Play It Safe(52)

This meant he didn’t have any money.

“Yes, for the night, Casey, I’ll let you crash on my couch,” I offered cautiously at the same time trying to figure out how I’d convince Gray that was an okay idea.

“Fuck that,” he returned. “We’re goin’.”

“Casey, honey, I’m not going and if she means something to you, you shouldn’t either. You should give it a shot, work it out.”

“Relationship advice from my f**kin’ sister,” he muttered.

“Well, yeah, Casey. I know you. I love you. And you’re obviously hurt so I’m looking out for you and advising you should try to work it out.”

He leaned in, his face twisting and spat, “I’m not hurt. Bitch wanted to tie me down. Yammerin’ on every night, ‘Casey, you go to the plant and talk about a job?’ and ‘Casey, darlin’, saw an ad in the paper, sellin’ cars, you’d be good at that.’ Sellin’ cars. Fuckin’ crazy. That’s not me. I tell her that, she doesn’t listen to me just keeps at me with that shit. Fuck that, I’m done.”

At this speech it finally broke through. It dawned crystal clear that for the last month as I started my normal life with my job and my room and my boyfriend in this town, Casey had been going through the money I gave him, Gray gave him and undoubtedly his girl gave him. And no doubt he’d done it stupidly. And she was done giving money to him, feeding him, putting a roof over his head and a pillow under it. He probably promised her he’d step up. He didn’t. And she was done.

“Maybe you should take a second, think about what she said and look into those things, Casey,” I whispered my suggestion. “You don’t know. You might like it. I know I like waitressing. It’s fun. Maybe you’ll like doing something steady too.”

“Are you f**kin’ nuts?” Casey shot back. “This isn’t my life and it isn’t yours. We’re goin’.”

“Okay, if you’ve decided it isn’t your life, that’s fine for you. But it is mine and I’m not going anywhere,” I replied.

“We’re goin’,” Casey repeated.

“You can but I’m not,” I returned.

And that was when he shocked me straight to my core.

Because that was when my brother Casey lost it completely doing something he’d never, ever done to me.

And what he did was grab my arm, dip his face half an inch from mine, shake my arm hard and hiss, “Pack your f**kin’ bags, sis, we…are…goin’.”

Looking into his furious face, feeling his fingers wrapped tight around my arm, hearing Janie whispering probably into a phone behind me, I knew it.

I knew it then.

He needed me.

I understood it before but not in the same way.

He couldn’t make his own way. He couldn’t put gas in his car. He couldn’t feed himself.

Unless he used me.

Used me.

When Gray got angry with his uncle and made his declaration about no one using me, he didn’t mean Uncle Charlie. He meant Casey. He’d barely been around us but he’d seen it even before me.

That was why there were no connections but that rule was just for me. That was why I had to play it safe when he didn’t.

He found his girl who made his heart race; it was okay for me to find whatever I found.

But when he was done so was I.

I was his meal ticket.

I was all he had.

A long time ago, he was all I had. But as we got older, that had shifted. And instead of Casey finding us something safe, something steady, something right, something good and moving us into that kind of life, he was too scared or too dumb or too addicted to the hustle to do that.

And he couldn’t hustle anyone without me.

So he kept me under his thumb and used me.

“Take your hand off me,” I whispered but he didn’t.

His fingers tightened so much the pain magnified and he shook me again, this time my body going with it.

“Not gonna say it again,” he ground out.

I twisted my arm savagely but he was holding on so tight I didn’t get free and it hurt more so I stopped doing it and my voice rose with anger and a little bit of panic when I repeated, “Take your hand off me!”

He shook me again, leaning into me so I had to bend back and shouted, “Get your shit and get in the car!”

I twisted my arm again, it hurt again even more but he still didn’t let go and I shrieked, “Casey, take your hand off me!”

“Dude, do as Ivey says,” Barry, one of the two men (I was right back when I made my guess) who sat hunched with his friend Gene nearly every night at The Rambler was now standing close to Casey and me.

Casey’s neck twisted and he spat, “Stay out of it.”

“Let her go and move back,” Gene ordered, standing to Casey’s other side.

Casey’s neck twisted the other way. “Fuck you!”

“One last shot, dude, you let her go or we make you,” Barry warned and Casey looked back at him.

“Yeah, right, fat ass, like you can do that,” he snarled, lip curled.

“Casey!” I snapped, he looked at me, started to shake me again then Gene put two hands on his shoulders, Barry wrapped one around the wrist of his hand that had hold of me and they both pulled him away from me.