up the room. Takes it over with his size and gravelly voice.
“When’d you get back?” I ask, but what I mean is, When’d you get out? How long was he hanging with friends before he decided to put his feet up on our coffee table?
He gives an exaggerated shrug and sits back down on the couch. Right in the middle and stretches his arms out on either side, like he owns it. “Couple days ago. Fill me in, what’s been going on around here?”
I pull my cap down low over my eyes and shrug. “I dunno. Nothing. The same.”
“Who are you hanging with?”
“Koob.”
“The Polish kid.” He gives a snort, like it’s not the answer he wanted. “Going to school?”
I nod. I go because Jakub goes. I’m not smart like him, but he helps me with homework and gives me the answers on tests.
“And?” He raises his eyebrows, like there should be more. “What? You’re an angel? You got nothing else? Shit, man. You’re dragging down the family rep.”
Henry’s twenty-one now. At my age, he’d been in and out of juvie for car thefts, vandalism, B and E.
I scratch my head, wishing for a second that I was a badass, just to have something to tell him. I could make something up, but Koob’s always saying what a shitty liar I am. “Me and Koob paint, you know, not just tags, but like real good stuff.”
“Oh yeah?” He picks up the remote and flicks through some channels. “Anything still running?”
“There’s a piece up by that old cement factory. It’s been up for a while.” The sounds of a crowd cheering at an Ultimate Fighting Championship drown me out. He doesn’t look at me.
Through the back window, I can see my five- year-old brother, Dustin, kicking a ball against the fence. Probably driving the neighbours crazy. Mom and Dad are sitting on lawn chairs with a beer and a smoke in each hand. A coffee tin between them overflows with butts.
Guess they’ve seen Henry’s back. Maybe they’re outside celebrating. Not.
The last time Henry paid us a surprise visit, he got into it with Dad. They had a big fight. Cops got called. I went to Koob’s, took Dustin with me, too. When we came home, there were a bunch of holes punched in the walls and we had to get a new TV. The old one sat outside on the curb for weeks cuz the garbage trucks wouldn’t take it. Finally, someone smashed it and dumped it on the road. Then it had to get cleaned up.
I sit down on the couch. It sags in the middle — one of the legs is busted — so without wanting to, I lean toward him.
He puts a meaty hand on the back of my neck. “It’s good to see you, Link. I mean it.”
And I want to believe him so bad, it makes me sick.
“What’s there to eat around here?”
“You want a menu?”
He gives me a sharp look. The corner of his mouth turns down.
“Joking,” I breathe.
“I want some friggin’ food, is what I want.” He nods to Mom and Dad. “What have they been up to?”
“The same.” I shrug. “Dad’s been working road crew most of the summer.” He comes home smelling like hot asphalt. His workboots stay outside. Mom doesn’t want them in the house. “Auntie Charity and her kids came down from the rez for a while.” For two weeks, I’d had to share my bed with a two-year-old who pissed it in the night. I was so glad when they left. “Mom took some classes at the alternative school.” She took it real serious at first. Made us all leave the house so she could study and told Auntie Val she couldn’t go to Fenty’s Bar on weeknights any more.
“What happened?”
“Dropped out. Didn’t like the teacher, or something.”
Henry snorts like he isn’t surprised Mom didn’t stick with it. You’re the one who’s been in jail, I want to say. But don’t.
“Yeah, well. I’m back now.” He narrows his eyes, like he’s got a plan. Like I need the help.
I do okay without you, I want to say.
“How old are you now?” he asks.
“Fifteen,” I say. He snorts and I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.
He pulls a phone out of his pocket and checks it. “Some friends are coming around. You wanna ride with us?”
I don’t say anything cuz I don’t know if he’s serious or not.
“You got something else going on?” he asks, sarcastic.
I shake my head. I look at his arms, thick with muscles I’ll never have, and the tattoo on his neck. My stomach flips and I tug the brim of my hat lower so he can’t see me blinking. It’s a nervous tick and makes me a crappy card player.
“I got nothing going on.”
“Fuckin’ A.” He takes a breath and looks around. “It’s good to be home.”
I snort in agreement and lean back into the couch. The UFC fight is lopsided. One guy pummels the other one. I cringe when a roundhouse kick catches him in the jaw. Blood spatters the mat and the crowd roars. He goes for a body shot and the guy doubles over and then falls down.
“Get up, you pussy,” Henry mutters at the TV.
“You back for good?” I ask.
Henry gives me a long look. “We’ll see.”
Outside, a black car with tinted windows pulls up and honks. Henry stands up. “You coming?”
I’m looking at the TV. The UFC guy is on the mat. Blood leaks out of his mouth and nose. He’s lying on the mat like he’s dead. The ref calls it. Angry jeers from the crowd follow me out the door. Nobody likes a loser.
Henry holds the neck of his tank top down so I can see his other tattoo. “Brothers to the End” is inked in fancy handwriting across his chest.
It’s right there for everyone to see, dug into his skin with needles and ink.
“What do you think?” he asks. I don’t think anything except it must have hurt.
“Got it inside for you and Dustin. I’m out now. I want things to be different.”
We didn’t even know he’d gone in till some girl came by. Said she was his girlfriend, had a ring and everything. Told Mom she was going up for a visit and did we want to send him anything? Mom and Dad fought that night. Dustin crawled into bed with me and I let him. I showed him how to hold a pillow over his ears and count as high as he could till it stopped. He fell asleep before it was over. In the morning, Dad was asleep on the couch, so I
