Brother by Ania Ahlborn

nothing better to do than strike up a conversation. Michael didn’t know how to talk to girls. That weird, uncomfortable yearning would come back. It would swallow him, and she’d see it in his face; she’d see what Michael really was.
    â€œWhat do you mean, you’ll stay in the car? That’s crazy,” Reb was shooting for lighthearted, but Michael could hear the aggravation leeching into his tone.
    â€œI don’t feel so good,” Michael explained.
    â€œThen you’re really not stayin’,” Reb assured him. “What are you, afraid of girls?”
    The more Michael thought about it, the less it made sense. Even if Rebel and Lucy hit it off, what did he expect would happen? He couldn’t take her back to the farmhouse, couldn’t ever tell her what he did or who he was.
    â€œI just don’t feel like it,” Michael insisted, waiting for Reb to reprimand him for being a loser. When his brother didn’t fire back an insult, Michael dared to look up from his hands. Reb’s expression had changed. But rather than glaring at Michael with a look that could kill, he was now watching him the way someone would look at a wounded animal along the side of the road. How sad, it read. H ow totally pathetic.
    â€œFine, suit yourself.” Reb finally relented. “But I’m gonna be a while, so if you cook in here . . .” He shrugged, sliding out of the car. “Just think about what I said about Wade, huh? We work hard, Mike. We work hard for him and Claudine and we don’t never get nothin’ in the way of thanks. Don’t we deserve a good time?” Then he slammed the door and trudged across the parking lot. Michael watched him disappear into the store.
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    Michael stepped inside the Dervish a few minutes later, but not because he wanted to. It was because he knew his brother well, and one girl may not have been enough. The idea of Rebel bending Snow White over the hood of the Delta compounded the nausea he already felt. If he didn’t show an interest, Reb would take that to mean Snow White was fair game. ­Michael didn’t know the first thing about what he was doing, but something about the idea of his older brother having Lucy and Snow was too much to bear.
    The little bell jingled when he pushed open the door, that exotic scent hitting him square in the chest. He took a deep breath and stepped inside. Reb was standing at the front counter, leaning against it with one hip cocked. He shot a look over his shoulder at Michael, and when their eyes met, Michael could read Reb’s expression with ease. Don’t waste this opportunity, it said. Don’t let Wade boss you around no more. Rebel grinned at Lucy. Her hair cascaded down her back in soft, easy waves. She tucked her ear against a raised shoulder and gave Reb a bashful smile as he reached out to draw his fingers down the delicate line of her jaw. Lucy’s gaze darted from Michael to the back of the store, then returned to Reb again. She caught him by the hand and stepped out from behind the register, pulling him along. Michael followed them with his eyes—a pretty girl leading a grinning jackal to what Michael guessed was a storage room. They slid beyond the door and shut it behind them with a quiet click.
    Michael blinked at the seemingly abandoned store. He twisted around to look at the posters on the walls, the ones closest to the front windows discolored by the sun. He recognized the music coming through the speakers as Van Halen; Reb played them in the Delta every now and again. David Lee Roth ooh baby baby ’d his way into the open room, accompanied by the constant groan of an air conditioner battling the West Virginia heat.
    He nearly jumped at the sound of the tiny bell above the door and glanced back at the Dervish’s new patron. A woman wearing a floor-length skirt in loud oranges and greens stepped inside.