Scored(25)

For me, it’s my big brother Mikey. Growing up, he watched out for me and I made him laugh. It was my job. Something I was good at doing other than football. I goofed off so much that even the nuns had a tough time keeping their faces sour or their rulers out.

I flex my hand, remembering the feel of the wood smacking against my knuckles. Their discipline was good training for the NFL. If I could take a hit from Sister Margaret Hairlip, then I could take a hit from any linebacker.

Automatically, I cross myself in case God’s listening in on my thoughts and sharing them with Sister Margaret.

Man, Mikey and I got into so much trouble with her.

Even though I have a key, I knock anyway.

Catherine opens the door, her face lighting up. “Hey, you.”

I kiss her cheek and walk inside. “Hey, yourself. How’s he doing?” I ask as she closes the door behind me.

“Today’s a mostly good day,” she says. “Have you eaten?”

I shake my head. “Thought I’d eat with you guys, if that’s okay.”

“Like you even have to ask.” She lightly slaps my shoulder and leans against me. “Thank you for coming. I know it’s not easy.”

We move to the living room. The television is on, the volume so low I can barely hear anything they’re saying. He’s got the captions turned on, though, so I have to assume his ears are bothering him today.

Catherine walks in front of me, tapping her husband on the shoulder. “Honey, look who’s come to eat lunch with us.”

Slowly, he turns around, his eyes getting all crinkly. Dude is actually happy to see me for once… and that kind of breaks my heart. Beggars can’t be choosers, and I’ll take it over his anger at the world for getting hit by a drunk driver on the day the doctors confirmed his cancer was finally in remission.

“Little. Brother,” he says, but his words are garbled. Still, I can understand him, and that’s a fucking improvement from two weeks ago. The speech therapist must be a good one this time. “Eat. Now.”

A smile about cracks my face in two. “You’re so fucking bossy, Mikey.”

Catherine laughs. She’s a fucking angel. Stayed with my brother through it all, even when he tried to push her away. Hell, a lot of women wouldn’t have stuck around long enough to be told to leave. “I tell him that all the time, but he says I’m the bossy one,” she teasingly complains.

Mikey rolls his eyes. His mouth doesn’t quite move on the left side when he speaks again. “Bull. Ss-shit.”

“Good to know you still have the mouth of a fucking sailor.”

He grins with the right side of his lips. “Taught. You.”

Yeah, he did. He taught me everything. “Bad influence. Even Mom and Dad think so.”

Catherine strokes the mangled side of his face. The side I don’t really notice anymore because I’m so used to seeing it that way. “Want me to bring the food in here or do you want to go outside?”

Mikey opens his mouth, but nothing really comes out. His cheeks get red and he looks really, really frustrated. I hate when he gets like this because there’s nothing any of us can do to fix it. Only time and physical therapy can heal his vocal chords and improve his body.

“You know I have the manners of a barn animal, so I say we take it outside,” I suggest.

My brother nods, the red fading from his cheeks.

“Perfect.” She waves at the back the patio. “You two go ahead. I’ll bring out soup and sandwiches in a bit.”

I grab the handles of Mikey’s wheelchair, but he grunts at me. “Got. It.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Independent.” I hold up my hands and glare at him. “Far be it for me to help a brother out—due to your advanced age and all.”

Mikey shoots up one gnarled finger. “You.” He self-propels his chair toward the sliding glass doors.

“Nice. Real nice,” I call after him and hurry to catch up. “Slow your roll, dickhead.”

“Pussy,” he bites out.

Secretly, I’m thrilled he’s giving it back to me. The last thing I want him to think is that I’m helping him because he’s disabled. I want to help him because I know how fucking hard he and Catherine work every single day so he can get better. I consider it payback for the years he helped me with football, school, and girls… everything.

He didn’t want my help, but I purchased this house in a gated neighborhood near North Raleigh Medical last year. It has the best physical therapy program in the nation. While insurance paid out a hell of a lot, it didn’t cover everything… and it sure as hell didn’t make up for the future he and Catherine had to put on hold.

Mikey stops by the pool, turning to look at me. “You. Good?”

“The usual.” I shrug. “Met a girl. She’s not like the others.”

“Has. Taste?”

“Knew I could count on your support, big brother.”

Catherine joins us, holding a large tray piled high with food. “Who is she?”

“Do you have bat hearing?” I glance at the door, realizing I left it open because there’s no way she could have opened it with her hands full.

“Here, take this,” she says, thrusting the tray at me. I take it from her and place it on the large table. “Bats can’t understand humans.”