Run to Me

Let Me In

20 year-old Kyle Carson was killed on Saturday evening.

I felt like the air had frozen solid in my lungs, I wasn't even sure if I was breathing. I knew he had died, but that he was shot! I figured an accident or something, but this. So many questions were racing through my mind in that moment. I noticed Jett's name in the article, I blinked a few times trying to clear the confused fog so that I could read on.

"That'll teach me for leaving people unattended in my living room."

I jumped at Jett's voice right behind me, the deadly calm tone was like ice down my spine. I didn't know what to say, part of me was ready to apologise a thousand times and then jump out of the window. The storm in his eyes was terrifying as they flicked from the cutting to my face. But then something else kicked in, I remembered the tenderness of them when he said I was beautiful. The gentleness in his touch. Suddenly, I wasn't scared.

"What happened?" I asked.

I was surprised at the steadiness in my voice, and it seemed Jett was too. But whatever he felt, was clearly being challenged by the strength of the pain and anger as his eyes fell on the picture of his brother.

"I'm sure you know by now." He spat the words with venom, but I didn't budge.

"No, I haven't read it. Just the headline."

"But you would have, if I hadn't come in then."

"Can you blame me? You're a complete closed book. No one here knows you, your life, your history. You told me some, but then I see this? You'd do exactly the same in my position."

The mask of anger began to crumble and he placed the bottles of beer on that table and dropped onto the sofa, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, he raked his fingers through his hair lifting his chin back up to face me once more.

"You're right. I'm sorry."

He sounded tired, resigned, as though there was no point in him trying to make me drop it. I walked towards him and gently sat down next to him.

"Look at me." I whispered.

Slowly his face turned towards me. I lifted my hand, letting it brush over his cheek, down over his stubble and rest at his jaw.

"Let me in, please." I asked softly, using my free hand to place the picture frame and the clipping onto his lap.

He looked confused for a moment, then it seemed to dawn on him, I wanted to hear it from him. His hand rested on the frame, then he tightened his hold on it, his eyes remaining fixed on mine.

"Joyriding." He said softly.

I let my hand slide lower until it rested over his elbow.

"It sounds so simple, stupid and harmless, but it was the start of it all. With everything we learned from Dad, Kyle was able to easily break into cars. Joyriding soon turned into auto theft. He would take them for a spin and abandon them."

He rolled his eyes, a small exasperated laugh escaped and I could instantly envision a younger Jett getting irritated with his little brother's escapades.

"This one day, he stole the wrong car. Some men found him and took him down to the docks." The anger in his voice increased, and his grip on the frame tightened. "They worked for a guy by the name of Jackson Holt. It was his car Kyle had taken."

He fell silent for a moment, I reached over and rested my hand over his, feeling the tension in his clenched fist, begin to lessen and hearing him let out a small sigh.