Crossing the Line

My eyes fly open as I wake in my bed covered in cold sweat, my heart pounding against my chest as tears stream down my cheeks. I sit up and slide my right hand over my face, collecting the tears and sweat in the palm of my hand. My eyes fall on the alarm clock next to my bed, and I groan when I see it’s only three in the morning. I just fell asleep a few hours ago. And now that I’ve had the nightmare, I know I’m not going to be able to close my eyes again. Not tonight.

Sighing in frustration, I get out of bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs as I stumble down the hall to my kitchen. In the fridge is some leftover pizza, sitting uncovered on the top shelf. I pull it out and take a bite, not even bothering to warm it up as I reach for a beer. Then I walk over to my small kitchen table, plop myself down in my only chair, set my pizza and beer on the table, and hold my face in my hands.

I hate nightmare nights. I never know when I’m going to have one. Weeks can go by without one, and then BAM! I’m waking up in a cold sweat as memories of that day haunt me. Sometimes, I’d swear I was still back in my old house. That I was just holding the bat in my hands. I reach over and grab the beer, pressing it against my lips before I take a large gulp. My therapist says I need to write this shit down in my journal so we can discuss it during our sessions. But I don’t. I can’t.

This is the worst part about living by myself. When I was a kid, I would sneak into my sister’s bedroom and curl up next to her. But I’m not a kid anymore, and my sister has a life of her own now. With my brother. Summer isn’t my real sister, but my adoptive sister. Her parents adopted me when I was a kid after everything happened. And a few years later, she went off and married my older brother Baker, making her my sister-in-law. Which is weird, because that’s not how I see her. I sigh, wishing she was here now. Wishing I was still a kid and could get away with curling up next to her. Being alone is hard, especially on nights like this.

After a few minutes, and several large gulps of beer, my racing heart begins to steady. It’s over now. But I won’t be sleeping anymore tonight. So with a heavy sigh, I reach for my laptop sitting on the table where I left it and open it up, signing into my email to see if I have any messages from any of my clients. I got my bachelor’s degree a year ago and started my own freelance company shortly after. I don’t make much, but it’s enough to pay the bills. And I’m able to keep to myself. Above almost anything else, I appreciate my privacy.

Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I click on an email from one of my more problematic clients and begin to skim the message. Shit. She wants her chapters edited and sent back to her by the end of the week. Usually I don’t let the clients set the deadlines, but she was one of my first, and I didn’t really know what I was doing when she signed on with me. Knowing I have a lot of reading to do and not a lot of time, I open her document and start getting to work.

This is what I love most about my job. The ability to do it whenever and wherever. Not that I travel all that much, but with my sleep schedule being so unpredictable, it’s nice knowing I can work at three in the morning or three in the afternoon. Super convenient, especially on nights like tonight, when I need a distraction from the nightmares. From my past. As usual, I get lost in the words. This is the third book I’ve edited from this woman, and truly the only reason I keep her around is because of how much I love her stories. Sometimes I find myself getting so caught up in her writing that I forget to do my actual job. This is definitely going to be one of those nights. Thank God.

It’s not until almost six that I remember I’m supposed to meet Baker for breakfast in a few hours. Swearing under my breath, I save my edits and close my laptop. Then I pick up empty beer bottle and toss it into the trashcan before shuffling back to my bed. I don’t want to go back to sleep, but I know if I don’t, then my brother will know I was up all night. And if he knows I was up all night, he’ll wonder why. He’ll start asking questions. And even though he was part of what happened, I don’t like to talk about it. With anyone. Ever.

I rest my head against my soft pillow and stare up at the ceiling, trying to picture the old popcorn ceiling at Bert and Ashley’s house. Sometimes I close my eyes and pretend I’m still there, even though I haven’t lived there in five years. Still, that was the first place in my life I felt truly safe and loved. It’s hard to leave that feeling behind to face the unknown again. Starting college was a bit triggering for me because of that reason. But I got over it. And now here I am. Staring up at the ceiling and trying like hell to fall back asleep.

But it’s hopeless. I know it. I can never fall asleep after one of my nightmares. So I toss and turn for several hours, thinking of all the things I have to do. And eventually, I do fall into a sort of half sleep. I’m semi-asleep but very aware that if I allow myself to drift off again, I’ll wake up in another cold sweat. And when the alarm on my nightstand goes off a couple hours later, I feel like I’ve hardly rested at all.

I hop in the shower, hoping the sting of the burning hot water will help me wake up. It does some, but not enough. Then I wrap a towel around my waist and shuffle to the kitchen, pouring myself a cup of day old coffee and sticking it in the microwave for a couple minutes. While the coffee is reheating, I turn on my laptop again and get back to checking my emails. And this is pretty much my life. Day after day of virtually the same thing.

My phone rings on the kitchen counter, and I know before I see his face that it’s my brother. Sighing, I stand up and press the answer button, holding the phone against my cheek. “Morning,” I say dully just as the microwave goes off. I pop open the door and grab my now hot cup of coffee, pressing it against my lips. “How goes it?”

“Hey, hey,” he says cheerily on the phone. “Just checking in to see if we’re still on for the day.”

I nod my head. “Yup. Just about to get ready.” I don’t really want to do this. But ever since Baker and Summer came back to Coeur d’Alene a few months ago, he’s been trying to get together every weekend. I don’t blame him for calling though. I’ve cancelled on him several times.

He chuckles. “Good. Wanted to check in. Make sure. It’s been a while. And I have something to talk to you about.”

My blood turns to ice at his words. “What is it?” I ask as I sit up straighter, worried. “Is everything okay? Is it Summer? What’s going—”

“Whoa, whoa,” he says, interrupting. “Ian, take a breath. No, everyone’s fine. I promise. But… well, I’ll tell you during breakfast. Hurry up. I’ll meet you at The Nook in half an hour.” Before I can say another word, he hangs up, leaving me wondering what the hell he wants to talk about.

I stare down my day old coffee like it’s the barrel of a gun and sigh. Then I press my lips to my mug and chug the rest of it, feeling the burn all the way down. Once I’m finished, I place my mug in the sink and head back to my bedroom to get dressed. I pull on a simple gray t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans, brush my teeth, run a comb through my messy dark hair, and grab my keys off the hook by the front door.

The Nook is one of the busier breakfast restaurants in Coeur d’Alene, which is why I’m surprised when I get there fifteen minutes later, I’m surprised to see my brother already has a booth. He smiles when he sees me as he gets to his feet. I give him an awkward wave and a tight grin in return as he wraps his arms around me in a hug. “It’s good to see you, bro,” he says as he pulls away, looking me up and down as if examining me. His face falls a little. “You look tired.”

I nod my head as I take a seat in the booth opposite him. “Yeah. I was up late working. Lost track of time.” It’s a lie, and I’m sure he knows. My brother knows me better than anyone else. The things we went through together… the things we’ve seen… only he understands.

“Yeah?” he asks, his lips curving back up in a smile. “How’s work g-going?” I cringe. Fuck. I hate when he stutters. It pulls me back to the before days. Before the adoption. Everything he did for me. To the sacrifices he made for me. My heart sinks a little as I look away and shift uncomfortably in my seat.

“Work is okay,” I reply. “Busy. But I’m gaining traction now. Actually making decent money. Got a few projects I’m working on. Doing more novels for upcoming authors than I am resumes and cover letters. More time consuming, but more money too. Which is… you know. Good.”

He reaches for the menu, his lips still turned up in that smile. “That’s great. I’ll have to tell Summer. She worries about you, you know.”

I sigh, leaning back against the booth. “I know. But it’s good. I’m good. Just tired. That’s all.” I don’t know why I don’t tell him about the nightmare. Maybe because I don’t want to ruin this good mood he’s in. The waitress comes up and asks me what I want to drink, and I when I say a cup of coffee, she flips my mug over and starts pouring. When she leaves, I press it against my lips and take a drink, relishing in the warmth and freshness of it. Much better than what I have at home.

“I don’t know how you can d-drink it like that,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “Black.” He taps his own mug sitting in front of him. “I have to put two things of creamer and a packet of sugar in mine to make it bearable.”

I shrug my shoulders as I peruse the menu. “I like it black. You know, like my soul.”

Baker shakes his head as he scans his own menu. “Yeah, yeah.” He pauses for a second. “Think I might get the Big Boy Special. Sounds kind of good.”

I scan the menu for what’s cheapest, knowing my brother is going to insist on paying. “I think I’ll have the biscuits and gravy.” I don’t like biscuits and gravy all that much, but it’s only seven bucks. Four if I order a half size.

“Biscuits and gravy?” he asks, and I nod. “Ian, come on. You don’t even like biscuits and gravy. Order something else.”

I set my menu down. “It’s fine. It’s not so bad here.” And I don’t want him spending too much money on me. I know money’s been tight for them since they moved back here. Summer’s working at Heather Murphy’s office, but she’s just starting out. And Baker, well… he’s still trying to make his way in the world after everything that happened.

“Ian,” he says as he leans forward. “Get the steak and eggs or something. Come on. We have a lot to celebrate today.”

My brows lift up as the first hint of a smile pulls at my lips. “Oh really?” I ask, and he nods. “What are we celebrating?”

He leans back in his chair and gives me one of his full on smiles. “I was going to wait to tell you until after breakfast. But you remember when we were goofing off a couple months ago and did that audition tape for that racing show?”

I vaguely remember that night. It was one of his first nights home in a while. I was stupid drunk, and he suggested doing a video audition for some reality racing show. When I was a kid, I watched it a little bit with Bert now and then. But I haven’t seen it in years. I nod my head. “Yeah. What about it?”

“Well, we g-got in,” he says, and I blink in surprise.

“What do you mean we got in?” I ask, confused.

The waitress, of course, comes up at the worst possible moment to take our order. I can barely concentrate on telling her what I want, as I’m still trying to process what my older brother just said. Once she leaves, Baker turns back to me and says, “They emailed me. The producers of the show. They want us on it. As one of the teams.”

I burst out laughing, drawing the attention of an elderly couple sitting a couple booths away. Baker’s eyes widen in surprise. “You’re fucking with me,” I say. “Come on. What’s really going on?”

Baker’s brow furrows. “That’s it. That’s what’s really going on.”

I shake my head. “No. That’s not… there’s no way….” I was tanked when we did that video. I barely even remember making it at all. How in the hell did they choose us?

He takes a sip of his water. “Well, they were really interested in our st-story. You know they do a ton of research on the teams before they offer them spots on the show. And… well, with my recovery story, and after hearing everything we’ve been through—”

“No,” I interrupt firmly, shaking my head again. My blood runs cold as the memory of the nightmare from last night takes center stage in my mind. Baker’s face falls. I clear my throat. “I mean… that’s… I don’t want to go on the show if they want us to talk about… about that.”

Baker sighs. “Listen, I know it’s hard. I was there.”

He was there, but he wasn’t there. Not afterward. Not really. He wasn’t there when the bat made contact with our dad’s head. He didn’t hear the sickening crack before watching our father fall to the floor lifelessly. “I don’t want to go on TV to talk about that night, Baker. I just don’t want to do that.” Isn’t it bad enough that I have to relive it all the time in my dreams? He wants me to tell the story to some TV personality now? No thanks.

“It won’t be like that,” he says quickly. “They’re g-going to focus more on my story anyway. My recovery, and how you were there for me every step of the way. That kind of thing. It’ll be like an in-inspirational thing.”

I feel sick. “So do they know how you ended up in the hospital to begin with? And what happened after?” That I killed our father. “Because if you haven’t said anything to them about that, I promise you they are going to flip their shit when they do a background check and find out for themselves.”

Baker signs again, this time in frustration. “Well, yeah, I had to tell them the full story. I mean, they asked too. When they emailed me. So I told them. But I also made it clear that it’s a very… sensitive… subject. So I don’t think they’re going to hone in on that part of it.”

A scoff escapes my lips. “Really? Because Hollywood is so great at being tactful.”

The waitress interrupts again to set our meals on the table. I stare down at the steak and eggs I ordered, and suddenly I don’t want to eat it at all. She asks us if there’s anything else we need, and when we say no, she walks off to check on another table, leaving my brother and I to finish our argument.

“Ian,” Baker whispers, and his gray eyes are suddenly desperate. “Please d-do this with me. Summer and I could really use the money. And besides, it’ll g-give you and I a chance to spend time together. I feel like I never get to see you anymore. This will g-give us a chance to reconnect. I just m-miss you, man.”

Fuck. His words pull on my cold heartstrings. “I… I just… I don’t want to talk about that stuff,” I reply, unable to tell him how much I hate even thinking about that day. How hard I try to forget about it.

He nods quickly. “I know. It’s hard for me too. But I’ll be there with you the whole way. And I’ll p-protect you from all that. I won’t let them t-talk about… about that part of it.”

Protect me. I scowl as I pick at my steak and eggs. That’s how everything started. With Baker trying to protect me from him. And it almost killed him. It almost killed both of us. But his protection also saved me. So, so many times. That’s what makes this situation so difficult. I owe everything to Baker. All the sacrifices he made. Everything he gave up. All to keep me safe. And if it wasn’t for me, Baker would probably be a graduate from Stanford right now. Would probably have a great career rather than trying not to stutter every few minutes.

“Fine,” I say quietly, my eyes still staring down at my steak and eggs. “I’ll do it.”

Baker releases a breath of air. “Good. That’s great. We’re going to have so much f-fun, Ian. It’ll just be you and m-me. Like old times.”

Like old times. I nod my head and take a bite of my breakfast, not bothering to tell him that I don’t want anything to be like old times. I just want to let the old times go. But I owe him. And maybe, if I do this, the guilt I’ve been holding on to all this time will ease up. And God, if I win… I don’t need the money. I don’t want it. But I can give it to him, and he can finally have the life he should’ve had all along. And I can finally live mine.