riley: Stop.
Me: Unless you wanna handle them while I supervise. I’m down for that.
Riley: STOP!
Me: ?
Riley: My COCONUTS?!? REALLY??
Me: I’m talking about the fruit. What the fuck are you talking about?
Riley: Nothing.
Me: Get your mind out of the gutter, pervert.
Riley: It just sounded like you were talking about something else . . .
Me: I was.
Riley: OMG BYE.
Laughing, I drop my phone to my chest and get back to zoning out on SportsCenter.
Nine Days Later
I PULL INTO the parking lot surrounding McGill’s Pub and find a spot open next to Beth’s silver monster truck, which isn’t exactly what it is but I call it that considering how big the tires are and how much of a running start Beth needs to get herself up into that thing.
She loves it. I don’t blame her. It really is fun to ride in.