I lifted my hand in an awkward semi-wave before Jason disappeared. My brother. The queasy feeling building in my stomach for the last ten minutes was threatening its way to my throat. I grabbed the Cola on the table and took a gulp, before catching myself and slamming the glass back onto the table. Brown liquid and bubbles sloshed out the sides. I didn’t know anything about this guy, he could have herpes or something.

What was I really worried about? Catching the honesty bug?

“Hot date tonight?” Johnny asked, whisking dirty plates off a table.

Gross.

I followed her to the kitchen carrying my coffee mug and Jason’s glass. “That was my brother.”

“Your brother? That boy’s been eating here for a month, and you never told me he was your brother.”

I set the dishes onto the back counter for the dishwasher. “I didn’t know.”

Chapter 20

Ever made a snap decision that sounded great at the time, but once you acted on it, you realized you’d gone about it the wrong way?

Yeah. Story of my life.

When I burst in the door of my grandparents’ house, they were both watching television in the living room. I’d jumped in my car and driven for two hours, straight home from Johnny’s parking lot. Never in my entire college career had I ever skipped multiple classes in one day, but confronting my grandparents about having a brother seemed like a good reason for it.

“Auden!” Grandma exclaimed when I barged through the door. “What are you doing here?”

“Some guy just told me he was my brother,” I said. I’d run through the conversation a hundred times in my head on the drive over, yet standing in front of my grandparents had me shackled with apprehension.

Technically, I didn’t know if Jason had been telling the truth or not. But I did know that it wouldn’t be the first time my grandparents didn’t tell me something. I wasn’t even sure if omission of the truth counted as lying, but all my pent-up frustration of never knowing anything was coming out right here, right now. Everything I thought I knew was unraveling around me.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Grandma clamped both hands together as if in prayer, holding them in front of her nose and mouth. Jason’s account must have been true, if Gram was calling on all three.

“Where were you?” Grandpa asked, snapping his recliner down and leaning forward, his usually calm face creased with angry lines.

“I was at work and the cop who always eats at the diner told me he was my brother.” No turning back now. “Is it true?”

Grandpa shot a glance at Grandma, whose shoulders shook while tears trickled down her cheeks. He took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck with the palm of his hand. I stayed silent for as long as I could. It might have been seconds, might have been hours.

“Just tell me the truth!” Instead of avoiding the subject, I wanted to add.

“Don’t you dare raise your voice to us,” Grandpa snapped. “Why do you hate us so much, Auden? All we’ve ever done is try to give you the best life we could. Why are you so angry?”

I rolled my eyes. “Here we go again, the famous guilt trip. It’s always my fault. My attitude, my temper, my mood swings. You blame me for things I don’t have control over. What did I do wrong? I just asked a question.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. The past is the past. It is none of your business and there is no reason to bring it up again!” he shouted.

“There is a reason to bring it up when some guy says he’s my brother because my mom gave him up for adoption!” I screamed.

I felt the sting on my cheek before I even saw Grandpa’s hand. It was sudden and unexpected. I’ve been yelled at, spanked across the thighs (which hurts more than the padded rear end)—hell, I’d even been chased with a yard stick—but never slapped across the face.

I stared at him, breath heavy, shoulders heaving, my lips curling into a furious scowl, before spinning around and slamming my palms against the storm door. The wind caught the door, stretching it all the way back on its hinges. I didn’t look back to see if I’d broken it, just loaded back into my car and backed out of the driveway.

After a two-hour drive to figure out my approach, I thought I would’ve handled the situation better. But no. I didn’t know how to handle anything.

Despite another two-hour drive back to school, I still hadn’t calmed down. I burst through the door to my apartment and rushed to my bedroom, without checking to see if either Kristen or Lacy was home. I threw myself facedown on my bed, shaking with convulsions. Catching my breath was impossible with my face smothered by my pillow, so I turned my head to the side. All I could do was choke up air in small gasps.

And analyze. In twenty years, I’d analyzed my life to death. And now I had a reason to do it all again.

Why was Grandpa angry with me for what Jason had told me? How was the situation my fault?

It was always the same, always my fault somehow. No matter what the incident, no matter how ridiculous. I got the blame.

Could I believe anything my grandparents had ever told me? Why would they keep so many parts of my mom’s life secret? They’d never been open to talking about her, but if they knew I had a brother for all these years, why hadn’t they told me?

I racked my brain trying to figure out why our family had to repress everything. If we didn’t mention unpleasant things, did they go away? At what point did sheltering someone “for their own good” inflict more harm than good? I was old enough for the truth.

I would drive myself crazy trying to figure out my family, so I called Aleksandr instead. My call went straight to his voice mail, where I left a shaky, rambling, possibly incoherent message and hung up.

Then I flipped on the practically antique, thirteen-inch black-and-white TV on my dresser, hoping to find something mundane to take my mind off of it.

I settled on Grease, which I’d probably seen fifty times. It wasn’t one of my favorites, but it was like a car accident, you don’t want to stop and look, but you do. Musicals always cracked me up. I couldn’t remember ever breaking out into a song and perfectly choreographed dance. Unless you count the time at a high school athletics banquet when my teammates and I all busted out into the chorus to Biz Markie’s “Just a Friend.” The performance included swaying and clapping to the beat, but not a full-on dance routine.

Eventually, my mind hit its capacity for stimulation and I drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 21

“Hang around. We’ll be back in twenty minutes,” I shouted to the audience. Then I spun around, holding one fist out, which Aaron bumped. “This is so freaking cool!”

Despite my anger with my grandparents, or maybe fueled by it, tonight had been my best performance as Strange Attraction’s singer. There had been only two others before this one, but I was improving and meshing well with the guys. We sounded amazing, and we’d drawn a large crowd who seemed to like what they’d heard based on the number of jumping and swaying bodies who’d littered the dance floor during our performance.

The makeshift DJ, who was known by the regular patrons of Wreckage as the head bouncer, pushed past me to get to the sound system, located to the left of Josh’s drums. He pushed some buttons and Wreckage’s signature dance mix blasted through the speakers. According to the bouncers, a blend of old nineties hip-hop was the best way to keep people on the floor while bands took their breaks.

I bounced as I followed the guys to the bar. It was as if Wreckage’s floor had been replaced with one of those huge inflatable things that little kids loved to bounce in.

The guys drank during our set, but I hadn’t for fear I might forget words or—god forbid—stage presence. I allowed myself one drink before our final set, though. Maybe it would help calm my nervous excitement.