Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Ansel remained stiff in the embrace. “Why?”
There was no reason he could think of that his brother should be looking for him. He’d stopped being part of their family when he’d left home. Sooner, actually—he’d probably stopped being a part of it when he was nine and his mother had come home to find him wearing her lipstick and heels. She’d backhanded him so hard, he’d fallen and hit his head on the toilet seat. He’d spent three days in the hospital.
She’d never apologized.
“Because you’re my brother, dumbass.” Lars pulled away and looked at him. “Can we go somewhere? Talk?”
Could it be possible that Lars had really missed him? For years after he’d run from the abuse, he’d thought his family might follow, search for him. He hadn’t made it difficult. He’d only gone a few hours away. There was a clear trail too, if anyone had ever bothered to look. Back then, he’d been young and naive and full of hope. Hope that maybe his family really did care. Funny how a couple of cold winters, an empty belly, and getting your ass kicked by men three times your size hardened a person.
But as he looked into his brother’s eyes, he began to question himself. All these years he believed Lars would be exactly like their parents. What if he’d been wrong? The idea fluttered in his chest like a newborn butterfly emerging from its cocoon.
Just because their parents were heartless didn’t mean his brother had to be. Lars had been so young when he’d left. He pressed his lips together and crushed the envelope in a fist.
“Yeah, there’s a place not too far away.”
* * *
For the second time in less than twenty-four hours Ansel pushed through the doors of the little diner. The smells hit him first, the tempting scent of burgers on the grill mixed with fried potatoes. His stomach grumbled loud enough to be heard over the dull roar of the dining crowd.
“There’s a table for two over there,” a harried waitress said with a swipe of her forearm to her brow. She pointed at the same booth where he’d sat with Fitch. “Here are some menus, I’ll be right over to take your drink order.” She scurried off to help another table.
In a strange coincidence, Lars slid into the side Fitch had claimed, and being in the same position a second time ignited memories of their night together. Memories Ansel really didn’t want to be caught up in.
Like that night, he pulled a napkin from the dispenser on the table and began folding it. Even though the restaurant was full of people and the ambient noise rang in his ears, it was the silence hanging between them that made him bite his lip.
What was he supposed to say to his long-lost brother? Hi, how’ve you been? Got a girlfriend? What’s your favorite band?
No. He couldn’t bring himself to ask anything so lame, so shallow, when an entire ocean’s worth of history separated them. Instead, he pulled another napkin and another and another. Until, when the waitress finally came, a stack of paper squares became the table centerpiece.
They each ordered iced tea but no food. They wouldn’t be there long enough to eat, especially with the lunch rush delaying service.
Stillness crept in again until Lars finally broke the tension. “You look really good.”
Ansel looked up from the new napkin he folded and squinted, muscles tense. “Good?”
After all, the last words he’d heard from his family were vicious and painful slurs. But it had never been Lars shouting them, he had to remember that.
“Yeah, what’s wrong with good?”
Ansel shook his head. “Nothing.”
Jesus, he wasn’t prepared for this. Looking at his brother all grown up was like looking at his parents. Lars had their father’s build and their mother’s eyes. And if it weren’t for the short haircut he could be looking into a fucking mirror. The family resemblance was so obvious he was choking on it.
Except Lars was the son his parents wanted.
A real man.
Not someone who pranced around in ladies’ clothes and got fucked in the ass.
Old wounds he’d thought long healed began to bleed again. He tightened his fists until the blunt fingernails clawed both palms.
“So, how have you been?” Lars asked.
How much did he know? What had their parents said? He hadn’t been good, that’s for fucking sure. Not until recently, at least. Now his life was finally on the right track. He was off the streets and had food in his belly. He had a job and a hobby he enjoyed. He had people who loved him for who he was.
“I survived.”
His brother’s face fell. “Yeah, I guess that was a stupid question. Sorry.”
Ansel lifted a shoulder. Lars seemed genuinely apologetic, so he’d give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Had nothing to do with you. I’m sorry for lumping you in with them for the last six years. I should have given you more credit.”