He shut his flap. "It's bad enough that you hit my motorcycle. You didn't even have the decency to own up to it. And you don't even feel any remorse. But dragging your sister to clean up your own mess?" I curled my lip in distaste. "You're a f ucking deadbeat." He pulled the collar of his shirt down. "S-she doesn't always do that for me—" he stopped, looking at me cautiously. "Yes," he said almost inaudibly. "Yes, she does." "Listen here, you spoiled son of a bitch. Your sister is not responsible for your crap. It's time to grow up." Was he tearing up? There was no mercy left inside me. He'd sucked it all up with his incessant flapping. "You drag her down quite a bit, don't you?" He shook his head in denial. The fact that he was playing it lightly, and the lack of accountability, as if damaging my motorcycle was as insignificant as spilling a drink, pissed me off as much as when he did a number on it. "You could go to jail for what you did. One call to the police and you're..." I drew a finger slowly across my throat. "Please don't!" he wailed. "I don't want to go to jail. I mean it's just a motorcycle!" Just a motorcycle? Easy for him to say when it wasn't his property that was thrashed. It wasn't just a motorcycle to me. It had a sentimental value. "You think because you had it rough when you were a kid you get a pass for f ucking up someone else's life? You think you're the only one?" I couldn't count how many times I had to defend myself as a kid. Every day I let anger take the driver's side because it was easier. The world would see how miserable I was and maybe, just maybe, give me a break. But it didn't work that way, did it? The world never let up. You just learned how to fight back. If she loved this kid, and I knew she did, she'd have to toughen him up. "I just... I know I'm no good," he started, his voice thick. "It's hard when I can't even invite my friends over because our house is so small." How could they be siblings? They were opposites of each other. The sister got all the spine. "I can't even ask a girl out because I'm a loser," he continued. "I love working at the garage, but it seems there's no point to it. My dad works like a horse and we're barely paying the bills because of my uncle. We don't really have a choice, you know? So my dad's always broke and my sister's working herself to the bone trying to support us... and I'm... I'm just a loser." Damn kid was going to make me cry. I made a fist and bit my knuckle, hoping for some inspiration. "Look, man. You did a wrong thing but you're not a loser." Rick should be here, talking to him. Not me. I had my own issues. What the hell do I tell him when I didn't even have my crap together? I was just a kid myself. I frowned, trying to remember what Rick said or did to calm me down back then. Nothing came to mind but the feeling of someone who finally cared. "I've been in your shoes before. You have to try. Just... try. Because from where I'm standing, you're not even doing that. Hell, I need a drink." I went to the kitchen, opened the fridge. I popped open a beer and glugged. I could feel his presence behind me, waiting. "Want a beer?" I asked. This time, his face broke into a smile. "I wish," he answered. "I'm not eighteen yet." Well, damn. I opened the fridge again, looked through the debris. "Ah." I grabbed an item, pierced it with a straw, and handed it to him. "Juice box?" This was probably Levi's. "Naw, man. Give me a pop or something. I'm not a kid." "What's wrong with a juice box?" I took a sip. "I like pop." "Yeah, but pop doesn't give you these." I lifted my shirt and showed him my six-pack. He broke into laughter. "Oooh!" The pure happiness on his face was innocent. "Yeah," he said. "I like a juice box. What flavor is it?" "I don't know, man. It's got vitamin C. Just take it." He sipped and was quiet for a few moments. I considered it a miracle. "I'm sorry about your motorcycle." I nodded to him in acknowledgment. "We cool, right?" I thought about it. I was still pissed, but going after him felt too cruel. Like kicking a puppy. Besides, I liked his sister. A whole damn lot. "Yeah," I answered, walking back to the living room. "We're cool." "Can I hang out with you?" I was saved from answering when we heard heavy footsteps coming. "Hey!" She was frowning as she stepped in the living room. "Are you guys done? Is that beer? You gave him beer?" She glared at the beer I was holding. "Calm down, Kar." He patted the air. "It's not beer." "What is it?" She squinted as he shook it in front of her. "Just a juice box." "I have to talk to your sister," I told him, but I was looking at her. "Alone." "Kar?" There was worry in his voice. She narrowed her eyes at me. Distrustful. I gave her a small smile, challenging her. You can't handle being alone with me, can you? Her smile was sharp. Oh, yes, I can. I can crush if you I want to. "Go ahead. I'll see you at home." "I'll wait for you outside." "It's going to take awhile. Go home, Dylan." "You sure?" She nodded, shooed him away. I looked at Dylan. "I got her." He must have seen something in my face that reassured him. He patted his sister's shoulder, told her he'd see her home and left. Then the door closed. And I was alone with her. At last.