Brothersong (Green Creek #4) - T.J. Klune Page 0,10

to be you.”

IT WENT LIKE THIS:

“Joe!” I screamed into the woods. It was raining and dark, and lightning flashed overhead. “Joe!”

I couldn’t find him.

“Carter?” Kelly asked. He was wet and miserable, and his grip on my hand was so strong I thought my bones would turn to dust. “We have to go back.”

“No,” I snapped at him, feeling guilty when his face crumpled. “We can’t. We have to find him.”

I was fifteen years old, and a monster had taken our little brother away.

“Joe!” I shouted again.

Nothing.

“Joe!” Kelly yelled. “Where are you, Joe!”

I wanted to shift so I could smell him, but Mom and Dad said I couldn’t shift without them there. I had my tether, and he had me, but it still wasn’t safe. There were all sorts of things in the woods.

But Joe was gone, and no one knew where he was. It’d only been three days, but I had failed him. Mom and Dad said I had to protect him, and I failed.

We went deeper into the woods.

Dad found us eventually.

“What are you doing?” he roared at us. His eyes were red.

We cowered. I shoved Kelly behind me as he whimpered.

Our father fell to his knees. He held out his arms.

We ran to him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, holding us tightly. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t find you, and I was frightened. I didn’t mean to be so loud. I didn’t mean to scare you. What are you doing out here? You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“We gotta find Joe,” Kelly said.

“Oh,” my father said. “Oh, oh, oh.”

That was the second time I ever saw my father cry.

IT WENT LIKE THIS:

Joe came back.

But he wasn’t the same.

He looked like the same Joe. He had all his fingers and toes. He had all his teeth. His nose was still there, and his knees were still knobby.

But there was nothing behind his eyes.

They were dark, as if a light had gone out.

I took him everywhere.

I carried him in the house.

I carried him in the woods.

I carried him around the lake.

Dad said, “Here, Carter, let me have him.”

He reared back when I snarled at him, eyes flashing, fangs dropping.

“Don’t,” I snapped at him. “Don’t, don’t, don’t.”

My father stepped back slowly.

I carried him away.

I said, “Hey, Joe. Look at the birds.”

I said, “Hey, Joe. Look at that bug.”

I said, “Hey, Joe. Are you hungry?”

I said, “Hey, Joe. Wanna hear a joke?”

I said, “Hey, Joe. Can you please say my name?”

But Joe never spoke.

“He’s been scooped out,” Kelly told me as Joe lay between us. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing deeply.

“Shut up,” I hissed at him, and I felt a twist of remorse when he flinched. “It’s not—he could hear you.”

“Sorry,” Kelly muttered, but before he could turn away, I grabbed his hand over Joe, laying it on Joe’s chest above his heart. I pressed down. I could feel the beat through Kelly’s hand. It was slow and steady.

“What do we do?” Kelly whispered.

“I don’t know,” I whispered back. “But we stay together. The three of us. No matter what.”

Kelly nodded.

He fell asleep before I did, his hand still on Joe’s chest.

I was about to follow when Joe’s heartbeat started tripping and stuttering. He made a wounded noise that sounded broken. I pressed Kelly’s hand down harder against his chest and put my mouth near his ear.

I said, “You’re here. We’re with you. You’re safe. You’re home. We won’t let anything happen to you again. We’re your big brothers. We’ll protect you. We’ll always be here for you. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Joe’s heart slowed.

The lines on his forehead disappeared.

His mouth untwisted.

He sighed and turned his face toward me.

I watched him for a long time.

IT WENT LIKE THIS:

Boxes.

All these boxes.

As I stood among them, I heard voices coming from up the stairs.

And it was then I learned the sins of my father.

“Are you sure?” Mark asked Dad.

“Yes.”

“Have you…. Did you call Gordo?”

Dad sighed. “No.”

“He won’t like it that we’re coming back.”

“It’s not his territory,” Dad growled. Then, “Shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s too late for what you should or shouldn’t have done,” Mark said, sounding angrier than I’d ever heard him. “You really think that he’s going to welcome us back with open arms? That you won’t have to face him? Green Creek is small, Thomas. You’re going to run into him sooner rather than later.”

“What do you want me to do?” Dad said, and sweat trickled down the back of my neck. “Tell me. Please.