The Red Thread (2) (Patreon)

(A/N: I'm switching this story to third-person, so this chapter is written in third-person.  I will edit the first chapter and change it when I have some free time!  Please enjoy another chapter of my bitchy rich-boy delinquent believing that the world revolves around his anger [until he meets my camera-boy and thinks the world revolves around him instead.])

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Brooks sat at the police station, six months later with black-stained fingertips and a tapping foot, and decided that he was not the best at controlling his temper.

"What is he sayin' now?"

Jay looked as pissed as ever — only waved a dismissive hand in his brother's direction and adjusted his Bluetooth earpiece. The man sighed along to whatever was being said by their father, which Brookes believed was probably some grade-A bullshit. 

"Well, he did.  Now he's here.  It was broad daylight too."

Unnecessary detail.

Things didn't really turn out for Brooks in any sort of way. He was the son of a 1980's movie star; supposed he should be all wonder and glamour, but instead, he was a college-dropout — one who still hadn't decorated his shitty motel room.  He didn't have any free time that he wouldn't rather spend sleeping and didn't really have any hobbies or aspirations. 

So, he did what he believed most would do, which was to hang with a couple of losers from work, get involved in petty drama over some stolen tips, and then fight the shitty thieves in a wet alley outside of a maternity clothing store.

No big deal.  Except everyone thought that it was.

"I know, Dad. I was on a job — I can't always just drop everything for Brooks and his anger issues."

Brooks' glare settled on him then. Jay looked ridiculous in his police uniform, as always, the pants too short for the height that was promised to the two by imposing genetics, sleeves rolled up on his coat jacket to hide the fact that they probably couldn't quite reach his wrists either. 

Brooks wanted to tell him that he looked stupid. 

It was probably the anger issues talking.

"Right." Jay sent Brooks a glance, pulling a face that assured him that the talk with their father was not going as planned.  "... But, on the plus side.  It was just a fight, Dad. No drugs this time." He cast a tired glance in his delinquent of a brother's direction, whose hackles rose.  "I just... Need you to do what you usually do."

Sweep any and all shit under the rug — don't let it get to the press,

and pretty please, if necessary, post bail.

"...Don't waste your time." Brooks rubbed at the black ink on his fingertips. His prints looked great this time; he thought, probably the best out of any time before. "Money-bags is just worried about the media." 

He couldn't help the roll of his eyes when Jay's feathers ruffled.

Too bad that it was true, regardless.  Brooks was sure that their father was rambling about the costs of covering another misdemeanor, and didn't care if there were drugs involved, or if his son was hurt — if that son had hurt someone else. Jay shrugged past him, and his younger brother leaned his head further into his crossed arms, watching him from the corner of his eye as Jay stepped into a glass-windowed office.

Oh, secretive.  Brooks nursed his split lip and stared at his styrofoam cup of coffee, disgusted at the thought of consuming the now cold beverage.  His gaze traveled to the clock that sat above the empty workplace, ticking slowly.  It was well past one in the morning, and the adrenaline was gone.  He blinked tiredly.  And now it's all boring.

He watched until the clock's little hand hit two.  He even almost took a nap.

"Brooks," his brother's re-emerging voice was stern, and Brooks startled at the force of it, but found Jay was as ungraceful as always as he made his way through the maze of desks. "Dad's pissed.  You fucked up this time."

Jay sighed as he stood next to his brother, snatching his cup of coffee. He ran his hand through his short, dark hair, like he always had when he was under pressure, and drank it in one gulp.

"Jesus,"  he muttered.  "You guys stress me the hell out."

"Dad's pissed. Boo-fuckin' hoo."  Brooks sighed.  "Tell him to bring one of his fancy golf clubs and have a go at me, then."

Jay didn't agree with the notion; in fact, he looked absolutely distressed — crossed his legs as he leaned against the table.

"He's got plans for you, and you just fell straight into them,"  Jay hummed, head falling back into nothing. "Sorry, man." His frown sent a crease down to his jawline.  Brooks could see the worry in every tired movement.

"What does that mean?"  Brooks felt a small surge of confusion sift through him.  "... Jail?"

"Jail?"

"Look, I can explain what happened, and it's nothin' like those fuckers were saying — "  Brooks shrugged, leaning forward in earnest.  "Gary pocketed my tips the other night, and it was fucked.  I just meant for him to hand them back over.  Then..."

Jay shook his head, raising a hand to silence him.

"You got mad.  Yeah, yeah.  Hey, I don't care about the logistics of your hard-head."  The older man shifted uncomfortably.  "Dad's not askin' for much, in his eyes.  So."

Brooks snorted, eyes widening.

"Bullshit, not askin' for much.  Then what's he askin' for?"

"He said — basically,"  Jay sank into his desk chair, rebooting his computer.  "I guess it's like... Community service.  Unless Gary presses charges, 'cause this time I'll arrest you.  You and dad are makin' me look shady as fuck."

"No way."  Brooks shook his head.  "I have work; you know that.  I don't have time for community service."

"Brooks."

"Lundfelt has me on like — the shit shifts and sometimes I have to close the bar — "

His brother's aggravation spiked, so visible in the way that his face scrunched like a sun-ripened tomato — that Brooks stopped himself.

"...What kind of community service?"

"The rich kid kind.  It's a room and board at LakeWood, thanks to daddy dearest. You'll be assisting the volunteers there."  Jay stared at his brother's carefully blanking expression and sighed loudly. "Cleaning up trash from the lake.  Schmoozing an investor.  The likes."

"Trash from the lake?" Brooks frowned. "How the fuck is schmoozing community service? Why can't I stay at the motel?"

"Dad needs an eye on you." Jay sneered. "Duh."

"How can he — "

"You're not allowed off the site. No drugs or alcohol are permitted.  A good bunch of the residents at LakeWood are recovered, addicts."

"I thought it was an art-facility?"

"What kind of art facility has room and board?"  Jay rolled his eyes.  "It's like.  An unprofessional half-way house — rich kids who need peace after messin' round in shady shit."

"What the fuck."

"Dad loves it.  Wants to make a film about it."  Brooks' father had decided being a retired actor wasn't enough, now he wanted to try his hand at directing.  "Needs a spy — and the head there to give him the green-light.  That's where you come in."

"It's supposedly non-profit,"  Jay adds.  "That's good, right?"

"Hiding rich kids with issues from the press and plottin' for a movie deal.  So, kill two birds with one stone, right?" Brooks hissed, thumbnail padding over the scab adorning a long scratch on the corner of his jaw. "Win over a client and fuck me over with my job, so I have to rely on him, right? And live there?"

"You fucked yourself over, Brooks," Jay's voice was cold as he turned away from his brother, clearing the papers from his desk. "You could have been arrested tonight.  You could've been arrested before. Don't think that you wouldn't have been — if it hadn't been for Dad's deals."

"I'd be fine if he'd stop getting involved — "

"No, I'm fine."  Jay pointed to himself, angry tone setting in nastily.  "I turned out fine, and you two keep pullin' me into your shit.  So.  Let me get you the papers, then sign them, then fuck off about it."

Brooks sunk in his seat, defeated.

He touched the tips of his fingertips to the white tile under him, watching the way they left little, black smudges.

This was supposed to be the year that it changed.

He felt the disappointment completely envelop him; shoulders sagged as he leaned back into the chair.

"...Brooks," Jay's tone softened a bit.  The printer whirred. "You can stay with me tonight if ya' want.  We'll head out in the morning."