TWO STEPS led up to the veranda, and it’d take him just one more step to stand in front of the door. Shane had walked all the other hundreds of footsteps before with ease, but those last three planted themselves before him, insurmountable and threatening. The plan had been so clear-cut and logical when he had left Estelle’s room. Somewhere between there and here, it had turned into a jumbled mess—something a kindergarten kid might have come up with. That comparison wasn’t fair, because even Natalie would’ve created a better plan and written it with crayons on pink paper, using only the first three letters of the alphabet. Despite all his doubts, he had to do something, even if it was sheer madness and doomed to fail. He climbed the first step. That hadn’t been that difficult. He ascended the next one. Not giving himself any time to think about it, he took the last step to the door. Lately doors had developed the unnerving habit of scaring him. But in his defense, more often than not, nasty things lurked behind them. He rang the bell, and his guts knotted up. If no one answered, he could get out of this and pretend it had never happened. The pitter-patter of feet hurrying down a staircase snatched away that last straw to clutch at. Shane startled as the door flew open, seemingly all by itself, and he let his gaze wander down. A red-haired boy, perhaps twelve years old, stared up at him. Ginger freckles covered almost all of his slender face, and only a few spots of fair skin showed. The color of his eyes reminded Shane of moss. Those eyes were wide now, but overall this boy looked more curious than shocked.
“Hi, my name’s Shane. Is your brother…?”
“Seamus, you dipstick, how often have I told you not to open the door if Mom and Dad aren’t… whoa!” Iain came down the stairs and stopped cold at the bottom. He drew in a deep breath, and his face turned a chalky white. “Shane!” He choked and waved his hands around. “It wasn’t me. I swear! It wasn’t me.” He stumbled backward and crashed onto the steps with a dull thud. Even the sound was painful.
Seamus jumped back and extended both arms. “Don’t hurt him, please!” He shook his head, sending the red wisps of his hair flying. “I know he’s an asshole at school, but Iain didn’t touch your friend.” Seamus swallowed. “At least, not this time,” he added ruefully. “He’s not nice at school, but he’s a good brother and came to my Boy Scout meeting with all of his teammates on that Thursday. It really wasn’t him.”
Shane’s head was swimming. First of all, he hadn’t known that Iain had a brother, but the most disturbing fact was that Seamus called him a good brother. Iain was the devil, the villain, pure evil. He was the terror of Central High, not the guy who scratched the back of his baby brother. Shane would sort out this bullshit of contradictions later, but first he had to calm Seamus.
“I know it wasn’t Iain.” He took a step inside and knelt down before Seamus. This was something to be discussed at face level. “The plaintiff told me that Iain attended the Boy Scout meeting.” Shane turned his hands around, showing his open palms. “I’m not here to hurt your brother. I only want to ask him something.” He extended his hand. “I’ve never been a Boy Scout, but I give you my word of honor that I won’t lay a finger on Iain.” He smiled, enduring the green intensity of Seamus’s gaze resting on him.
The younger O’Sullivan’s mouth kept moving, almost as if he were chewing on the things Shane had said. He nodded his head once, obviously having made up his mind, and grasped Shane’s hand. “You’re a sportsman. A sportsman’s word counts almost as much as a Boy Scout’s.” He smiled back at Shane and shook his hand before stepping aside.
“Thank you, Seamus.”
Shane turned his head to look at Iain. Pale and panting, he was still half-lying on the stairs. This wasn’t the devil. A very bad guy, yes, but still human. Hopefully, he was devil enough to find the one who had hurt Matt. Shane got up and walked forward, Iain’s gaze following him. He offered Iain his hand. “I’m here for talking only. You heard the promise I gave your brother, didn’t you?”
Iain eyed Shane’s hand, then looked up into his face. He nodded, grabbed the hand, and Shane pulled him up to a stand.
“Let’s go to my room, and you, dipstick—” Iain pointed at Seamus. “—go to yours, and if the fucking doorbell rings, you’ll let me answer. Got it?”
If Shane had heard this sentence a minute ago, he would have treated it as a brush-off only, absolutely typical for Iain. Now he took his time to consider Iain’s eyes and found worry in them. Worry for his little brother being kidnaped or worse. Of all people, Shane should know best that there was more to a person than what was up-front, though in Iain’s case this “more” hid very, very deep inside.
Iain spun around and bolted up the stairs. Shane faced Seamus, rolled his eyes, and shrugged. A dimple formed on Seamus’s cheek as he grinned back. Who was the black sheep in this family? Seamus or Iain? Shane chuckled inside and followed Iain upstairs.
IF ONE exchanged the baseball posters for bodybuilding ones, Iain’s room would’ve looked just like his. One difference consisted of a shelf with different-sized trophies, some golden, some silver, but all of them with little batter figurines on top. Another obvious difference, Iain was a clutterer. Lying all over the room were scattered clothes, used dishes, and empty bottles of soda. The smell reminded Shane of a locker room that had been built around the waste dump of a fast-food outlet. Spending time with Iain didn’t rank high on his priority list, and the special aroma here didn’t entice him to stay any longer either. He would deliver his request and then leave as fast as possible.
“Sit down, dude.” Iain glanced at him from the corners of his eyes.
Shane wiped some clothes away from the bed, hoping that they were T-shirts only. “Sure, dude.” He had told Iain in the cafeteria fight not to call him dude ever again, but a little friendliness went well with the favor he was about to ask. Shane slumped onto the bed.
Iain furrowed his brows for a moment, but his features relaxed again. Seemingly, he remembered their “dude arrangement” as well.
“This sounds fucking ridiculous coming from me, but I’m so pissed at what happened to Matty.” Iain grabbed his lower arms and massaged them. “I don’t know how often I’ve said I’d kill him, but that some douche actually tried sucks big time.”
“Thanks, dude.” Shane believed him. It contradicted everything he knew about Iain or what he thought he knew about him, but this was the truth and probably the closest thing to an apology Iain would ever offer.
“So, you and Matty are… together?”
Shane didn’t want to know which word “together” had replaced. “Yes, we’re boyfriends.”
“You’re the man in that relationship, dude?”
If this was Iain’s take on casual small talk, he should stop. Regurgitating decades-old prejudices made Shane’s blood boil, and Iain shouldn’t want him to get angry. “Last time I checked, Matt was a man too.” The tone of Shane’s voice sounded like teeth gnawing on iron.
“Okay, man.” Iain’s grip around his arms tightened, and they turned white. “You want to ask me something.”
The breathing crap didn’t work that often, but Shane inhaled and exhaled nonetheless. It filled up at least a little of the emptiness in his guts. “The police have no clue who attacked Matt. They can only assume that it was a student.” He drew in another breath, but this one had no effect at all. “Would you help me to find the bastard? I’m still the new one at Central High, and you know the school so much better. People respect you, dude.” Some flattery would work better than repeating Estelle’s colorful wording about devils and assholes.
“You mean people fear me, and I’m the gang leader of the school scum?” Iain pulled up one corner of his mouth into a crooked grin, and a dimple formed on his other cheek. He looked just like Seamus.
Shane shrugged and grinned back. “That’s what you said.” When it came to manipulation, Iain was the master and outwitted Shane with years of experience. Fortunately he hadn’t taken it the wrong way.
The corner of Iain’s mouth dropped again, and he lowered his gaze to the ground. “Do you really think Matty wants me to help you? He has to fucking hate me for millions of good reasons.”
“Funny thing is, he doesn’t. He’d be happy if he didn’t see you ever again in his life, but he doesn’t hate you.” Matt wasn’t only the stronger one of them. He also had the bigger heart. Shane despised Iain for the things he had done, but his worry for Matt outweighed everything. “You keep calling him Matty. Do you only do so to make fun of him, or do you actually care for him in an effing, twisted way?” It was a random shot, and Shane couldn’t say from where this idea had come.
“I’ve known Matty….” Iain closed his eyes for a moment. “I’ve known him since kindergarten. You can’t fucking ignore someone you’ve known for such a long time.”
“And you chose torture as your way of letting him know you didn’t forget him?” Shane’s plan was going down the drain, but he had to know the answer to this question. Iain was an athlete, like him. How could someone strong get a thrill out of picking on someone weak? There was nothing to be gained, no merit whatsoever. Why did a sportsman ignore the foundations of what he loved?
“Matty was always a weirdo. He was a year older than us and still the freaking smallest kid in kindergarten. When we played ball, he just stood there and watched us from the sideline while shuffling his feet. He was fucking six years old and could read like an adult. The kindergartners let him read to us in the chair circle every day. And what did my parents do?” Iain’s chest rose and fell in shallow, fast gasps. He pitched up his voice into a squeaky falsetto. “Iain, look at Matt. He can read. Don’t you want to try and learn reading too?” His knuckles stood out as he grabbed his lower arms even tighter. “Oh, I tried, but Seamus is the clever O’Sullivan brother. I’m only good for wielding a bat and running around the diamond.” Iain shook his head and stared at Shane, pressing his lips shut. “Sorry, dude, for telling you the fucking story of my miserable life.”
Simple, banal, childish envy. Matt had suffered all of his life just because he had something that Iain didn’t. Shane’s hands closed into fists, and the empty feeling in his intestines ignited. If there existed any good reasons for bullying someone, this wasn’t one of them. Iain’s explanation sounded petty and small-minded. “Have you ever asked Matt? Asked him to join your games? Asked him to teach you how to read? He would’ve sat down with you all day long, cheering you on, until you could read to the other kids.” Shane jumped up from the bed and advanced a step toward Iain. “If you had asked Matt nicely to help you with your essays, he would’ve done so too. He’s so fucking amiable that he would’ve even written them for you, handed them over with a smile on his face and been happy that you got a good grade.” He crossed the distance between them, and Iain pressed himself against his desk. “You haven’t asked him, of course.” They stood so close together that Shane’s breath caused Iain’s hair to flap.
“I’m sorry, dude.” Iain held Shane’s gaze, and the panic on his face was mixed with remorse.
The true thing. Not a fake for saving his own skin.
Shane closed his eyes. “Don’t tell me! Tell Matt!” He unclenched his fists, opened his eyes, and heaved a sigh. “I won’t hurt you. Not only because I promised your brother, but because this won’t undo a single damn thing you’ve ever done to Matt.” He walked backward and let himself plonk onto the bed again, burying his head in his hands. “I could say some stale bullshit like ‘You owe him,’ but I won’t. Do you know who you owe? Seamus.” Shane raised his head and looked into Iain’s eyes. “He loves you. There aren’t many guys who’d jump between me and their brother to protect him. And you love him too. Do you really want him to think you’re an asshole?”
Iain’s face moved as a whole, one twitch chasing another tic. His forehead creased as he looked at the door. “Come in, dipstick. Even a deaf man could hear you breathing.”
Seamus appeared in the crack of the door, eyes down, his face beet red at having been caught eavesdropping. His head shot up. “Shane’s right. If you help him find that asshole, I won’t call you one again. Ever. Scout’s honor.” Seamus raised two fingers.
Iain put his head back and snorted out a single laugh. “I’ve been fucking outvoted.” He lowered his head and grinned at Seamus. “Shane already had me when he asked me the first time, but now I have your word not to call me an asshole ever again. How awesome is that?”
Seamus’s mouth fell open, and he let his hand drop, but his lips bent up into a grin. “Only if you make a real effort to help Shane.”
Iain pushed away from his desk and walked over to Shane. He closed his hand into a fist and offered it. “Asshole’s honor that I’ll give my best at finding that douche. No one lays a finger on Matty except me.”
Shane stiffened up.
“Just kidding, dude.” Iain extended his fist a little more, giving him a two-dimpled smile.
“If he ever touches Matt again,” Seamus said with a voice of pure innocence, “you have my permission to rough him up.”
“Hey, dipstick, you—”
“That’s an offer I won’t let pass,” Shane said.
A fist bump sealed the pact with the devil who wasn’t one. Strange situations created strange bedfellows, but a fist bump had also marked the beginning of his friendship with Matt. Perhaps this was a good sign.
Seamus cackled, the bell-like laughing of a boy, and Iain and Shane joined in.
This pact would work, and they would find the attacker. Shane ignored the little voice in his head that talked about how desperate and futile this search was. He wouldn’t allow it to rob him of his hope.