DECEIT (B723) - Hazel Grace (the reader ebook .txt) 📗

He bobs his head, to which I pull a rolled blunt out of my leather jacket that I just finished before he got here.

Hardy’s lips curl like I offered him an unlimited AMEX card, plucking it from between my fingers, and draws his own lighter out of his sweats.

Talk about looking at a version of myself. Fucker came prepared and everything.

“I’m sure Mom would love seeing us do this—“ He lights the end and inhales to get it to stay lit. “—her two sons doing drugs.”

I lose my cigarettes, dropping them back into my jacket as my brother offers me the blunt. “I’m sure she’d be high-fiving as she snorted up snow.”

Hardy shrugs as I take a long hit. “Eh, you took care of us. I wanted for nothing.”

“Because I stole everything.” I hand back the weed, blowing out smoke and watching his face fall from memories, I’m sure.

There were nights that we fled Mom’s double-wide trailer because Bubba or one of his cronies would try to sneak up on us when we were sleeping. We spent many cold nights in the woods, hunkered down with blankets and pressed up against each other for warmth.

There was no peace.

Not when the fight was what they wanted. It is a game of predator versus prey, chasing the weak and young that couldn’t protect themselves, so they feel more inferior and powerful.

Chasing children.

When Hardy and Scarlett would fall asleep, I’d turn off the small fan in the room just so I could be the lookout and listen for anyone that wasn’t supposed to be inside. Mom was always out at all hours of the night fucking around and getting high. I knew she lost her job shortly after Dad died, and we didn’t keep the light bill on because she found money that grew on trees.

I actually remember asking Kyson what a whore was. The word was thrown around so much by Bubba’s sidekicks that I put two and two together, finding out Mom’s new job occupation.

I grew into a parent because of her new job at ten for a five and four-year-old.

Fucking shit was hard, but I got the hang of it.

“And we’re grateful for it,” Hardy quips off an exhale. “Scarlett and I…we never forgot.” I bob my head, glad that social media became a thing because I got to check in on them over the years. Even though I don’t know them like the back of my hand, I got to somewhat look after them.

“You’re family.”

“Yeah…the circumstances are fucked, but I’m glad to have you around, man.” He passes back the blunt.

“Same.” Plucking it from his fingers, I take a steady hit then roll the paper between mine. “I own this house free and clear, paid it off a long time ago. I travel a lot for my job, so the house sits, and I have to pay someone to keep up with the maintenance. You pay for the groceries and my beer, and you got a place to raise your little girl that isn’t a rusty trailer.”

“I can’t accept that,” my brother counters. “Maddy has a lot of shit and leaves toys out. She’s…she’s five man, she’s a handful. You’ll be pulling out your pretty dark locks within a week of her being here.”

Can’t be any worse than Emmy.

“I’ll manage.” I hand him back my weed so that I can smoke a cigarette.

“I need to buy more than the groceries,” Hardy surmises.

“And my beer.”

“Right.” He looks over at the woods in the far distance and the large yard that we’re currently standing in. “You’ve taken care of me enough. I—“

“Madelyn is my niece. You’re my brother. There’s a small town about five minutes from here with an ice cream shop you can take her to. The schools are good, her room is already done, thanks to Scarlett. It’s all set up. The house is big enough.”

“But—“

“Hey, guys!” We both glance behind us to see Scarlett’s cheery face from the front door. “I made lunch.”

“Be there in a min—“

“Are y’all really smoking?” She pushes through the screen door and props her hands on her hips.

Shit.

A house with a kid means that I’m going to have to smoke out of sight.

I point at Hardy. “It’s his.”

Scarlett’s eyes reduce on our brother, and I feel his focus burn into me. “Really?”

“Last person holding it is the one who reaps the wrath, brother.” I hit him in the back of the shoulder and walk inside to help Scarlett with setting the table. “Should’ve tossed it.”

I hear him chuckle behind me as we both get back inside. Scarlett has sandwiches and chips all set up on the small dining room table that sits four. My outdated kitchen is something I can tell she wants to get her hands, especially with the apple pie Yankee candles and floral hand towels that hang over the oven’s handle and the edge of the sink.

The cabinets are still a chipped baby blue that doesn’t match the tan countertops. The stove was bought in the ’60s, and the floors are the ugliest and cheapest-looking pattern ever made. More than likely purchased before Home Depot was even a thing.

“You want some tea?” Scarlett asks me, her face still a dazzling, happy expression on how she sees life. It’s then that I realize I really don’t exercise those muscles very often.

“I—“

“He has to hate that shit as much as I do,” Hardy confidently pipes in. “And if he doesn't…” He stops speaking, which gets me to look over at him, giving me a hard and penetrating stare. “You just stopped being my hero.”

“Loathe it, actually,” I mutter, which doesn’t wipe the beam off of my sister’s face.

“Coke then?” she inquires. Hardy chuckles, probably because of the comment I made about Mom earlier and her snorting.

“Sure, yeah.”

Hardy pulls out two red cans from the fridge, opening mine before handing it over and sitting across from me at the small dining room table. My cell buzzes in my pocket and, to take away