Not Your Lucky Day by L. R. Trovillion

Author:L. R. Trovillion [Trovillion, L. R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-05-25T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

Watkins

WATKINS PUSHED OPEN HIS townhouse door and reeled back as the smell of rancid food slapped him in the face.

“It smells like low tide in here,” he said, tossing his keys on the kitchen counter. “I told you to take those crab shells out last night.”

Caleb swung his legs around and sat up on the couch. He was still wearing what he had on last night—a Harvard T-shirt and gray sweatpants. The waistband had lost its elastic and caused them to hang precariously around his bony hips.

Watkins pulled out the garbage bag and cinched down the knot to close it. Wrestling it past the recycle bin, he bumped it and set off a clinking rattle as the bottles settled inside. He looked over the lip of the bin and counted six longnecks. Just on the top, where he could see. It had been emptied last night after Caleb’s friends went home around eleven.

“I see you’ve kept the party going by yourself today.” His jaw hurt from clenching it.

Caleb lurked in the kitchen entrance, leaning against the wall. He scratched a bare patch of his abdomen like a languid cat. When Watkins brushed past, he reached out to grab the bag. “I’ll take it. Sorry. Just forgot.”

Watkins jerked his arm away and turned, protecting the garbage bag like it was full of treasure. “Forgot? How could you with the stink in here?” He stomped through the living room and out to the dumpster across the parking lot.

The evening air cooled the heat in his face. He didn’t want to go back inside. The thought of facing Caleb with what he had to say made him stop in place. In the darkened parking lot he watched his breath swirl in clouds around his head. He’d promised to take care of his brother, but he didn’t know how. Every effort was met with failure or fights.

On leaden feet he trudged up the front stairs and inside. Caleb was on his knees in the kitchen with a sponge raised in one hand. “Spilled something. Don’t worry, I’m cleaning it up.”

He bent over a puddle on the linoleum and teetered forward, bumping his head on a cabinet and toppling sideways. The puddle of liquid seeped into his dirty sweatpants.

Watkins hesitated. He should just leave him. Let him deal with it, but his body disobeyed his reason and marched forward to scoop his brother up under his arms. He frog marched him into the spare bedroom.

“Ouch,” Caleb squirmed and twisted. “You’re hurting me.”

Watkins didn’t loosen his grip. Instead he shoved Caleb onto the futon bed—still unmade—and pulled off his sopping pants.

Caleb tugged the sheets over his bare legs. “Perv. What’s your problem?” His brother’s unfocused eyes avoided looking at him.

“Why are you home and not at work?” Watkins had called in a favor with an old army buddy and got Caleb a job working at his café in town. He’d started a few days ago.

“Whaddaya think?” Caleb’s words slurred.

“Fired or quit?” Watkins went to cross his arms and thought better of it.

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