Chapter 1: Isaac

My little sister and her boyfriend are arguing in the basement. I can’t hear much because the previous owner soundproofed the ceiling really well. The microwave is whirring while it heats my frozen dinner, making it even harder to catch what they’re saying.

Maybe Denise finally realized Matt is a loser and she’s telling him to pack his shit and hit the road. I don’t know what she sees in that guy. We met the day he and Denise moved into my basement six months ago. I read him like a one-paged book because he wasn’t a person of much substance.

A few seconds into the conversation, he went off about how people loved to shit on him and keep him down. That’s why he lost his job at a bike shop for no reason and the apartment he had shared with Denise.

My little sister deserves better. She deserves a man who takes care of her. Not some mooching man-child taking advantage of her. Then again, she’s always been a caretaker.

One time, Denise found a sick baby raccoon and secretly nursed it back to health after Dad told her to get rid of it. A couple years later, she would visit dying Grandpa Dean after school and help care for him alongside the nurse. And she was there for me too, a guiding light during my darkest point after losing my wife.

Matt probably takes care of her in ways that aren’t financial too. Maybe the sex is really good—

The microwave beeping is a welcome interruption on that thought. I yank open the door and take out the hot, limp cardboard box, tossing it down on the countertop. I don’t want to think about my sister’s sex life. Not out of sibling disgust, but because the thought of another man fucking my sister makes me want to punch something.

I stir the container’s contents, then eat my dinner, listening to what’s going on below. If the argument turns violent, if Matt lays even a fingernail on my sister, he’s a dead fucking man.

Their voices fade, the quiet allowing me to pay attention to what I’m forking into my mouth. Jesus. This is terrible. Denise brought me some chicken alfredo she made the other night and it was fucking delicious. I bought a couple similar frozen dinners instead of shopping for groceries since I’ll be gone for the next few days. This is nothing like my sister’s cooking. Food shouldn’t taste the same as the cardboard container it came in.

I finish eating, then gulp down a glass of water. A loud door slam draws my attention and I move to the kitchen window, peering outside. Denise paces along the perimeter of my backyard fence, her arms folded, her features pulled tight.

Curiosity and the urge to soothe her makes me go outside. She pauses her walking as I approach. I stop just a few feet from her, the October evening breeze carrying a slight chill and her sweet scent. She always smells like strawberries and temptation.

I jerk a thumb behind me at the closed basement door.

“Will I meet a crime scene if I go in there?”

Her face crumples with embarrassment.

“Oh god, you heard us.”

“Not the words, just the rage.”

“I’m sorry you did.” 

“What’s going on? He must have done something pretty bad to piss you off.”

“Yes, it was. That asshole—”

She purses her lips and folds her arms so tight, the action pulls the chest area of her t-shirt taut, pronouncing the shape of her breasts. I fix my gaze on her face, not daring to look any lower.

“What did he do?” I prompt.

She shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

I step closer. “Did he hurt you?”

When she hesitates, rage lights inside me. My body tenses in preparation to commit justified violence. If there isn’t a crime scene before, there will be after I’m done with Matt.

“Not physically,” she finally says.

“I can hurt him back for you. Physically. Just say the word.”

Her eyes widen. “Isaac, no. You don’t need to do that.” Then she smiles. “But it’s nice to know I have such a protective big brother.”

She gives my right shoulder a rub, my entire being instantly hyperaware of her innocent touch. Since my righteous anger no longer has an outlet, it morphs into something else, something darker. An urge to push my sister against the fence, and vent the frustration I always feel when I’m around her comes over me.

You’re a sick fuck.

I take a step back and her hand falls from my shoulder. Her smile fades, her gaze holding mine. Sometimes I wonder if she ever senses I feel more for her than a brother should. I hear a lot of women are good at detecting when a guy is interested in them.

“I’m leaving tomorrow to attend a training conference in Ottawa,” I say to fill the awkward silence. “I’ll be gone for a few days, but I’m supposed to get a delivery the day after tomorrow. Can you sign for it and put it in the house? I’ll leave you a spare key.” At her nod, I pause to consider my next words, then decide to make the offer. “You can stay up there while I’m gone if you want. In case you want some space from Matt.”

“That’s really sweet, Isaac. Thank you.”

“No guests, OK? That’s the number one rule.”

She nods. “Yes, sir.”