Jaxon’s eyes are darting around the living room, not landing on anything for longer than a heartbeat. “What about your truck, Archer?”
“You must be joking.”
“Fuck you!”
“Jaxon,” Ma whispers. “Please…”
He sucks in a breath. “Look… maybe you could spot me a little cash. Not much — just enough for me to get by for a week or so.”
I laugh. I can’t help it — the sound bubbles up from my stomach and explodes out my mouth, filling the room like the rapport of a gun. “Of course that’s why you’re home. It all makes sense, now. You need money.”
“You’ve got a fresh mouth, little brother. Someone ought to shut it for you.” Jaxon strides toward me, his fist cocking back.
I don’t duck. I don’t even lift my hands to defend myself from the impending blow.
My mother screams as Jaxon swings at me. Before the punch lands, my father steps between us, palming Jaxon’s fist like a basketball. Absorbing the strike with impressive ease.
“Enough,” Pa grunts, squeezing Jaxon’s hand until he gasps in pain. “This is my house. While you are under my roof, you will not act like this. Do you understand me?”
Jax gives a shaky nod.
“Good.”
Pa is still holding Jaxon’s fist. Yanking on it, he pulls his son close enough to peer directly into his eyes — searching his pupils for the telltale signs of drug use. After a long moment, he leans back. His tone is impassive.
“You’re using again.”
“Let go of me,” Jax hisses, ducking his gaze. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
My father’s face is carved from stone as he releases his first-born son. My mother looks like she’s about to cry.
“This was a waste of time,” Jaxon mutters, heading for the door. “Don’t know why I bothered coming here. You people don’t care about me.”
“Jaxon!” Ma calls as he steps outside, her voice full of pain. “Don’t say that!”
The slamming screen door is his only response.
She starts after him, but my father stops her with a gentle touch on the small of her back.
“Flora. Let him go. You have to let him go.”
When her tears begin to flow, he folds her against his chest. She sobs into his shirt as he strokes her hair, making soothing noises.
Over her head, our gazes meet. His eyes hold a new awareness — and new questions.
Later, he mouths sternly at me.We need to talk.
I swallow hard and give a small nod of agreement.
Maybe it’s time I finally told my parents exactly what kind of trouble Jaxon is in.
Maybe they’re finally ready to listen.
* * *
An hour later,Pa and I lean against the sit-atop lawnmower, staring across the expanse of lush green grass. The grounds of Cormorant House are always pretty, but now, on the cusp of full summer, they’re glorious.
“You knew,” Pa says after a long beat of silence.