Page 3 of Catching Flynn

“That was, um, a skit we were rehearsing called Slut Hand.”

Stop talking! Abort! Step away from the shovel before you hit Earth’s core, you moron. This is exactly why you don’t have friends. You just let your crazy hang all out. Shut. Up. Now. Is she really getting wine or fleeing the scene? Is it too late to fake a heart attack? Why is Zack staring at me like that?

“You’re the coolest guy I’ve ever met. Do you really have a stalker or was it a part of that fake-ass skit?”

“Define ‘cool.’ Because if you mean socially functional, then no. If you mean… memorable? Unfortunately, yes.”

Stop. Answering. Questions.

“Yes. I have a stalker. No, it’s not part of the—” Flynn paused “—critically acclaimed production of Slut Hand.” He glanced at the door. “Which, for the record, is no longer running.”

Why are you clarifying a fake play?

Flynn shrugged. “He—or she—uses cut-out letters. Very retro. Serial killer chic. Could just be someone with access to scissors and too much time. I’m choosing optimism.” He looked at Zack like Please don’t leave. Actually, maybe do leave. I don’t know what I want.

“So. You’re my half-brother. I’ve heard… legally documented things about you.”

There was no version of this where Flynn recovered.

There was only, committed. Keep committing. Never stop committing. And possibly being committed.

“You’re totally not witnessing a real-time meltdown. I’m just having a bad Thursday.”

“It’s Tuesday,” Zack pointed out.

“I am not going to survive this week.” Flynn groaned. “Sorry I visited the diner then bailed before we met. I wanted to introduce myself, but my feet lost their nerves. Not me. I wanted to stay.”

One of Zack’s eyebrows rose. “I find that hard to believe.”

Is he being serious or calling me out? “Bitch, you don’t know me.” Flynn slapped a hand over mouth, eyes wide.

The guy behind Zack, who Flynn totally hadn’t seen before this very second, growled. Where was that wine? Flynn was ready to chug the entire bottle. Maybe he would pass out and skip the rest of this train wreck.

“This bitch is willing to learn,” Zack said, zero hesitation. “Quick question, you don’t have homicidal tendencies, do you? Last brother killed my parents then tried to stab me.”

Holy shit. Flynn wasn’t sure if he should hug Zack or check him for weapons.

“Okay. That was—I use that word…loosely. Affectionately. Not… aggressively.” Flynn wiped his hand over the counter like he was removing dust. “I’m gonna stop talking now. I’m learning. Growth.”

You are not learning. You have never learned. True.

“Cool, cool, cool,” Flynn said, still wondering if he was gonna get that wine. “But like… respectfully, do you have any knives on you right now? I mean, statistically speaking, trauma can go either way. Victim or…you know…also stabby person.”

The guy behind Zack growled again, staring at Flynn like I am watching you, but my boyfriend is amused so you live.

“That was a joke. Not a joke. A concern. A light concern?” Flynn quickly said. The guy was huge. Flynn was…not.

Still. “You two were full brothers. I think homicidal tendencies would stick closer to home.” He gave Zack the stink eye. “Sure you’re not here for my half of the inheritance?”

Zack frowned. “You think I’d kill you for your half of his debt?”

Debt? Flynn hadn’t met with the lawyer, so he didn’t know what his dead-beat father had left him. “Wait. Are you saying he left us with his debt?”

Zack’s lips thinned. “Twenty grand.”

Flynn’s family line truly said Best I can do is emotional damage and financial ruin.

“The son of a bitch knocked up my mom then bounced. Never attended a single birthday or gave me a Christmas gift, and now I’m supposed to pay off his debt?” Flynn shouldn’t have been shocked by a man who could forget he’d created a life, yet the gut-punch nearly folded him.