What if she had died? Would Gramma and Grampa have even told me?
Of course they would’ve, I told myself, pressing my white-knuckled fist to my mouth. Don’t be stupid. You know they would’ve said something if she had died.
Yeah, but how can you be sure of that now, knowing this? You don’t even know how long she was in the hospital. You don’t even know what her injuries were. You didn’t even know about—
“Stratton,” I blurted out too loudly, earning myself a couple of questionable looks from others in the library.
“Huh?” Ray narrowed her eyes at the screen as I sat up higher and pointed at his name.
“Her boyfriend was David Stratton. Holy shit.”
“I’m not following.”
“Hold on.” My heart hammered wildly in my chest as I opened up a new browser window and searched his name.
The accident had happened so many years ago, so I wasn’t sure anything would come up, but there it was. An obituary for David Murphy Stratton.
Survived by his parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousin, and a younger brother.
“Levi,” I said conclusively, jabbing my finger at the screen before thrusting that hand into my hair. “Oh my fucking God. He had to be Levi’s brother.”
Ray was speechless as she stared at the screen, clutching her coffee mug and sitting still as stone on my lap. Her head began to shake from side to side, disbelief settling in to keep the truth from infiltrating her mind.
“No,” she insisted. “That’s … Soldier, no, that’s …”
But she wouldn’t say it was impossible because, clearly, it wasn’t. My mother had been involved with Levi’s brother, David, who died in a car accident when I was six, and now, my mother was with Levi—or at least the last time I had checked.
“That’s so fucked up,” I muttered, wiping my palm over my mouth.
“What?”
“She’s fucking her dead boyfriend’s brother.”
“Your mom is with Levi?”
I nodded with nausea in my gut and confusion in my head. “The night I got out of prison, I walked in on them going at it on the couch.”
Ray’s eyes widened as she sucked in a deep breath and shook her head. “Wow … I mean, maybe they're not related. Maybe they're … God, I don't even know.”
“Yeah,” I murmured, unsure of what to make of all this new information myself. Unsure if there was anything to make of it at all. “Look, I gotta get back to work. Can you do me a favor though?”
Together, we stood from the chair, and she looked up at me, nodding. “Of course. What’s up?”
“If you get a chance, find whatever you can about David Stratton. Print it out and bring it home.”
***
But as it turned out, there wasn’t much to find about David Stratton, other than a couple of brief articles mentioning an arrest here and there for drug possession. He had done time, but how much, I wasn’t sure. All I knew was, the guy had had a record, and he had died twenty-five years ago. My mother had been in the car with him, she’d witnessed her boyfriend’s death, and now, she was involved with his drug-peddling brother.
It probably meant nothing, I realized, but the wheels in my brain wouldn’t stop turning. Conspiracy theories and irrational conclusions kept me from enjoying the dinner I was sharing with Ray and Noah. They chatted about his school day and if he had homework and what they were going to do that weekend. I heard it all, but I couldn’t will myself to engage when all I could think about was the night Billy had died and how Levi had smiled as I was being driven away.
What if Levi’s problem with me had less to do with me stealing his business and more to do with—
“… Soldier come too?”
The sound of my name pulled me from a thought that already felt wrong and asinine. Noah was looking at me, curious and hopeful, and I bounced my gaze between him and his mom.
“What?” I asked sheepishly, picking up the fork to start eating the meal they’d already finished.
“Um”—Ray rolled her lips between her teeth and eyed me warily—“we were planning on spending Saturday with my family—”
“Do you wanna come?” Noah nearly bounced out of his chair with the question.
I shrugged as I shoveled a heaping forkful of lasagna to my mouth. “Sure. Why not?”
Noah was instantly thrilled while Ray, on the other hand, pursed her lips and eyed me with irritation. Like I’d said the wrong thing.
“I just figured you had stuff to do,” she said, her voice coming out in a hurried huff. “And I mean, I didn’t expect you’d really want to head all the way back to our hometown. Because, you know, my parents still live there.”
Her eyes rounded with a message, and I was receiving it loud and clear. She was scared of what would happen if I went back there, and—dare I say it—she was probably worried about us being seen together.
But whatever she was afraid of, I wouldn’t let it intimidate me. I wanted to meet her family. I wanted this to feel like the real deal—the realest deal of all—and if that meant rolling into my old stomping grounds with a big fuck you sign taped to my forehead for anyone who had a problem with me to see, then so be it.
I was living my life now, and I wouldn’t allow the past to control me. Not anymore.
***
Stormy was as inconspicuously beautiful as her sister, but while Ray radiated sunshine, her sister was the physical embodiment of her name with hair blacker than night and a wardrobe to match. Her exterior was that of stone, adorned with black-and-gray tattoos and more piercings than I could count, and her eyes watched me with hardened skepticism. Honestly, I couldn't blame her one bit—even if their parents both seemed to accept me with open arms.
“So, Soldier,” Stormy began, folding her arms against the table and ignoring the pizza on her plate, “how long exactly were you locked up?”
“Just a little less than ten years,” I answered without hesitation before taking a bite full of pepperoni, sauce, and cheese.
Her thin, tattooed brows lowered with suspicion and guarded curiosity. “You were behind bars for a freakin' third of your life? How does that not royally screw someone up?”
“Oh my God, Stormy!” Ray exclaimed from beside me, turning her attention to her older sister. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Stormy shrugged. “And I'm over here, wondering how you've never considered you could be sleeping with a psychopath.”
Noah was quick to come to my defense with a, “Soldier is not a friggin’ psychopath,” as his mother and grandparents all gawked at the big-mouthed goth sitting across from me.
But I didn't react in the way I knew she was looking for. If she was trying to shake me, I wasn't going to let her.
Chris, their father, who had only just met me that morning, let his hand fall to the table with a resounding thunk. “Stormy, knock it off right now. Soldier is a guest in this—”
“It's fine, sir,” I cut him off, holding up a palm to stop him from continuing to scold his daughter, who I felt had every right to come to her sister's defense. I turned to Stormy with the same stern glare that she held on me, but instead of cold and bitter, mine was—I hoped—warm and assuring. “I promise I've passed my psych evaluations. So, no, I’m not a psychopath.”