Page 13 of Buckin' Around

I purse my lips, a hard question teetering on the tip of my tongue. When I don’t speak, Stacey flops onto the sofa and taps the remote for the flat-screen in our small living area. “Spit it out, Riles.”

With a tentative sigh, I round the sofa and sink into the cushions. “Can I ask you something a little intrusive?”

“You’re going to anyway.” She turns on her seat, tucking her legs up underneath her, as if bracing herself for whatever I’ll say next.

I mull over my choice of words before deciding on, “Why do you criticize your brother so much? I mean, he’s the only sibling you have.”

A forced smile pushes her lips up.

“He’s eight years older than me. Growing up, I looked up to him, you know. Then in high school, he acted up. Did a lot of shit to piss off Mom and Dad. Spoiled little rich boy shit. I guess the level of adoration and respect I had for him dwindled. He hasn’t given any of us a reason to think anything different since.”

“Ah, I see. It must be very lonely for both of you.”

Her head jerks back a little, face twitching with something like confusion before rendering understanding.

“Well thanks, Dr. Phil, think I’ll get to bed.”

She stands, switching the television off and leaving the remote on the arm of the sofa before walking to her room.

Geez, that went well.

Something hums in my bag by the door.

Oh, bollocks. Chloe.

I rush to the side table at the entry and grab up my bag. I have my phone out just as the incoming video call ends.

I tap the screen and call her straight back.

She picks up on the first ring. “Riles! Riles, you have to help me. Please.”

Her sweet face is flushed with color, tears lining her eyes.

“Baby, what happened?” I pad to the sofa and settle in.

My heart is in my throat. She’s so upset, and I’m so fecking far away.

“Tell our stupid brother to keep out of my love life,” she says with a groan.

Herlovelife?

Well, that snuck up on me.

“Chlo, you’re twelve, sweetheart, what are you talking about a love life for?”

She releases a heavy sigh. “Danny from form class. He asked me to the change-of-season dance, and Dec-head won’t let me go. He says the boys in my class are no good and I’m not to talk to any of them. And over his rotting carcass am I going anywhere near that lot.”

Oh, geez.

Danny, the guy she’s had a secret crush on since she was eight.

Dec-head. The term we lovingly—mostly—appointed the oldest of our brothers. Declan earned the title fair and square, but still, I should have nipped that little bad habit in the bud before it stuck.

Too late now, I guess.

“I told him if you were here, you’d let me go. So, he shouts back, ‘well, she ain’t here is she, and I said no.’ Riles, please talk to him, I can’t miss this. Pretty, pretty please?”

I smile at her, at the emotion and the fight she has. She’s so much like Mom. We both are. She was just a baby when our parents died, and we’ve spent every day together since then. Until now.