Red Hair, Black Soul (Red & Black #1)

23 | Little bro

Jed

"I miss you, boys." Dad's voice is distorted through the questionable quality of Skype but still has that hint of hoarseness he always sports. A flash of tiredness is hidden behind it, making its home also in his eyes. Dark circles bloom under them, standing out against his pale skin. The no doubt clearly-shaven in the morning face is already covered with a five-o-clock stubble. For the whole chat we were having, I kept finding myself wanting to touch the little hairs, just to feel their roughness uner my fingers. To an outsider, it might sound stupid, but the thing is, I miss my father. I haven't seen him in the past two months. These rare Skype talks are all we have now and even though I'm grateful for them, they're still not enough.

"Just a few more weeks and we'll be together again." He says, forcing a tired smile.

Daylen and I nod in unison. I cast him a quick glance for the corner of my eye. His gaze is still focused on the screen but I can see the sudden tension in his shoulders.

He still hasn't informed Dad about his plans. Dad has no idea that when he comes home, Daylen might no longer be here.

And I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from telling him what he needs to hear more than once.

"Can you pass me over to your mother? I'd like to talk to her some more." Dad asks.

We say our goodbyes and I pick up the laptop, carrying it to Mom's bedroom where she's been reading a magazine, waiting for us to finish. It's always that way - first the three of us have the men's talk, then Mom gets her chance to converse with Dad alone. We rarely chat all together, mainly because the screen is too small and the three of us on one side simply don't fit.

Mom's whole face lights up when I carry in the laptop, setting it in front of her. Making sure she's got all she needs, I close the door to her bedroom and make my way downstairs.

I find Daylen in the living room, already sprawled across Dad's favorite armchair. The old thing used to seem enormous when the two of us were kids, now it looks dwarfed under my brother's rather large frame. When Daylen spots me entering the room, he sits up and clasps his hands together.

"All right, little bro. Time to cut the bullshit." He says, surprising me. "Dad might have bought your 'I'm fines', - though I doubt it, - but I'm not falling for it. Now tell me: what the hell is wrong with you."

I blink, taken a little off-guard.

"I'm fine." I say before I can think. The moment the words leave my mouth, I want to punch myself in the face. I just shot myself with my own weapon.

Daylen arches a brow. "Excuse me, but do you think I'm stupid?" He asks.

"Do I even need to answer this question?" I reply with a question to a question.

My brother sighs, visibly battling with himself not to roll his eyes. Planting his hands on both armrests, he stands up, straightening to his full height. At first, I think he's going to approach me but he doesn't move, crossing his arms over his chest instead. He measures me with a stare for a moment and I stare back, feeling somehow small and overwhelmed by his demanding presence, something I haven't experienced since I was ten and ordered around by my big brother. Neither of us speaks for a good while, until suddenly he cocks his head to the side, exposing the tattoo running down the side of his neck.

"You know you look just as bad as he does?" He says.

I furrow my brows, confused. "Like who?"

"Dad." He nods his chin towards the stairs and Mom's bedroom.

I snort. "Bullshit."

"Oh yeah?" He cocks a studded brow. I frown internally, remembering the day he came home with two silver balls sticking out of his forehead, nearly giving Mom a heart-attack. She was never a fan of his body-changing experiments. Maybe that's why I'm not sporting any tattoos or piercing, even though I'm not entirely opposed to it. At least one of us should cease to tug her already shredded nerves. "So the purple shades under your pretty eyes are just makeup?"