Joker (Hell's Ankhor #8) - Aiden Bates Page 0,53

just so fuckin’ unfair.”

“What were your folks doing?” Brennan asked. “Were they helping through all this? I mean, you were just a kid, too, weren’t you?”

And that was the hard part to talk about. I’d been a kid at the time, but I hadn’t felt like a kid. I’d felt simultaneously like a brother and a parent. Like I had to take care of myself and Parker, because my parents weren’t able to do it all. Not with how much we all had to work to stay afloat.

“They were, yeah. I mean… Cancer treatment is really expensive.” I laughed sardonically. “And we weren’t exactly rolling in money. Both my parents had to work a lot, and I—I had to work, too, you know. Just to make sure there was enough food for all of us. And—”

I paused and bit my lip. I still carried some guilt about the pain I felt, looking back at my childhood, because I was the one who survived. I got a life, Parker didn’t. That should be enough.

But at the same time, I hadn’t gotten to be a kid. I’d had to be one of the adults, ever since I was ten.

“And they didn’t really treat me like a son,” I said. “I mean, Parker needed so much care, so obviously—my needs kind of fell by the wayside. I was pretty much on my own, really. I had a job at the grocery store, and I was pretty much responsible for my own meals, laundry, stuff like that. And I could walk to the store, so. I was on my own.”

I shrugged. “And often I was on chore duty for the whole household, really. Cooking and cleaning and stuff, since my parents worked later hours than I did. And then, as Parker got older and his condition worsened, I was a chance for him to get better, too.”

“What do you mean?” Brennan asked, his brow furrowed.

I slumped in the booth a little. I hadn’t meant to get so deep into it, but once I’d started talking, it was like I couldn’t stop. No one had ever really asked—most people hadn’t known enough to ask in the first place. And it felt good to talk about it, relieving, like icing an old wound.

“I was a match, with my DNA or whatever,” I said with a resigned shrug. “So there were a handful of marrow donations. And they hurt.”

I cringed at the memory—the aching pain in my back and hips where the doctors had stuck the needles, the fatigue in the days after, the nausea spells.

“I don’t regret it, never did, but I just wish—I wish my parents had been there for me a little more? I was up and working days after the procedure. I wish they had told me to rest more. Or even asked how I felt. But they had tunnel vision for Parker.”

I picked at my sandwich, my appetite suddenly gone.

“I can’t really blame them, though. I had the same tunnel vision. But I was a kid. They were the adults. I wish someone had been looking out for me, too.”

18

Brennan

Joker’s eyes went a little soft and distant as he recalled his childhood. And the more he spoke, the more my chest ached in sympathy. He’d been through so much, and he’d been so fucking young when it’d happened. He was only ten when Parker had been diagnosed, which meant all through his adolescent and teen years, he’d been responsible for taking care of himself basically alone.

And Joker had only been twenty-one when Parker had passed away. In the grand scheme of things, that wasn’t all that long ago. Just four years, after basically a lifetime of devoting himself to his brother. No wonder he was still hurting. Especially if he kept it to himself.

And it explained so much about how defensive and closed off he got, too. The way he described it, when Parker had been diagnosed, Joker had become invisible. No wonder he hated being ignored—and no wonder he was shy under attention that actually focused on who he was. He’d never been appreciated for who he was, just what he could give. What he could do. The joking was a safe way to get some acknowledgment—attention without vulnerability. Because he was clearly still hurting so much.

“You mean your parents didn’t really take care of you after the marrow donations?” I asked, shocked.

“Not really,” Joker said with a shrug. “And in their defense, I didn’t act like I needed it, either.