Courting Greta by Hootman Ramsey

Author:Hootman, Ramsey [Hootman, Ramsey]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Gallery Books
Published: 2013-06-18T00:00:00+00:00

17

WHAT THE HELL WAS that supposed to be?” Chris put a hand to his face, looking more surprised than angry. “Are you nuts?” He gave a puzzled laugh and bent, offering a hand.

Samuel lunged for his arm.

“What the—”

He clawed himself up to Chris’s shoulder, wrapped an arm around his neck, and plunged a fist into his stomach. Goddamn, it felt good.

Chris’s surprise melted into a wordless exclamation of fury and pain. “You crazy little bastard!” He gathered Samuel’s collar in one fist and drew the other back—

“What are you doing?” Toni stood in the doorway, mouth open.

“Do it,” Samuel urged. “Hit me, you worthless piece of shit!” It was too late. He saw himself reflected in Chris’s uncertain eyes; watched as the elder brother dissolved into helpless cripple.

Chris’s grip relaxed. The threatening fist unfolded, and he hooked his arm under Samuel’s, lowering him carefully to the floor.

Samuel shoved him away. “Get the fuck out of my room.”

Chris opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Finally he shut it and nodded. “Yeah. Sure.” He slammed the door.

Alone, Samuel sat on the floor, legs twisted beneath him. “Shit,” he whispered. “You worthless little shit.”

After a few minutes, he crawled to the bed and pulled his pant legs up, checking for injuries. There were none.

He’d never fought like that with Chris. Ever. Not just physically but with that much venom. When it came to their father, Chris had always stayed out of the way, and Samuel had interpreted that to mean his brother was at least nominally on his team. Apparently Chris’s easygoing attitude had been an act, an attempt to placate his pathetic cripple of a brother.

Now Samuel knew the truth. So much for family.

There was a knock at his door.

“What?”

“Phone.” Chris leaned in and chucked the receiver at Samuel.

Samuel caught it midair. He opened his mouth to throw back a sarcastic comment, but his brother had already gone. “Hello?”

“I forgot to say I’d bring breakfast tomorrow.”

It was Greta. “Breakfast?”

“To the game. We can eat in the car.”

Now he was lost. “Game?”

She sounded impatient. “We agreed to go to your brother’s game tomorrow. Saturday. In Oakland. Remember?”

He didn’t, not really; he hadn’t exactly been paying attention. “Oh.” Crap. “I kinda doubt he’ll be happy to see me there.”

Greta was silent, digesting his subtext. “What happened?”

How did one abridge twenty years of bottled-up bile? He pulled one leg up to unbuckle the brace. It fell out of his pant leg onto the bed, an empty shell in the middle of the white down comforter. “I hit him,” he said, perfectly aware how ridiculous it sounded.

There was no pause of disbelief, no incredulous snort. “Why?”

“We argued. I don’t know, it was stupid.” He sat back, holding the phone between shoulder and chin, and pulled the other leg onto the bed. “I accused him of being careless. With, uh, romantic situations. And then he sort of blew up. I never realized he resented me that much. And then he said something that just—I—God, I just lost it.

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