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Kent hunches his back and tilts his head, resting his chin on his hand in deep thought. He looks like a damn statue by Auguste Rodin. "I’m sorry, I don’t know the meaning of that term." He winks at me, still playing like he’s the second coming of the Thinker statue.
"I mean it," Mick warns.
Kent straightens, then salutes Mick, "Scouts honor."
"I’m not a damn scout, you idiot.” Mick hisses, then narrows his eyes at me. "I can see your reluctance, Julian," He adds. "I’ll check back later. They don’t make bottles of Advil big enough to make Kent’s company bearable."
"Advil? I knew you were into soft-core shit. Let me guess, you only know missionary, Mick. No wonder you can’t hold onto your women. You gotta try the hardcore stuff."
"I don't have time for this," Mick grumbles, along with a string of curses before he leaves.
A screw falls from the ceiling, and the curtain track wobbles an inch looser. I close my eyes and shake my head.
"Nurse Betty, missionary. Really, Kent?" I mutter.
"It was good, wasn’t it?" He chuckles. His body gently molds to my side as he hugs me again. I wish I could wrap both arms around him and tell him I’m sorry for the worry and stress. I wish I could say a lot of things that I can’t. Instead, I shut my mouth, hoping time will heal some of the festering wounds.
"When’s Dad’s plane arriving?" I ask, sinking back into bed and grabbing the food tray with my good arm. The most unappetizing meal sits on top. You’d think a big old juicy steak would be waiting for me. Heck, what would I do for a Whataburger?
I grab the plastic spoon and green jello. Kent snatches the jello from my hand, peels back the lid, squeezes the container so a glob pops into his wide-open mouth, and steals a bite. His face contorts, and then he spits it directly into a cup.
"I’m starving!" I growl as I look at the spit-up jello. He is like a baby sometimes.
"Dually noted. Consider this a favor." He tosses it across the room, missing the waste can. It lands on top of the curtain on the floor. Green jello splats everywhere, giving the room the atmosphere of a nuclear waste site.
"A bullet didn’t kill you, but that jello would have. Who the heck serves green jello? At least spike it so we can swallow it.” He shouts over his shoulder, "Nurse Betty, can we get some menus here."
I kick him. Hard. "You’re such a privileged fuck."
He fixes his suit jacket, "I know." He grins. He looks at his watch. It’s a Richard Mille RM 56-02 Sapphire. I bought it for him one Christmas, and yes, I don’t practice what I preach. I spoil my baby brother even though I don’t want to be viewed as a spoiled rich kid. Kent doesn’t mind the title.
I’m unmarried, have no kids, and my stock portfolio would make a Wall Street tycoon proud. I didn’t know if I would come home alive, so I spoiled Kent with expensive gifts when I was deployed.
“Dad should land in twenty. My jet was faster."
Reaching out, I ruffle his hair, which is more black than mine. God knows I love my little brother; I just don’t relate to him anymore. He’s dressed in a custom suit and is always in the tabloids for being the top bachelor and playboy. He has too much fun but somehow balances it with being ruthless at work.
He’s the opposite of our older brother, Theo, who rarely laughs. Theo lives in his office. Literally, he has an apartment in the headquarters. He’s a workaholic.
I’m somewhere in between; my fun was being in the Army. I wanted guts and glory. Real and heart-stopping. Middle child syndrome. I wanted to rebel and stand out. For over a decade, I got just that.
"It’s time, bro. Dad’s ready to retire. I’m bored as hell. Theo is no fun. He is buried away in the basement with his team. He changed the access code. I can’t even sneak down there and see what he’s designing. He’s just using my pretty face to market the goods." Kent fakes sadness, "Do you have any idea what it's like just to be used for my face and body?"
I hold my hand up to my ear, "I hear the tiny violins playing, Kent."
He picks at the rest of my food tray, which only has frozen crushed orange juice. With a mumble, he walks to the garbage, tossing everything inside, including the tray.
"Was that awful, too?"
"Duh. Only the best for my brother." He pulls out his phone and starts texting someone. "I’m telling Helen to have fresh squeezed for us."
"Who’s Helen?"
"My stewardess. You’re flying back with me. I already told Dad, saving you a few days before the lecture comes your way. I’ll accept payment in the form of cash deposited into my account. Preferably in Bitcoin, I'm trying to build my cryptocurrency portfolio."
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I try not to think about what my father will say.
"Come on; it won’t be that bad. I don’t get what you’ve been so scared of. Theo doesn’t want the CEO title. Dad wants to retire."
