“Great, he’s drunk again,” Hayes said. He plopped back on his bed and tossed a baseball into the air, catching it over and over as he tried to block out the yelling coming through the paper thin walls.
“When isn’t he?” Hartley asked. “Let’s face it, he’s getting worse, not better.”
“Yeah, Pres ain’t going to like it.”
“Only reason he gives a shit is because Dad’s been fucking up. He’s letting the bottle get the best of him. If you can’t be accountable, Pres is going to step in and make you be,” Hartley said.
“Good, then maybe we could get some sleep.” Hayes glanced over at his brother and exchanged a look full of understanding. If he laid into their mom again, they were stepping in.
Their mother was a soft-spoken, brunette with a wide smile, easy-going manner, and gentle spirit. Her petite frame and mild temperament made her an easy target.
Arthritis had set -in and the constant pain turned their father, Freebird, to drinking. The worse the rheumatoid arthritis grew, the more he self-medicated. Without the ability to ride as he once had, their light- hearted father had slowly morphed into their worst nightmare. Glass shattered.
“Stop it, you’ll wake the boys.”
“You think they’re stupid or deaf?” The wall shook under the impact of what Hayes assumed was his father’s fist against the wall. “I’m sick of being stuck inside these four walls with you. It’s not the life I wanted. You make me sick.”
“What do you want me to do, Freebird? Just tell me.”
“You can’t give me what I need, Regina. You can’t be the open road or the lady I’ve always loved most.”
Hayes looked at Hartley. He was referring to his bike. His stomach cramped. His father sounded less angry and more broken.
The brokenhearted sobs that left their mother ripped at his heart. She didn’t deserve this. For their entire lives, she’d been the one consistent thing. Freebird was in and out on the wind, living the life of an outlaw while they were left behind. It seemed cool from a distance. He used to aspire to be just like him. Then this happened, and he was forced to see the ravaging effects the club could have. The sounds of their father’s boots leaving the kitchen relaxed him. It was over for tonight.
Hayes rolled onto this side to keep Hartley from striking up a conversation. There were no words to make this situation better. Their mother wasn’t going to leave, and their father couldn’t overcome the disease that’d crept in and stole the use of his hands. As the time continued to pass, he’d get worse and worse. Anger swelled in his chest. Being young made you useless. I can’t get a job, speak my mind, or keep the one person I love most safe. Eventually, exhaustion set in and he drifted off to sleep.
He woke up coughing. His throat protested and his body shook as he expelled air. Nausea made him groan. He peeled open his eyelids and blinked. A gray haze clouded the air. His eyes watered. He wiped at them with the back of his hands, blinking. He rolled onto his side, ignoring the fatigue that made his limbs feel like lead.
Hartley’s bed was empty.
He rolled from the bed. His body protested the rough landing. I have to find Hartley. He low-crawled across the floor while his burning throat and aching lungs thanked him for the cleaner air. Time all but slowed to a halt as he continued to pull his dead weight out into the hallway. Intense heat permeated the house. Sweat slicked his back, sticking his shirt to his skin. Sweat beads ran down his face and into his eyes. He could hear the crackling of burning material. “Har—?” He coughed again, unable to force the words out. His throat refused to cooperate.
The smoke seemed the worst toward the front of the house. That must be where the fire began. His eyes darted back and forth as he searched for his brother and mother. If his old man was too drunk to vacate the premises, that’d be on him. Hell, he’d probably prefer that. Brushing the wall, he kept to his left. He ended up at the end of the hallway. He glanced to the left and squinted to make out shapes in the murky grayness. A pair of bare feet stuck out from the end of the couch. He pulled himself along, realizing he’d been trying to save their mother, who lay on the couch.
Her stillness set a slow panic off inside him. “Hartley,” he croaked. His brother didn’t respond.
Hartley’s body rose slightly.
He’s alive. He gripped Hartley’s shirt with clumsy fingers and tugged. “Wake up.” Nothing happened. I have to get him out of here. He peered at his mother on the couch. Her arm hung limply over the side. If she was breathing, he couldn’t tell. Torn between his mother and his twin, he hesitated. A fresh round of coughing shook him into action. It might be too late for his mother. But he knew he could save Hartley. I’ll come back for you, Mom.
The heat had grown more intense as the fire spread up the hallway, seekin
g to engulf them in its fiery embrace. He forced himself up onto his knees, gripped the black t-shirt with both hands, and pulled Hartley with all his strength. His muscles screamed in protest. Sweat stung his eyes. His vision faded in and out. Despite it all, he continued to inch his way to the door. He dropped Hartley and he groaned.
The sound gave birth to hope. He reached up to the handle. “Shit.” The metal burned his hand. He waved it in a pitiful attempt to cool it down. Desperate, he lifted the end of his shirt up and wrapped it around the knob then turned. He pulled. The door held tight. Tears of frustration and exhaustion distorted his vision. He slapped the wood and gave a hoarse cry. His attention refocused on the window. Time was ticking down. If he didn’t get them out now, they’d all perish. He grabbed his father’s steel-toe boot and flung it at the window with all his strength. The glass gave. The air rushed through and the place went up like dry kindling. A wave of fire spilled across the ceiling and knocked him on his ass. Dazed, he lost valuable moments. He sat up to see the fire less than four feet away from him. The smell of burning flesh turned his stomach. I can’t lose anyone else. He grabbed Hartley and slid them across the floor to the window.
The sound of sirens in the distance, told him help was on the way. He slapped Hartley’s face.
His brother groaned as he stirred slightly.
He took some of his own weight as Hayes hefted him up and shoved him out the window frame. Heat exploded onto his side.
The material of his shirt melted to his flesh and he began to scream.
CHAPTER THREE
“So, what’s the story between you and the V.P.’s old lady anyway?”