Laced Steel - M.J. Fields Page 0,23
be up to help. We hosted last weekend.”
“Hung over?” Dad asks him.
“Little bit,” he admits.
“Deserve that shit, Tricks. Shouldn’t even have one drink if you’re supposed to be behind the wheel. You’re lucky the girls were around.”
“Oh, no doubt.” Patrick rolls onto his side, his back facing Dad as he raises a brow at me and repeats, “No doubt.”
“Where’s the Jeep?” Dad asks.
“A friend drove it home for me.” Patrick rolls back over and sits up. “Gotta get ahold of her later and grab it.”
“Feel free to invite her for a meal. Tags and Bella are coming in. One of his friends is in town, so we’re gonna have a few extra bodies, anyway,” Dad offers.
“Need help getting some extra chairs in?” Patrick stands and stretches.
Dad looks at the new ink that Justice added to Patrick’s growing body art—on the down-low, of course—and shakes his head. “Justice’s work?”
Patrick smirks then shrugs.
Dad sighs. “Kid’s got talent, but a heads-up would always be appreciated.”
Patrick looks at me, eyes dancing with amusement, then back at Dad. “Truth is getting real good at body modification.”
“What?” I squeak. Yes, squeak, like a pubescent boy.
Patrick continues, “By the last rung of my Jacob’s ladder, I almost fell asleep.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I throw the bathroom door open, slip on the wet tile, and fall on my ass, because apparently, I’m more worried about the towel falling than getting hurt.
“Truth!” Dad’s voice echoes through the wall.
“I’m fine,” I tell him as I jump up. “Fuck!”
Patrick beats Dad to the door. “Jesus, T, I was just fucking around.”
Brisa finally shows up in the conversation. “Oh, Truth, look at your ankle.” She smacks Patrick on the back of the head. “Look what you made her do!”
“Lemme see, little bird,” Dad says in a much softer tone.
“Could you all let me get dressed, please? And rest assured, I didn’t pierce his”—I make a gagging sound—“thing.”
He tosses a glare at Patrick then looks back at my ankle. “Looks bad, Truth. Get dressed, and I’ll look it over.”
I nod, looking down, unable to give him eye contact. “It doesn’t hurt that bad. Go do what you have to do. I’ll be up after I get ready.”
He doesn’t move for a couple seconds.
“Guys, I’m in a freaking towel. Come on.”
I close the door and listen to them as I quickly throw on some joggers, a minimizer sports bra, and a sweatshirt, trying to ignore the new ache not only in my ankle but now in my ass, too.
“Gonna go grab a quick shower in JT’s room and throw on some of his clothes. Won’t take more than five minutes.”
“You sure you don’t need time to do your hair?” Dad pokes fun at Patrick.
“Might wear a headband today. You got a pink one, T?”
“Pussy,” Dad mumbles as he walks out the door.
Hair hanging wet, I gimp out of the bathroom as Patrick closes my door behind him as he walks out.
“Freaking genius, right?” Brisa grins.
I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, if he buys it.”
When Dad picked me up like I was still five years old and had just busted my knee open while trying to keep up with Justice and Patrick on a bike and set me on the counter to inspect my ankle, I was a breath away from spilling the beans.
The truth matters, and even though I didn’t lie about my ankle, it was deceitful to let him think my slipping caused this.
Reality does need to play its part, as well, and the reality is that they treat me different because I’m a girl than they do Justice, my younger—okay, not much younger, but still—brother.
When I insisted I didn’t need to go to the hospital and walked around, proving my point, which hurt like a bitch, I knew that the Holy Spirit, or the spirit of truth, kicked me square in my already aching ass, but I persevered. Then realization came to the gang bang of my conscience with a whispered reminder that Justice will find out the truth, and then I will be met with his judgmental glares until I either confess or he gets busy with something else.
Note to self: hand pick the ‘something else’ of his liking and dangle it in front of his face like a big, fat, juicy steak.
Also note to self: make that steak of the tall, blonde variety with attachment issues.
Boys. I shake my head, inwardly sighing.
So, now I sit, leg propped up, ankle iced, watching Mom, Dad, Patrick, and Brisa set