Four Days Before Shooting

My brothers' argument in their across the hall bathroom was enough to wake the entire neighborhood. This was new, even for them. Though they'd always been early birds, they had never started their bickering this early. They usually waited until the sun had risen completely. What wasn't surprising was the argument, they'd always found themselves in a constant confliction on their perception of right and wrong. Frankie was all analytic and logic, while Clark was impulsive and eccentric. Though identical twins, they couldn't be any more different and this was always very apparent when they disagreed on something. Which, unfortunately for us, was often.

"I don't care." Clark huffed angrily as I stepped out into the hallway, his shoulder length blonde hair a tangled mess as he shoved passed Frankie leaning in the doorframe of the bathroom, brushing his teeth. "Do it, then."

I was too exhausted to try and figure out what it was they were fighting about this time and brushed passed Clark into the living room for breakfast. Mom was already standing over the stove, four black plates set on the white countertop, full to the brim of a perfect meal. Eggs, sausage, pancakes, and a hearty piece of ham. Catching me lingering in the dining room, she grabbed one of the plates and handed it to me with a warm smile. I blew her a kiss and plucked a fork and butter knife from the drawer before sitting at the table. Not even five minutes passed before my brothers brought their fight into the kitchen.

"I don't understand why it's so damn hard for you to keep your mouth shut!" Frankie snapped through his teeth, blue eyes pulsating with anger as he shoved the chair beside me against the table so hard my plate and silverware shook. "Maybe if you learned what it meant to keep shit to yourself, you wouldn't always be getting yourself caught up in shit you shouldn't."

Clark, looking as if he wanted to grab Frankie by the back of the neck and slam his face into the refrigerator as he'd done during a fight last year, only pressed himself against the counter opposite the stove in the kitchen and took his plate from Mom. Frankie, still beside me, leaned over the chair and squeezed his eyes shut as his right hand touched at his buzzed head, almost as if he'd forgotten he'd decided to shave all his hair off last weekend. Feeling my eyes on him, Frankie turned his head in my direction and touched a hand to my shoulder with a tight smile. I returned it, but it faltered the second Clark dropped his plate across from me and started shoveling the food into his mouth with his hands.

"Utensils, Clark!" Mom cried, horrified by my brother's table manners. He rolled his eyes but reached across the table and pried my fork out from between my index finger and thumb halfway to my mouth. He returned my glare and open mouth with a crooked grin and a wink as he stabbed the fork into the middle of the ham steak and started eating around the edges of it.

"Here." Frankie laid a fork on the red linen cloth under my plate as he pulled the chair out beside me and set his own plate down. The chair creaked under his weight, but his disapproving stare was on Clark across the table. "You do realize you can't just bum everything off Hope, right?"

Clark, mouth full of eggs, smiled. "She doesn't mind. Do you, Hope?"

I decided the best option would be to fill my mouth with food so I didn't have to respond at all and end up the middle man. I'd made that mistake one too many times and the result was never good. The tension filled air dissipated the second Dad stepped out into the hallway, his loud footsteps creaking the old floorboards with every step. Both of my brothers straightened unconsciously. I had learned a long time ago that the best thing about being the only girl and the youngest had its advantages when it came to our father.

He was a beast of a man; just over six three and his biceps were the size of my head. But it was neither his height nor weight that made people shake in their boots, but his loud, brooding voice that ordered everyone around as if they were cadets under his watch. Dad was a veteran; he'd served just over twelve years before receiving honorable discharge and coming home to raise the twins with Mom. Not long after that I was conceived and my Colonel father had a fragile, six-pound baby thrust into his big hands and ordered not to drop me. Dad liked to say from the second I opened my big doe eyes, I had him wrapped around my little finger. Sadly, that didn't leave me out of his commanding and ordering, but just lessened the blow.

"What is it that you two idiots are arguing about this time?" Dad asked, pausing behind Frankie's chair. Both boys dropped their gazes to their plates, Clark's nearly empty now, uncomfortable under our father's intense stare. "Oh, now you want to be quiet. Where was that consideration when you were disturbing the neighbors with your pointless bantering?"

I winced for them. Though he was right, his words were always so harsh. After Clark had been suspended last year, he'd come down harder on them both, promising that he'd have them out on the streets and refusing to parent them if they were going to put dishonor on the Rodgers name. Dad had a heart buried deep under all that muscle and pent-up aggression, most people, including my brothers, just hadn't ever been able to see it surface.

Thankfully just as the tension started to rise again, it was severed as quickly as Miles strode in through the front door without knocking and made a gesture toward himself, green eyes twinkling in amusement. "I know, I know, you all missed me."

Clark grabbed an apple from the glass fruit basket at the center of the table and chucked it at Miles. Being a baseball player had its perks, because he caught it seconds before it hit his face and rubbed it against his black V-neck before taking a bite out of it and shooting my brother a taunting smirk. I smiled and stood, not even able to turn before Miles had his arms around me from behind.

He hadn't even been gone three days and was acting as if it were the end of the world. He'd made the trip up to visit his dad for the weekend as he wouldn't be able to make Miles' graduation in at the end of the week.

"I am so sorry for leaving you with these heathens." he said with a laugh as he ran a hand through my hair. "I don't know how you survived it."

"You're so dramatic." I hummed softly, but spun on my heel and kissed him before he could protest. "They're only annoying all the time."

Frankie looked slightly offended, but Clark only leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms behind his head, biceps flexed, and burped. "As sweet as your reunion is, I just ate, and all the kissing is making me start to taste the food again."

I groaned in disgust and slipped passed Miles into the kitchen. He greeted my father with a smile and offered a hand, but Dad yanked him into a tight hug and patted his back with an encouraging smile. As soon as I washed my dish off, I turned around and caught the expression on Clark's face as he watched the scene before him. I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for my brother. My boyfriend was receiving the praise he'd been trying for since he was six. Dad had only known Miles the two years I had, but had shown more love and praise for my boyfriend than he had for my brothers in the last eighteen.

"You guys need a ride?" Miles, ever the sweetheart he was, turned to my brothers with a smile. I could tell, even with his back to me, that it was forced. His shoulders were tense despite the lightness of his words. He was doing it for my sake, but deep down the thought of being seen with Clark probably didn't sit too well with him.

"Nah, man. Thanks though." Frankie answered with a genuine smile and a curt nod before turning back to his food. Clark's eyes remained glued to my boyfriend as Miles headed for the living room to wait for me to grab my things. There was an undecipherable look in my brother's eyes, but the slight curl of his top lip couldn't mean anything good. Though Clark had managed to tolerate Miles for me, I couldn't say the same about the rest of our friends. He'd been in a countless number of fights since freshman year, and despite his own graduation and departure from high school being at the end of this week, he seemed ready to finish the year off with a bang.

"I'll be right back." I said before darting down the hall for my bedroom. Grabbing Miles' Letterman from the back of my computer chair, I folded it over my forearm and grabbed my backpack from the foot of my bed. As soon as I turned, I jumped back in shock and slammed my left side into my bed post. Clark didn't seem phased by my reaction to his silent appearance, but pushed his way into my room and jerked his chin toward the door.

"You can't possibly think that egotistical idiot is good enough for you." he said it with so much malice I grew rigid. I knew Clark and Frankie didn't like Miles; they'd made that abundantly clear when I'd announced our relationship to my family over dinner at the end of freshman year. And sure, Miles sometimes had a big head, especially during baseball season, but for the most part was a good person with a huge heart. I'd just never heard his bitterness reach this extremity. "Not only is he stupid, but he's a dick."

Grasping the strap of my backpack in my right hand, I eyed my brother warily. He didn't look as hyped as Miles was to finally get out of the hellhole, they'd been locked in for the last four years. If there was anyone at school that I would have thought would be anxiously awaiting that last bell to sound on Friday, it would have been Clark. He had been dragged through hell and back in that prison. Pinned against lockers, left a bloody mess on the cafeteria floor, taunted, and egged on in the quad. Somehow, he'd always been the one left to take the brunt, the fall, though it took two to fight. Thus, leaving him to face the fury and heavy fists and words of our father.

"I feel like you'd say that regardless of who I dated." I mumbled, starting toward him. Unfortunately for me, he was in a mood today and blocked my exit, one of his hands grasping my shoulder roughly.

"That's because no guy, especially in high school, is good enough for you, Hope."

I touched my palm to his broad chest, shaking my head. "Thank you for the concern, Clark. But I can take care of myself."

The red hue that had been touching at his cheeks from his anger drained, and with it, all the color in his face. He looked as if he'd just seen a ghost but stepped aside without a word. As I brushed passed him, I nudged his shoulder with mine and squeezed his hand with a nod. "Try and have a good day, okay? I love you, Clark."

Though his fingers curled around the top of my hand, no words broke passed his lips. It wasn't unusual for him to not speak, but there was just something so off about his entire demeanor, down to the way he shifted back and forth on his feet anxiously, that furled a tight knot of uneasiness in the pit of my stomach. I had to believe it was because of his uncertainty of what his future was going to hold. He'd never had a plan for after high school, and a lot of that had come from not knowing if his next step would be his last. Between our peers and Dad, he was always having to look over his shoulder.

**

There was no doubt in my mind that I looked as Clark had in my bedroom this morning as soon as I stepped outside the school after third period. Though I loathed exams, the half days were a huge perk. But the minute my eyes fell on my boyfriend and Clark in a bloody Western standoff not even five feet from my brother's black Volvo, I wished more than anything for those three and a half hours.

The boys had earned themselves their own audience, at least a couple dozen people, many being Miles' teammates, crowded around the two with phones. Knowing there was no way this would end well; I shoved through the crowd until I reached the front. Frankie had found his way to the front lines as well and stood to Miles' back, his red backpack slung over his shoulder, one of his hands rubbing the blonde stubble lining his jaw, the other clenching and unclenching in a vicious cycle at his side.

"Enough!" I snapped, taking their moment of separation to step between the two. "What the hell is going on?"

Clark's head whipped to the side, and he spat blood, bringing his hand to wipe the residue from his bottom lip with the back of his hand. Being in the middle of this fight, I saw what my brother had done, and it was frightening. Not only were my brother's blue eyes a dark abyss of nothingness, but his use of exercise during his grounding had done him good. He was just as toned, if not more, than Miles. With every whisper, I watched him grow tenser, eyes shooting over my head to my boyfriend. I couldn't say I knew for sure that Clark wouldn't shove me aside or allow me to be caught in the crossfire, but Miles surely wouldn't put me in harm's way.

"Your psycho brother walked up and started throwing punches without warning!" Miles finally answered, stepping forward as if he were going to throw himself over me and at my brother. "I've done my best to keep it together for Everly's sake, freak, but I'm not doing this anymore. Want to end this shit once and for all? I'm all for it."

Slapping my hand against Miles' chest, I could feel his racing heart and heaving chest under my palm. I could see it in his eyes that every word he spat he meant.

"Please stop." I pleaded, peering up at him, then throwing a look at Clark over my shoulder. "Both of you."

"He's pathetic. He's weird as shit for being so concerned with who you date." Miles growled. "Don't sit here and defend the freak. You know as well as I do something is wrong with him. He's jealous of this. Of us. Of me."

Clark did throw himself forward, but he stopped inches from me. He was so close I could feel the warmth of his breath tickling my cheek. "I would never be jealous of someone like you. Hitting their peak in high school to turn into a washed up nobody five years from now."

"You act like you care about Everly, say you love her." Miles edged closer, shoving my hand off his chest. "But psychopaths aren't capable of love. Nobody has ever loved you. Nobody will."

The words felt as if my boyfriend had slammed his hand into my gut with all his force. They were so cruel and snarled with so much anger that there was no reason to try and assure myself he didn't mean them.

"Stop." I whispered, dropping my hand limply to my side as I backed away, closer to Clark. "You don't mean that."

Clark snickered. "He most definitely does."

"Ev, come on." Miles threw his hands up in exasperation. "You can't seriously be considering siding with him."

"I'm not siding with anyone, but that was mean, Miles." I breathed, then turned my back to him and nudged my brother toward his car behind him. "Get in the car and be the bigger person."

Clark looked as if there was a lot he wanted to say, but eventually decided my order meant more than having the lost word or throwing the last punch and touched a gentle hand to my shoulder before climbing into his car. I stepped out of the way, crossing my arms as I watched my brother speed out of the parking lot. I could hear the bitter and disappointed chorus of the crowd behind me at the breaking up of the fight. And though there was a slight tug at my heart thinking about what kind of horrible thoughts must be circling my brothers head, I turned to look at his twin and for a moment there was a look of sadness, mirroring my own, in Frankie's eyes. Then it was gone and he was turning his back to me with a shake of his own head, sucked into the mass of my boyfriend's teammates until he was no longer visible.

"Evie—" Miles tried to reach for me but I shoved his hand away.

"Don't." I snapped. "What the hell were you thinking?"

He blinked, wincing in pain as his right eye was nearly swollen shut. "Are you serious?"

"What you said was wrong, Miles, and you know it!"

"He literally walked up and didn't even give me a chance to deflect his hit!"

"He's my brother, Miles!"

My boyfriend dropped both hands to his sides in fists, bloodied lips pursed in anger. "He sure as hell doesn't act like it. He's not right in the head, Ev."

"After what I just saw, I'm starting to wonder if you are." I responded honestly, crossing my arms over my chest. "If you think he's so sick, why react? Why respond with the hurtful shit you do?"

He stepped forward, closing the distance between us, shoulders falling forward. "I'm sorry, babe. I just. . . the way he treats all of you, it pisses me off."

"I'm not the one that needs an apology."

He snorted. "I'm not apologizing to him."

"Bye, Miles."

I had just turned when he caught my shoulder and moved so he was in front of me again.

"Okay, Evie, I will." he gave in, brushing the bruised knuckle of his index and middle finger against my cheek. "I love you."

I eyed his right eye, sure to be black and blue tomorrow, and frowned instead of responding. I felt that same twinge of guilt I had watching Clark drive off again, my eyes flickering from my boyfriend to the emptying parking lot. After a moment of contemplation, I fell into Miles' expectant arms and rested my head against his chest, ready to shut my eyes when I caught sight of Frankie again.

He was leaning against a stop sign just off school campus, likely waiting for our brother to come back to pick him up. His backpack was still hanging off one shoulder, head shaking from one side to the other as he watched me from clear across the lot, and though he would never utter a single word about this to me, I could feel his disappointment from where I stood in my boyfriend's arms. I looked away quickly and buried my face against Miles' chest, feeling his arms around me, and squeezed my eyes shut, whispering, "I love you too."