Shift

11

I’ve never been good at lying to Tommy’s face. I’ve been lucky with my feelings for Dustin. So far, they’ve been one-sided. Lines have bled together though; Dustin needs me. I want him to need me. Rather than attempt to lie to Tommy about the scene he witnessed when Dustin crawled into my lap looking for home, I’ve decided to avoid him.

I’ve kept my door shut and my light dimmed, not stepping foot in the hallway since our mom set Dustin up on the pullout sofa downstairs. When Tommy knocked to see if I wanted part of the pizza Mom and Dad ordered, I said I was full even though my stomach was grumbling. And the last text my brother sent to see if I was awake, I completely ignored, hoping he’d give up and give me time to conjure something to say in the morning. If not a better lie, at least an undeniable truth he won’t rip to shreds.

Midnight seems late enough.

It isn’t.

“Do you really want to eat that pizza cold or are you trying not to make noise with the microwave?” Tommy asks.

His observation is pretty spot on.

I set down the paper plate holding the slice I just surgically removed from the pizza box in the fridge. For some reason, I cling to the idea that if I don’t lift my head and actually look him in the eyes I can still get out of this unscathed.

“I woke up hungry,” I say. My gaze darts near him but never lands on him directly.

“Uh huh,” he says, sliding the paper plate across the counter then taking a seat on one of the stools at the kitchen island. He folds the piece of pizza in half and takes a huge bite.

“I guess I’ll get another piece.” I sigh, opening the fridge door and fishing out the entire box this time. My brother snaps behind me and I glance in his direction, still not fully looking.

“I want another slice after this one,” he says.

I set the box down and flip the lid over, pushing it his direction so he can get his own slice. After he does, I hook my finger in the corner of the box to drag it back to me, but he slaps his palm on the open lid and holds it in place—holds it hostage—until I look at him. In the eyes.

The shivers come first, slithering down my spine and followed by a rush of heat and instant sweat that tackles my palms.

“Ha

I hate when my brother says my name like that, in that tone. He’s not my parent, and being sixteen months older doesn’t give him authority. He still thinks babysitting me when he was nine and I was seven counts for something, but it doesn’t. In many ways, I’m more mature than he is. I’m not the one who gets drunk and high on Friday nights because I suck at fending off peer pressure.

“Thomas,” I throw back at him.

He sneers at the formal version of his name. If he’s going to act like Dad, I’m going to use his name.

My brother lifts his hand in the air as some grand gesture of surrender and I pull the box back into my possession, tearing out another slice of pizza to heat in the microwave. I roll my eyes at my brother’s smirk.

“Fine. I did want to heat it up. I didn’t want to wake our guest.” My voice is defiant, a child caught fudging her F grade to a B with a felt marker.

I push the pizza box back into the fridge and flop my slice on another paper plate before sticking it in the micro for thirty seconds. I’m tempted to stare at it as it spins on the turntable, cheese bubbling.

“What are you doing?”

I close my eyes at Tommy’s question. I know he isn’t asking about my microwaving method. Still, I don’t answer right away. I let my pizza finish, stopping it just before the timer beeps. I pull the plate out and test the cheese with a touch of my finger.

“Ow!” I poke my finger in my mouth to ease the burn.

I can feel Tommy’s eyes boring into the side of my face. I won’t be able to put this off forever, but do we really need to have this conversation with the boy it revolves around sleeping two dozen feet away on our couch?

“It’s better warm. You should heat yours up too,” I say, blinking to meet his gaze. I hold my bluff in place as I blow on the edge of my slice. My act won’t hold up much longer.

I nibble on the end of the pizza, no longer hungry, and eventually I give up, tossing the plate and piece on the counter between us.

“He’s going to hurt you. You know that, right? He can’t help it, Han. And I don’t blame him for it. It’s not his fault that he was born to two of the worst people on the planet. Colt? He’s not his fault. You don’t get to pick your father. But that stuff, Ha

I hold up my hand and wave it at Tommy’s face, stopping him before he tries to convince me that his relationship with Dustin is anything like mine.

“Just don’t. Not with that ‘we’re family’ shit, okay? I know we’re like family. I know we all grew up together. But damn it, Tommy, I can’t help how I feel!” Even whisper-shouting, my voice cracks. My brother’s head falls to his shoulder at my confession. I ache at the disappointment I see pulling down the corners of his mouth and drooping his eyes.

“You could date literally anyone, Ha

“He’ll be with you!” I growl.

My eyes lock with Tommy’s in an intense stare as we lean toward one another. That’s when I see it—the secret my brother has been hiding from me.

“Tommy?” My face falls as I say his name.

My brother’s gaze falls to the counter, guilt taking over every little movement he makes. He shoves his half-eaten crust and plate away before resting his forehead in his fingertips, letting them sink into his temples.

“I don’t know, Han. I don’t know. That’s always been the plan, but that’s his plan. I’m starting college in the fall—”

“You can do both, Tommy! It’s just the weekends, and it’s not every weekend,” I argue, trying to convince my brother to stay on board with the plan he and Dustin hatched when they were eight.

It’s one thing being the King of the Straights, but that’s not where the road ends for Dustin. Anyone who has seen him drive knows that. He’s meant for greatness. Sponsorships, titles, leaderboards, and so much money—money he earned the right way, legit, with his own two hands, a heavy right foot, and a daredevil in his heart. My brother has always been at his side. There’s trust between them. My brother understands how engines work, and his presence gives Dustin the edge he needs on the road. An engine that’s been blessed by Tommy Judge is one that can be pushed to the brink. Anything less is faking it, waiting to blow up in someone’s face.

“It’s not like I won’t try, Ha

“You want different things,” I answer for him.

His eyes meet mine and the truth sits heavy in the quiet between us. He shrugs and leans back, threading his hands behind his neck and eventually letting his head fall so he’s staring at our ceiling, the dim light my mom leaves on so we can see down here glowing above us.

“Not really different. I mean, I love engineering, and that stuff comes easily to me. I don’t know that I want to spend the rest of my life on a track somewhere, hauling a beat-up car around the country waiting for a break.” My brother rolls his head, and this time he’s the one avoiding my waiting eyes.