The Ransome Brothers Page 7

  “You always take his side.”

  “I’m not taking a side,” Reed says.

  Daltrey’s eyes narrow. “Then tell him that he’s flat.”

  “He’s not going to tell me that,” Cash practically growls. “Since I’m not flat.”

  Daltrey barks out a laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me? You think I can’t tell when you’re flat?”

  I slip off my bass without a word, heading to the cooler at the side of the garage. There’s no point getting involved in this. Daltrey and Cash are both in bad moods and that means that they’re going to take it out on each other. I know I can’t do anything to stop it, so I might as well enjoy a cold drink while I wait for them to get it out of their system.

  “Are they ever going to grow out of this?” Daisy asks, coming to stand next to me just as Cash flings a tambourine in the direction of Daltrey’s head. The younger boy ducks, letting out another peal of derisive laughter.

  “You’re throwing tambourines?” he yells. “Did I hurt your feelings? You’re such a damn baby, Cash.”

  “Somehow, I think not,” I mutter, and Daisy laughs, reaching into the cooler for a water. She hands me one as well. I would much rather have one of the beers that Cash and Reed keep there, but I’m not in the mood for the disapproving lecture I know Daisy would give me.

  “It’s so juvenile,” she says, sighing as Daltrey lunges at Cash. “I mean, what are they even fighting about? Cash didn’t sound that bad.”

  “Well, he was flat,” I say, as if that excuses everything. Daisy raises an eyebrow at me and I grin. “But that’s not why they’re fighting.”

  On the other side of the garage, Reed is trying to force himself between the two as Cash manages to get Daltrey into a headlock.

  “Then why?” Daisy asks. “It’s so stupid.”

  I lean back against the workbench, watching my brothers wrestle. “Cash is pissed because Shelly Osten ditched him at a party last night. He thought she was into him, but apparently the girl has better taste than that. You know his ego doesn’t handle that kind of thing all that well.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “He’s also hungover,” I say. “Which is never good.”

  “And Daltrey?”

  I clear my throat. I don’t want to tell her that Cash had been teasing Daltrey about her just an hour ago. I don’t remember my older brother’s exact words, but it had definitely been something along the lines of have you told Harris you have the hots for her yet or are you going to be a puss forever? It’s a pretty common jab at Dalt—one we’ve all thrown at him at some point in anger. Of course, no one teases him more than Cash. No one teases any of us more than Cash. He seems to think it’s charming or something, to be the biggest asshole in a family of assholes.

  “I don’t know,” I lie. “Maybe he’s just hot.”

  She holds the cold water bottle up to her neck. “It is ridiculously hot in here,” she agrees, looking longingly at the closed garage door. “Why isn’t the door open?”

  “Neighbors have been complaining again.”

  “Don’t they know they’re hearing history in the making?” Daisy asks, nudging me with her elbow. “Just think, they get to hear the soon-to-be-massively-famous Ransome brothers before anyone else.”

  “You should go tell them that,” I say. “I’m sure Mr. Hanover, in particular, will be totally won over.”

  Daisy snorts. Mr. Hanover is an eighty-year-old former Marine who likes order so much he uses a level to trim his boxwood bushes. The Ransome brothers are the bane of his existence.

  The side door bangs open, revealing Levi. He takes one look at my grappling brothers and shakes his head. “So good to see you guys taking rehearsal seriously.”

  “Shut up, Levi,” Reed says, pulling on Daltrey’s arm. “How ’bout you get over here and help me?”

  Levi rolls his eyes at Daisy and me before crossing the garage, taking Cash’s arms and pulling him backwards. Cash’s lip is looking swollen, a red spot on his cheek. “Looks like Daltrey got a few good punches in,” I mutter.

  “You act like this is normal!” Daisy shakes her head in frustration, brown curls snapping around her face. “Most families don’t punch each other as a matter of course.” Across the garage, Daltrey shakes his blond hair back, revealing a split eyebrow. Daisy lets out a little crooning noise from the back of her throat that I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even realize she’s making. I roll my eyes. Cash did have a point about the two of them getting their heads out of their asses.

  “That’s enough!” Reed shouts, shoving Cash in the chest as he makes a second attempt to grab Daltrey. “Jesus, Cash! Go get a drink or something, calm down!”

  “I wasn’t flat,” he snarls, pushing a finger roughly into Daltrey’s chest. “You think you’re such hot shit because you’re singing lead—”

  “Oh, are you jealous, Cash?” Daltrey asks, laughing. “Afraid the girls won’t like you so much if you’re playing behind me?”

  “Playing behind you?” Cash cries, lunging again.

  “Daltrey, shut up,” Reed orders. He turns to Cash. “You were flat. You’re pissed off today and it’s throwing you off. Go cool off.”

  Cash kicks over his microphone stand, stomping out of the garage.

  “Jesus,” Reed mutters, running his hands through his hair. He turns to glare at Daltrey. “Why d'you have to antagonize him?”

  “Me?”

  Fight broken up, Levi walks back over to us as Reed gets in Daltrey’s face, talking to him in a low, angry voice.

  “Well,” Levi says brightly, “I guess it wouldn’t be Saturday morning if a Ransome brother wasn’t throwing punches.”

  “You think this is normal too?” Daisy asks. “That they still act like this?”

  Levi shrugs. “It’s just what they do.”

  Daisy sighs. “It’s so stupid. Are you still going to be at each other’s throats when you’re playing stadiums someday?”

  “Probably,” Levi and I say in unison.

  Daisy throws up her hands.

  “It’s not a big deal, Dais,” I tell her. “They would never actually hurt each other.”

  “Reed had a black eye last week,” she says. “Which I think you were responsible for.”

  “Yeah,” I say, “because he was being an asshole.”

  “You’re all hopeless.” She shoves her finger into my shoulder. “You’re supposed to be the nice one!”

  I shrug. I’m not exactly proud of punching Reed, but I’m not going to be the only brother to not defend myself. She should try living with these three idiots sometime, overcrowded in a cramped house, spending all of our free time together, too. Constantly under pressure from our dad to rehearse more, to spend more time writing…I sigh, wishing I took a beer after all.

  “Look,” I say. “We’re not very good at talking about stuff.”

  “So you punch each other instead.”

  “Pretty much.”

  She finally laughs, in a resigned sort of way. “You should try this brand new thing called communication.”

  It’s my turn to laugh. The thought of any of my brothers sitting down for a heart-to-heart is completely ridiculous.

  “It will blow over,” Levi predicts. “It always does.”

  Daisy shakes her head. “I suppose we have plenty of years experience dealing with their childishness, I don’t know why I keep expecting them to grow up.” She turns to me. “Was it like this when your mom was around? Or is this a consequence of a testosterone-only household?”

  The heat of the day suddenly feels heavy on my shoulders, the garage sounding strangely quiet.

  “Lennon?” I realize that Daisy is looking at my hand. Which is currently crushing the water bottle I’m holding.

  “Sorry,” I mutter.

  “No, I’m sorry,” she says quickly. Her eyes look much more worried now than they did while the boys were fighting. “I shouldn’t have—I know you don’t like to talk about her.”r />
  I shrug, trying to ignore the way Levi’s eyes have gone all squinty and intense. “It’s fine. We, uh, were pretty young, you know. Not a lot of punches thrown back then.” I manage a grin, even though I feel slightly sick. “Don’t get me wrong, they were still assholes. Cash used to push me down in the grass when her back was turned and blame it on Daltrey.”

  Daisy smiles, but I can tell she’s still worried. Damn it. Why do I always have to…react to everything? Why can’t I just be chill about this shit? Now Levi is going to be worried, watching me even more closely than usual. I feel the familiar beads of sweat break out on the back of my neck. I try to concentrate on Daltrey’s hands, currently banging against his keyboard. Cash is probably somewhere working through his frustration with a beer. Daltrey prefers to use his hands.

  Reed comes stomping over to grab a beer from the cooler. “I’m so tired of their crap.”

  “Because you’re just the epitome of maturity and good behavior,” Levi says.

  Reed glares. “Don’t you start.”

  “Daisy was just telling us that she thinks you guys need to talk about your problems more,” Levi continues.

  Reed barks out a laugh, throwing his arm around her shoulder. “That’s cute, Harris.”

  “You’re all hopeless,” she sighs as Cash bangs back into the garage.

  “Are we rehearsing or what? Some of us have plans later.”

  Reed sighs loudly but makes his way to his drums. I finish off my water before following. “If they start up again, don’t get caught in the crossfire,” Levi suggests. “Cash might be throwing guitars next.”

  “I’m an expert at ducking,” I mutter.

  I pick up my bass, waiting for Reed to count off the intro. Cash comes in on his guitar, completely shredding the thing. I smile in spite of myself. You can’t say that my brother doesn’t know how to focus his anger. Daltrey is playing with fervor too, Reed pounding on his drums behind us. We make it all the way through the song without anyone wanting to stop and when it’s over, we’re all slightly out of breath. I look to Reed, then Cash, then Daltrey, my brothers all doing the same thing. Meeting each other's eyes, something passing between us.

  This is the thing I hadn’t bothered to tell Daisy. It’s too hard to explain and, honestly, it sounds kind of lame. But the truth is, we don’t need to talk, not really, because of what just happened when we finished playing. It’s always been this way for us—we don’t need words to communicate. We just need our instruments. And to be able to look at each other. That’s all it takes for me to know exactly what my brothers are thinking. And I know it’s the same for them.

  “Nice solo, Cash,” Daltrey mutters.

  Cash nods his thanks. “You hit that C sharp in the refrain. Not bad.”

  Daltrey nods too. And just like that they aren’t mad anymore and the four of us fall easily into the next song, and then the next. We make it through the entire rehearsal without another punch or argument. I can see Daisy rolling her eyes at me as we pack up our stuff, but I’m not surprised. It’s like I told her—that’s just how we deal with shit. And I’m pretty sure we’re never going to grow out of it. As I watch Cash say something to Daltrey that makes him laugh and shove his older brother, good-natured, I’m not entirely sure I want us to grow out of it. It would be too weird, for the Ransome boys to suddenly become mature. I don’t think I’d be able to handle that at all.

  Lennon

  I will never understand why Daltrey moved out here,” Cash mutters, staring out the passenger side window of our rental car at the blur of passing trees. “It’s crazy. I haven’t seen another house in hours.”

  I roll my eyes at my brother’s exaggeration. “Like you wouldn’t have moved to Podunk if Sam asked you to.” Cash makes a dismissive noise and I laugh. “This coming from the guy who moved to Seattle for his woman.”

  He turns to glare at me. “Seattle is a kick-ass city. This is just…” he looks back to the window, shuddering a little. “Sad.”

  “You’re in a bad mood.” I tilt my head, considering. “Well, a worse mood than usual.”

  I can see Cash’s scowling reflection in the window. “I can’t imagine why.”

  I force back a sigh as I try to concentrate on driving. I knew my brothers were going to be pissy about this, that none of them have any desire to see our dad or talk about the band right now. That attitude is exactly why I had been hoping to make the trip from the airport alone—at least if I was by myself I wouldn’t have to listen to their whining. But Cash insisted we drive over to Daltrey’s together, so we could “catch up,” and I had a hard time telling him no. Since my accident, Cash has been making a great effort to be more emotionally mature. He’s taken to calling me on a daily basis, just to chat. He’d even started hugging his brothers once in a while—which is just strange. Of course I roll my eyes about it—both behind my brother’s back and straight to his face—but in truth I can’t help but feel a little touched. Cash is trying.

  It’s more than I can say for most of us.

  “You guys have to talk to him sometime,” I point out.

  Cash turns to look at me, frowning. “You guys? Does that mean you’re talking to him?”

  I shrug. There’s certainly tension between me and our father, but I’m not completely shutting the man out. “A few times.”

  Cash is quiet for a minute. “How is he?”

  It’s my turn to avoid my brother’s eye by concentrating on the scenery. “You know Dad. He’s quiet. Defensive.”

  Cash snorts. “And what in the hell does he have to feel defensive about? He’s the one who fucked up.”

  “He feels bad, Cash.” I’m quiet for a moment. “This is killing him.”

  He snorts again, returning his attention to the window. But I can still see his face reflected back at me, can see the way his forehead is creased, his eyes narrowed, the way he looks when he’s unsure about something.

  I push down the rush of guilt that seems to show up whenever I think about my brothers and our dad. I know that this isn’t my fault, the tension between them, a fact that both my therapist and Haylee try to reiterate every time the subject comes up, but it’s hard, sometimes, to believe it. If I hadn’t told them about what happened, about going to see our mom…if I hadn’t gotten so fucked up in the first place, hadn’t tried to hurt myself…none of this would have happened.

  It needed to happen, I remind myself, the voice in my head sounding an awful lot like Haylee’s. They needed to know the truth.

  “How’s Wyatt?” I ask, knowing the subject change will cheer up my brother.

  Like clockwork, Cash’s face lights up. “He’s great. Scored two goals at his game last week. Kid is a machine on that field.”

  Cash would happily prattle along about his girlfriend’s son for ages, but his phone buzzes, interrupting. “It’s Levi,” Cash says, looking down at the screen. “They’re at the house.”

  “Him and Karen?”

  “And Paige and Reed.” Cash shakes his head. “Why in the hell he’d want to drive in with that grumpy ass I have no idea. Better him than us, I guess.”

  “Pretty sure Levi planned the flights to make sure they were together,” I say. “He probably thought Reed wouldn’t show up if he wasn’t there to push him along.”

  Cash makes a face. “If you thought I was pissy about this meeting, you know Reed is going to be much worse, right?”

  I roll my eyes. “I have been living in the same city as him, Cash. I’m well aware of how pissed off Reed is.”

  “Is he talking to you about it?”

  I shrug, the guilt flashing again. “No. But, honestly, I haven’t seen him much.”

  Which has been all my own doing. I know my older brother is having a hard time with everything, but I’ve done little to help. It’s been so much easier to just escape into my relationship with Haylee—the one thing in my life that’s going well. That makes me an awful brother, I know, but—

  “It’s not your fault,
” Cash says in a low voice. I look over to see that he’s watching me, his dark blue eyes intent on my face. “It’s not, Lennon.”

  “I know,” I mutter, looking away.

  “You sure about that?” Cash asks, and I briefly close my eyes. Sometimes I liked the old, emotionally oblivious Cash better.

  I spent years trying to keep my problems from my brothers. I never wanted them to know about the hard times, the depression that settled over me like a choking, impenetrable weight. About the nightmares I didn’t understand. The desire to run away from it, this…this something in my mind that I could never seem to escape. About all the stupid ways I’d tried to deal with it. The drinking, the drugs. The times I hurt myself.

  My dad and Levi, the only people who knew what was going on, urged me to tell my brothers. But I refused. I’m not sure exactly why. Part of it, I know, is that I didn’t want to worry them. Another part, a more selfish, self-centered part, didn’t want them to see how weak I am. I’d always been the quiet brother, the sensitive one…I didn’t really like the thought of being the messed up one, too. But mostly, I know, the reason I didn’t want to tell them was because I was too afraid of what might happen if they started asking questions.

  I had no idea why I was such a mess. And I had been absolutely terrified to find out.

  But when I crashed my motorcycle—on purpose—after a show in Vegas last summer, my carefully constructed web of lies started to fall apart. Levi and my dad weren’t willing to help me hide things, not anymore. And after that, everything just got so much worse.

  “I think that’s the turn off,” Cash says, pointing ahead. I shake my head, trying to bring my mind back to the present.

  “Thanks,” I say, making the turn. As we head down the long driveway, I can feel Cash watching me from the corner of my eye.

  Can’t imagine why I didn’t want them to know, I think wryly. My brothers, as I’d expected, had been terrified by the truth of what was going on with me. I’d endured weeks—months—of their sideways glances, their constant questioning as to my mental state, the panic they tried to hide in their eyes whenever they didn’t think I was watching. It was exhausting.