Strings Attached

Chapter Three

I remember when Austin still thought girls were gross...Then I saw him flirting with a junior girl in the hall today and simultaneously gagged and had a panic attack. It took a lot of self-restraint not to walk over there and smack him upside the head, launching into a story about the time he was four and wanted to dress up as Princess Leia for Halloween. The girl, whose name is Missy, I think, was definitely pretty with long legs, glossy black hair and large baby blue eyes, and she looked at Austin as if she was going to chew him up and spit him out like last week's gossip. Luckily, his best friend Savannah came marching in and practically dragged him away by the ear, looking as unhappy about the situation as I was, and I was reminded why I liked that girl so much.

Smiling, I comment, "Cherries, huh?"

Elliott nods his head fervently, his hair flying all over the place, his expression entirely seriously, too young to get or be embarrassed by my implications. "Yeah, but I like cherries. If she smelled like watermelon, that would be weird," he tells me as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

"The horror, the horror. I'm glad you've got standards, and would appreciate it if you would share them with Austin. I can't believe you're a little Romeo, El."

He gives me a confused look before moving on at the speed of light. By the time we reach the park he's told me about how much homework he's gotten—two whole pages of math problems!—and how he has been crowned the Four Square champion, mentioning Willa at least three more times. I swear, this little boy is going to be the death of me; if he grows up the way Austin is, I'm going to end up with not one but two heart-breakers on my hands.

Austin comes into view, standing on the edge of the soccer field in a black wife beater and athletic shorts, and Elliott drops my hand in favor of charging full force at him. He tackles Austin at the waist so fast that Austin barely has enough time to drop the soccer ball in his hands. A grunt follows the collision but two smiles appear as well.

"Hey, little man," Austin says, ruffling Elliott's hair.

He grins. "Will you be on my team?"

Austin looks over Elliott at me, his eyes holding a question. Is that okay? If Elliott wants to spend more time with his older brother, I'm neither going to prevent him or hold it against him. I give him a small nod. "Of course I will." 

"Good," I tease. "Because now I can kick both of your butts easily." I poke my tongue out at Elliott and he makes a strange face at me. "Loser has to use watermelon shampoo for a month," I add.

Elliott shoots me the scariest look a seven-year-old can possibly muster, which means he looks like he's fighting a sneeze and is still pretty darn cute. Now he is all business because God forbid his hair might smell like a fruit that barely has a distinctive scent. "We have to win," he commands Austin, who is looking at me like I've lost my mind.

I shrug, mouthing, I'll explain later.

With an expression that tells me he wishes we weren't related sometimes because he doesn't want to be my kind of crazy, Austin nods. "Okay, then. Let Walker and Walker versus Walker commence!" His voice ends up sounding like a sports commentator, something Dad used to do when the five of us played as a family. I wonder if Austin did it on purpose.

Without a second of hesitation, Elliott takes off dribbling the soccer ball and kicks it into the goal closest to us. The ball sails into the net effortlessly, and he triumphantly pumps his fist into the air, letting out a whoop. "Hey! That's cheating!" I protest, fighting a smile. The only response I receive is an impish smile. 

Austin chases after him, hollering at Elliott to pass the ball to him. A small voice at the back of my mind asks if I should've changed like Austin did before playing. Looking down at my ripped skinny jeans and gray, V-neck tee, I know my reluctance to play doesn't have anything to do with what I'm wearing—I've never been afraid to get down and dirty when it comes to soccer. The memories that are weighing down my mind, threatening to crush me if I play.

"Cody?" Elliott stops playing to look at me expectantly.

I know my nightmares will be worse tonight, but I don't care. As long as I have the ability to make Elliott happy, then I was going to do whatever it takes. I already don't get enough sleep, so what's the difference of a few less hours? The answer: even more caffeine that would need to be put into my system. Swallowing my fear, I run out onto the field with a large smile on my face that I hope will quickly become genuine.

                                                                             _____________

"I didn't know you were into big game hunting, Austin," I comment, casually biting into a fry and giving him an innocent look.

We're sitting in a small, corner booth in the local diner called Hal's. Grass and dirt now stain my jeans and two bottles of watermelon scented shampoo are in the plastic bag placed next to me. I played my heart out, ignoring the sinking feeling in my stomach for most of the game, but didn't have it in me to beat Elliott. If I was just playing against Austin, my competitive streak would've really come out to play, and my brother would have his ass served to him. But the victorious smile on Elliott's face was worth having to smell like watermelon for a month—I mean, they barely smell like anything, so how bad can it be?

A confused from appears on Austin's face. "What are you talking about?"

"Big. Game. Hunting." I enunciate each word slowly. "You know, when big game is hunted. Game like lions and cougars," I explain nonchalantly, lingering on the last word. I force my eyes to stay locked on Austin, but the want to stray to the burger in front of me because, for once, I actually have an appetite.

"Um...No?"

"Then why did I see you stalking a cougar in the hall at school today?" My tone reeks of bored curiosity, but I'm very interested in what was going on in the very hormonal head of his. I don't want him to do something stupid and then get hurt.

Austin's confused "I think you're crazy look" transforms into an irritated one. He groans loudly and runs a hand over his face. Elliott is too busy ravenously attacking his plate of a burger and fries to pay attention or care about Austin's change in behavior. "She's a junior, Cody, not a cougar," he argues, exasperation and irritation creating an edge in his voice.

"Two years in high school is like twenty in the real world. Basically, she was too old for you and was giving you a predatory look; she's totally a cougar."

He throws his hands up in the air. "You're unbelievable," he says.

I feign hurt, pursing my lips and look at my brother with wide eyes. "Is that really what you think of me, your favorite sister?" I gasp. "Would you prefer for me to refer to her as a cradle robber instead? See, I'm not totally unreasonable."

Austin rolls his eyes, ignoring me. He turns his attention back to his half-eaten burger and takes an enormous bite. His eyes are trained at the window seeming to suddenly seeming deep in thought. Seeing the side of his face for the first time, I notice a dark colored bruise standing out from the tan skin on his jaw. My heart stops and I momentarily forget how to breathe. His knuckles, upon closer inspection, also have bruise and one looks like it used to be bleeding. Wracking my brain, I try to remember is Missy has a boyfriend, but I can't because I never pay attention to that stuff.

He catches me staring at his bruises, and his expression is completely unreadable. I open my open to say something, but Austin shakes his head, knowing full well what I'm going to ask, and nods in Elliott's direction. His message is clear: not in front of Elliott. I hate how he's right. The hard look I give Austin tells him that this isn't over.

At this point, Elliott has finished his burger and is watching Austin's and my stare down with apprehension. I smile at his to show him everything is okay, and he relaxes almost instantly. "Hey, El, have you told Austin about Willa?" I ask.

Austin raises an eyebrow. "Who's Willa?"

I can't tell if I'm smiling or smirking when I tell him, "Our little brother is becoming quite a stud—something he didn't get from his older brother—isn't that right, Elliott?"

"I'm sure you really meant that he gets it from his older brother," Austin corrects me, smirking. "So, little man, who is Willa?" he asks as he wiggles his eyebrows in a suggestive manner that goes over Elliott's head.