Page 5 of To Regret a Raven

DIRTY

APRIL 2016

Birds were singing in the tree above his head as Fisher pushed the car door open, making it rebound hard enough to whack his shin when his seat belt caught his chest, jolting him back against the leather. He grunted at the pain radiating up his knee, then scowled when the birds overhead screeched in response and several splotches of bird shit splattered across his windshield.

It had already been a morning of microscopic inconveniences—sleeping past his alarm, not being able to locate a pair of matching socks, accidentally putting both legs through the same hole of his boxers—all before he’d even managed to exit his bedroom. Though the events that followed had certainly not been an improvement.

Fisher sighed deeply. His hands were slower, more purposeful, as they located the latch of his seat belt. He grabbed the hastily-wrapped gift from his passenger seat and left the vehicle at a much more reasonable pace, though he made it a point to avoid looking at his windshield.

His eyes caught on the sidewalk, and despite being in a hurry, he slowed, staring down at the colorful chalk designs scrawledacross the path. The biggest of them was a scribbled oval with thirty scrawny sticks surrounding it. He would’ve thought it was the sun, except for the clear face in the middle, and the fact that it was red and black.Is it a spider?

“Uncle Fisher!” a voice screeched seconds before a body latched itself around his legs with the tenacity of an attacking octopus. “Do you like my ladybug?”

“Ladybug, huh?” Fisher grunted, tilting his head and squinting one eye as he stared down at the abstract drawing.

But then Tristan was moving on, his tone accusing as wide brown eyes stared up at him from waist height. “Mom said you weren’t gonna make it!”

“Well”—he shrugged—“it’s not the first time your mom’s been wrong.”

“Watch it.” A familiar biting voice drifted across the lawn. Fisher’s eyes rose to spot his twin leaning against a post on the porch, arms crossed over her chest, and a scowl on her lips.

She looked just like him—the same dark hair, blue eyes, and lean build. Their mom always said they must’ve started identical, but then God realized the world couldn’t handle two Bree women at the same time. His sister was the first girl born in the family in decades, and she’d come out squalling, making it a point from day one to be just as loud and proud as all of the Bree men.

Fisher’s opinion, however, was that his sister was simply too much of a man-eater to be born with a dick. She’d run Tristan’s asshole of a father off easily enough. Fisher and his cousins never even got an opportunity to intervene—she had him fleeing the state in his shitty little Honda before the piss was even dry on the stick.

“Morning, Brea Bree,” he called, watching as her scowl deepened at the nickname. Their father had wanted to honor the Bree name, and thus, the name Breanna Nora Bree was chosen.Unfortunately for Brea, she was born into a family that never let anything go, where mocking people’s names was prime comedic material. She’d never stood a chance.

“Strike two, Fish. You don’t want to be embarrassed in front of your nephew, do you?”

“Uh-oh. She’s in a mood.” He widened his eyes, making the boy giggle.

“Be careful,” Tristan mumbled in response, cupping a tiny hand over his mouth. “She already took my Wii this morning.”

“On yourbirthday?” Fisher’s shocked gaze rose to Brea. “What is this? I move away, and you turn into a monster?”

“Haven’t you heard?” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve always been a monster.” She turned to the side, nudging the front door open with her toe as she tilted her head toward the dark entryway, where even then, Fisher could hear the sounds of his family spilling out into the sunshine. “I’m sure you’ll make do without your Wii, with all these people over for your party.”

Tristan sighed, his golden hair falling into his eyes as he hung his head. “I guess so,” he answered with all the sullenness a five-year-old could muster. But then Carmen appeared in the doorway, the five-year-old daughter of their cousin, Connor, and Tristan perked right up, chasing after her when she disappeared back into the house.

“I can’t believe you took his Wii.” Fisher tsked, shaking his head.

“Birthday or not, he’ll learn that no means no, even if I have to tattoo it across his adorable freckled forehead.”

Fisher’s brows drew together as he considered his sister and the vehemence of her words.

“He is…five.”

She blinked, glancing back over at him as she straightened her shoulders. “I know that. And I also know that he’ll survive a day without his games. A lessonyouwere never forced to learn.”

Fisher snorted. “You used to steal my PlayStation all the time.”

“Only when you were bad.”

“More like when you got bored,” he shot back, lifting one brow when she only shrugged in response.

“Fisher Bree,” a sultry voice called from the sidewalk, making the muscles in his back tighten at the familiarity in her tone. He released a slow breath, holding Brea’s semi-apologetic eyes.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” she whispered quickly as the click of Rena’s heels made their way closer.