“Call me Stella one more time and I’ll be mopping the floor with you,” Stellan responds drily.
Which only makes Shep wiggles his eyebrows. “Ooh, word play. Stella’s feisty tonight.”
Ledger frowns at Stellan. “Why the fuck are you moping?”
Stellan opens his mouth to respond but of course Shepard gets there first. “Because a chick he likes picked me.”
At this, all festivities come to a halt.
Ledger pauses the game. Shepard protests with “I was winning, dumbass”. And Stellan slams the book shut with a snap, appearing ready to punch Shep.
“What chick?” Ledger asks.
Again Shepard gets there first. “This insanely hot chick that he’s been eyeing but of course she’s been eying me. Isadora.”
“I’m fucking warning you,” Stellan says gravely.
Ledger raises his hand. “Let me get this straight: a chick named Isadora picked Shepard over you. What, is she crazy?”
Shepard smacks Ledger on the head. “Fuck you, man. She’s got taste. I’m clearly the better catch.”
Ledger smacks Shep back. “Yeah, if she wants to catch chlamydia maybe.”
Shepard frowns, sitting up straight. “You fucking —”
“What the fuck is that?” I boom then, not interested in listening to their bullshit any longer, clenching and unclenching my fists.
All three of them jump in their seats and snap their gazes over to me.
And when they see where my eyes are planted, their eyes widen.
They scramble to take their feet off the table. Shepard and Ledger shove aside their controllers, and Stellan throws his book on the table.
Where it skids and ends up touching the very thing I’m staring at.
“Where did you find those?” I ask when no one has said anything. “And what the fuck are they doing on the coffee table?”
They all wince in response and look at each other, guiltily.
Which just pisses me off even more and I thunder, “If no one answers in the next five seconds, I’m coming to smash all your noses into your faces. So you better open your holes and start talking.”
Shepard’s the first one to break, as he points his finger at Ledger. “He did.”
Ledger’s eyes snap wide as he addresses Shepard. “What the fuck, dude?” Turning to me, he says, “It wasn’t me, Con. I don’t even go into your room let alone…” He waves in the general direction of the object. “Bring something out of there. I don’t want to die. It was Shep. He was turning the house upside down looking for batteries, went into your room, opened the drawer of your nightstand and found them there. And he’s the one who brought ‘em out here.”
Shep slaps the back of Ledger’s head. “Yeah, and who said it’s about time Con got some, huh? Who was it who said, as soon as he saw the pair of panties in my hands, that thank God our big brother got laid?”
The word ‘panties’ finally breaks me into action.
I stride over to the coffee table and pick them up. Bunching them in my hand, I shove them in my back pocket, away from their beady eyes.
That’s when my favorite brother decides to break his silence. “So whose are they?”
I swivel my gaze over to Stellan, who’s watching me with shrewd eyes. “What’d you just say?”
He shrugs. “I’m just asking. It’s very rare that you have a girl over. So who is she?”
I clench my fists, debating whether to strangle the brother whom I’ve always been closest to — well, as close as I can get with anyone really, given the fact that he’s still a big eight years younger than me — or just knock his teeth out so he’ll stop talking.
“Clean this shit up,” I tell him before pinning my eyes on the other two morons. “And you two. If I see either of you for the rest of the weekend, I’m going to forget that you’re related to me, you understand?”
With that, I stalk out of the room and get away from them before I really do something drastic.
Hours later and after a tense dinner with my brothers, I find myself awake in the middle of the night as usual. But instead of kicking the ball around as I usually do, I sit on the rocking chair on the back porch and stare into the darkness.
“Beer?”
I hear the voice from behind me and without even looking, I know who it is. He’s the only one who’s brave enough to come talk to me when my mood is shitty.
Walking around the old rocking chair that I’m sitting in, Stellan drops down on the one next to it and props his feet up on the wooden railing before saying, “As a truce?”
I glance at his truce and raise the bottle that I do have resting on my thigh. “Not in the mood for it.”
“Whiskey, huh.”
I shrug and take a gulp of it in response.
“Things must be dire,” he goes on. “For you to pick up the hard stuff.”