Fall Guy (A Youngblood Book), Reinhardt, Liz [best free ebook reader for pc .TXT] 📗

joke." Benelli's voice is so urgent and nervous, I wonder what she's hiding. "It's not the end of the world, sweetie. He's a smart guy. He'll do fine."

My little sister fists her hands in all that pretty gold hair, now tangled and wild-looking. "Josh Ranson's brother died in Afghanistan a few months ago. Jessica Lister's brother got his leg and hand blown off." The sobs start low and deep in her throat. "He's not cut out for this! He got accepted to an art school in Philadelphia. And I told him he could get loans and grants. We were filling out all the paperwork. Then he said he needed to take care of me, and he went off and just signed up. And you can't undo that. The recruiters make you sign a contract." She whirls around and jumps at me, her fists hammering at my chest. "What did you say to him? What did you say when you dropped him off that day?"

"Nothing," I lie. "Lots of young guys join the army, Ithaca. Especially when they don't have much going for them."

Her mouth drops open and her green eyes flash. "You think he didn't have much going for him? Really? You? The guy who's job is being Pop's puppet--"

"Ithaca," Benelli hisses. "That's enough." Her tone goes gentle when Ithaca's lips tremble and she slides into a heap on the floor. My sisters kneel, side by side. "It's okay, baby. Stop crying. Andre will be fine. You'll be fine. It's going to be okay."

Ithaca's face swings up, her eyes hollowed. "What did you say to him, Winch? Stop lying all the time and tell me."

"I didn't tell him to join the fucking army, that's for sure." Colt snorts and Benelli and I both shoot him a look. "You got something to say?"

It's like all this intense rage and upset and anger flashes on his face for a quick second, but he shuts it down and goes neutral.

Seeing my little brother employ my tactics gives me a peculiar twist of self-loathing I probably didn't need piled on my shoulders today.

Colt shakes his head. "No. I don't have anything to say to you."

Benelli stands her full height, hands on her hips, face all pink from pissed-off rage. "You know what? You two better learn some goddamn respect, okay? Winch does things everyday neither one of you would even want to think about. He does things for all of us. He didn't get to go to some cushy private school. He didn't get to run around and play ball and go on dates. So if either one of you have something to say about how much he's messing with your little lives, maybe you should do it after you thank him."

The fury in her voice silences the twins. They both stare at the floor.

I don't know what to say. I'm glad Benelli stood up for me, but I don't want their thanks. Our baby brother and sister are right. Maybe they come from a place where they can see it for what it is in a way Benelli and I just can't.

Before I can answer anything, Remy stumbles into the light, and all four of us face our older brother.

His lips are ringed with crusted blood. His skin is yellowish, sagging on his face, and dipped in close to his bones like a skeleton's. He’s been going downhill for a while, but maybe I just never let myself notice how bad it was getting. He looks like a vampire or a zombie, or some other pieced-together night creature from a horror movie.

"What's up chickens?" he slurs, lumbering down the hallway on unsteady feet. "Ya'll were so loud, you woke me up."

Benelli's lips tuck into a tight line, Ithaca looks at him with clear terror, and Colt can barely keep the disgust at bay.

"Remington, you need a shower, some hot soup, and to get back in bed. I'll tell Mama to start you some lunch." Benelli looks as grimly determined as a captain in the army marching her troops to certain death.

"No rest for the wicked, baby." Remy sniffs under his armpit. "No rest, but yes to a shower."

It would have been something we would have all laughed about not all that long ago. When did Remy stop being our favorite comic relief and turn into a macabre reminder of every single thing that's so fucked-up about our family?

"Why are you all so damn serious?" His eyes attempt to focus on one of our faces, then the next, and the next. He can't stop himself from rocking back on his heels and swiveling in a wide circle. "Someone die?"

You died.

I know the same thought is at the forefront of all our brains. We all knew he’d been bad for a while, but his downward spiral sped up in the last few weeks. How did he turn into this reanimated corpse version of himself right in front of our eyes?

"No." Benelli's voice is gentle as a nanny's. "Come on. You need food."

"He needs help," Ithaca says, watching Benelli help Remy walk down the hall on rickety legs like he's ninety.

"That's Winch's job. Right?" Colt slides a glare my way, his mouth working back and forth like he's wondering if he should spit out the words pressed in his mouth. And then he does. My pacifist brother sure as shit knows how to kick me when I'm low down. "By the way, I forgot to say thank you."

He stalks to his room and slams his door.

"This family is so seriously fucked-up," Ithaca mutters and slams her door.

I'm alone in the hallway, a headache grinding through my skull, a feeling of complete despair eating at my gut.

And I'm late to community service.

By the time I pull up at the center, they're already dismissing people who put in hours this morning.

"Mr. Youngblood." The officer in charge frowns when I check in. "We don't tolerate late arrivals."

"I'm very sorry, ma'am. I'll do whatever you need. This won't