Max laughs. “Fuck you.”
“You have a better shot at catching that sheep again,” Amias sighs.
I laugh. “You two are supposed to become more chill as you get older.”
“And you’re supposed to stop needing to rub one out when sharing a room with other boys,” Max says.
“Max?”
“Yeah, Tricks?”
“Fuck off.” I sit up and scrub my hands over my face.
“Where you going?” Amias asks.
“Nowhere. Why?”
“Thinking tittie beach tomorrow,” he says.
“Yeah, perfect,” Max agrees. “We can get more pictures of Amias sporting wood while he looks at old ladies.”
“Tits are tits.”
“Bro, she was, like, eighty.”
“And she was flattered. I could possibly be the last man to look at her tits with admiration.”
I step off the bed. “You two need to pick a new type. Max, stay away from the livestock. Amias”—I shake my head—“you need to do some praying.”
“Why are you busting on me harder than Max?” he calls to me as I walk out.
I turn and look at him. “Because I know he’s not fucking sheep, but I know you have a fucked-up way of trying to make an old woman’s day.”
I grab my guitar and walk through the home toward the covered lanai that overlooks the winery. I sit down and begin playing the first thing that pops in my head, “Closer” by Halsey.
“You should take lessons,” comes from a dark corner, and I jump. “And lose the pussy. What the hell do you think’s out here besides grapes and family?”
“Are you smoking?” I ask Tris.
She flicks it in the yard. “Nope.”
“If that was a cigarette, I’ll call Truth out here to kick your ass. If it’s a joint—”
“You want a hit?” she says dryly.
“No, I wanna know who’s selling it to you.”
“Max’s girlfriends,” she says on an exhale.
“Which one?”
“They all look the same, but she’s usually in the south pasture. Reddish tint to her wool.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Funny.”
“Yeah, if you would have let me finish that, it would have gotten better; trust me.”
I pick a few strings and ask, “What’s up with you?”
“Oh my God, Mom, I’m fine.” She starts to stand.
“Don’t pull that shit on me, Tris. I’m not your parents. Talk to me.”
“Nothing. Is. Wrong.”
“Sit,” I tell her.
She groans and crosses her arms.
“You fucking blew me out of the water at the talent show. That’s raw talent, and raw only happens when we’ve bled.”
“Save your pitch for someone who gives a fuck.”
“Okay, you wanna go that direction, we can. I was going to let you dish, take this at your own pace, but straight up, you think I don’t see shit and wanna step in, you’re wrong. I do. I see shit, and I hang back, because I know how important it is to work my own shit out. But you’ve been fucking miserable since the move. I saw the shit go down at the game.”
“By shit, you mean our two slutbag second cousins—”
“Okay, let’s take a walk.” I set my guitar down and walk over to her.
“Do you think I care if Dominic and Mel hear me talk about their sleezy-ass—”
I pick her up and toss her over my shoulder.
“I will fucking kick your ass.”
“You need to do that, you do it away from the house.”
“You think I’m gonna talk to you?” she huffs.
“Me or Max’s sheep,” I say, now jogging.
As soon as I think we’re far enough away, I drop her on her feet. By the light of the moon, I can see her tears.
I yank her into a hug, and she doesn’t try to beat the shit out of me. She screams into my chest, “I hate them!”
“Jesus, Tris, I am so sorry.”
“I hate them so much! I hate them so much, I swear to you, I am going to make them pay when they go to school at Seashore. I’m going to make them all pay.” Her body shakes as she cries.
“I need to know what’s up, Tris, and then I’ll figure out how to help you do just that.”
“They’re family!” Now she pushes me away. “None of you will do anything to them because of Forever Steel shit. So, don’t lie to me.”
“Not lying, Tris. One hundred percent promise you that we get down to the bottom of this hurt, betrayal, whatever happened, and I’m not Forever Steel. I’m Forever Tris.”
She slaps away her tears and nods.
“But we need to talk this shit through, get to the meat of it, bleed if we have to, and then we make a plan.”
“They’re fucking Marcello.”
“Wait—what? They’re, like, twelve.”
“They’re fifteen. Same as me, same as him.”
“So, that song was a big fuck you to him?”
She shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. They’re moving to Seashore, and I want them gone.”
“Are they calling themselves a thrupple?”
“Apparently, they switch days.”
“Let’s sit down and talk through this.”
“I don’t want to talk anymore; I just want them to stay away from us.”
“This why you’re kissing on two different guys in the past two weeks?”
“When I get through them all, maybe I’ll start fucking around with girls, too.”
“To each their own, but I’m pretty sure you’re not a lesbian, Tris.”
“What makes you an expert?”
“Where you going with this?” I ask.
“You’re not the only one who sees things. And when she hurts you, I’ll make her bleed, too.”
“Let’s stay in your lane for a bit, Tris. I’m all good.”
* * *
One week in, and I’ve managed to keep Tris from killing anyone, and even gotten her to hold a guitar. Today was supposed to be Amias and Max’s day—the tittie beach. Thankfully, it’s raining, and the rain makes me tired, but so do talks until three in the morning with Tris, who still hasn’t figured out that Marcello is the one she should be the most pissed off at. He’s been her boyfriend since they were, like, four.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Max gasps as he looks at his phone screen.
“What’s wrong, Max? You find out your latest texting buddy has a dick?” Amias jokes.
“Dude, shit’s
