Page 8 of Porter (Dirty Misfits MC 2)
But ever since he joined that stupid crew, all he seemed to do was push me away.
I knew my brother well enough to know he was probably trying to protect me. He probably saw the crew as his only way to live some sort of life since he always sucked in school, so now he pushed me away to protect me. I called bullshit, though. I knew there was another reason. Deep down, I knew there was something else to all of this.
So, maybe going home would provide the answers I needed.
And I’ll see Porter again.
The idea rushed heat down my neck. I drew in a sobering breath as I meandered through the streets I knew I’d never forget as long as I lived. I wondered about Porter and his drinking problem. Whether it took him under or if he dug himself out of the hole he created for himself. I saw alcohol addiction firsthand with my mother. I watched how it sucked her under. How it drowned her until she drowned herself in the vodka of her choice. I watched her sneak it into church and into restaurants to put in her soda. I saw her pull small airplane bottles out from beneath her seat while we blazed down the highway running errands.
I watched as she literally drank herself to death, choking on her own vomit one night while she laid there on the couch with a half-empty bottle still in her hand.
I’m a coward.
Tears rushed my eyes the more I thought about Porter. Before I moved my ass to L.A., I spent a lot of time with Porter, especially after my brother first went to prison. I saw how he struggled with his drinking when Brooks left. I overheard the multiple phone calls they placed to one another, and I eavesdropped whenever Porter started crying on the phone to him. I’d never once heard a grown man cry before, but whenever Porter listened to my brother go on and on about our mother in an attempt to get him sober, he always broke down.
I wanted to hold Porter in those moments. Kiss his sweaty forehead and hold him while he shivered through his withdrawals while whispering to him that he would be all right.
And instead, I moved to L.A. to get away from it all.
“God, I hope he’s all right now,” I whispered to myself.
I flipped on my turn signal as I approached the small neighborhood I grew up in and eased myself past Jodie’s old place. I smiled at the memories as my eyes canvassed the massive front yard tree her and I conquered as little girls. The rotted, knotted rope swing we used to get into the rafters of the tree still hung there, coated with the memories of smiling girls and endless giggles.
I had so many good memories in this place.
Then, my eyes focused on the house rising before me.
The two-story home had a pale yellow exterior, dark green shutters, a porch that seemed to be in decent condition, and a driveway cracked and growing thick with weeds. The grass in the front yard was completely dead and devoid of life, much like the leafless bushes that lined the house. I pulled up to the mailbox and opened it up, seeing the keys glittering inside the cobweb-filled cavern.
I grimaced as I reached my hand in and prayed nothing was in there to bite me.
“Gotcha,” I whispered.
After pulling the keys out, I headed up the driveway. I parked in front of the dented garage door that still hadn’t been repaired since my mother slammed into it one evening. She had driven home drunk after Dad called to bitch her out for not cooking dinner, so she decided to swerve her way home and crashed right into the damn thing.
So many memories.
As I turned my car off, a million ideas wafted through my mind. I wanted to call Brooks and tell him to come over. I wanted to tell him to bring Porter so I could hug that man’s neck again. I wanted to track my high school best friend down and climb back up into that tree so we could pretend that life hadn’t eaten us alive just yet.
Then, it dawned on me.
Brooks knew I was coming in today, and he’s not even here.
I dug my phone out of the cup holder and checked my text messages. And of course, he hadn’t even read the one I sent him this morning. I told him I’d let him know whenever I was on the road so he could meet me at the house. And here I was, sitting alone like the fucking idiot I had apparently become.
I quickly typed another message to him, letting him know that I had arrived in town.
Then, I opened my car door.
I tried not to feel like coming back home was a mistake. I fought my brain as it tried to convince me that my brother didn’t really give a shit whether I came or went. I blinked back tears as I walked up onto the porch and jumped, taking in how sturdy the foundation still seemed.
