The night air was cold against Brandon's face as he walked away from Burger Barn, Elena's words still ringing in his ears. Mind your own business. Simple advice from a girl half his age who had already learned lessons he was still struggling to understand.
His phone buzzed.
UNKNOWN: New accommodations. The Vista Motor Lodge on Crawford Street. Room is prepaid for four nights.
Brandon stopped walking.
BRANDON: How much?
UNKNOWN: $400. Already deducted from your account.
Brandon checked his balance. The texter was right—four hundred dollars had vanished since he last looked. He hadn't authorized the transaction, hadn't agreed to anything, but the money was gone regardless.
BRANDON: You can't just take money from my account.
UNKNOWN: I can do whatever I want, Brandon. You should have learned that by now. Go to the Vista Motor Lodge. Get some rest. You have work tomorrow.
---
The Vista Motor Lodge was a step up from the Starlight Inn and the Bluebird Motel combined. The carpets were clean, the television worked without static, and the sheets actually smelled like detergent instead of mildew. Brandon stood in the middle of the room for a long moment, waiting for the catch.
There was always a catch.
But the night passed without incident. No mysterious texts. No instructions to beat someone unconscious or deliver suspicious packages. Just silence and the hum of the air conditioning unit and the distant sounds of traffic.
Brandon slept better than he had in weeks.
---
The phone woke him at nine in the morning.
Not a text this time—an actual call. The name on the screen made his heart stop.
JULIA.
He answered on the third ring.
"Hello?"
"Brandon." Julia's voice was tired, but there was something else underneath it. Something that almost sounded like resignation. "I need you to come home today."
Brandon sat up slowly. "What?"
"Sophia's here. She came to visit, and Lily's been asking for you. I told her you've been working, but she wants to see her daddy." A pause. "Can you come? Just for the afternoon?"
Brandon tried to process what he was hearing. Two days ago, Julia had kicked him out. Had told him she couldn't look at him. Now she was inviting him back?
"Yeah," he said finally. "Yeah, I can come."
"Good. We're doing a barbecue. Can you be here by noon?"
"I'll be there."
The line went dead.
Brandon stared at the phone in his hand, wondering what game Julia was playing. Or maybe she wasn't playing any game at all. Maybe she just wanted Lily to have a normal afternoon with both her parents, even if everything else was falling apart.
He got dressed and started the long walk home.
---
The house on Maple Street looked different in the afternoon light. Less threatening, somehow. The yellow foreclosure notice was still taped to the door, but someone had hung a banner across the porch that read WELCOME HOME in colorful letters.
Lily's handiwork, probably.
Brandon climbed the porch steps and knocked.
The door flew open almost immediately, and a small body launched itself at his legs.
"Daddy!"
Brandon dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around his daughter, breathing in the strawberry scent of her shampoo. "Hey, baby girl. I missed you."
"I missed you too." Lily pulled back to look at his face, her expression serious. "Mommy said you've been working really hard. Is that true?"
"That's true."
"Are you going to stay home now?"
Brandon hesitated. He could feel Julia watching from the doorway, could sense the weight of her gaze on the back of his neck.
"We'll see, sweetheart. We'll see."
A voice called from inside the house. "Is that my big brother?"
Brandon looked up to see Sophia emerging from the living room, a smile spreading across her face. At nineteen, his sister had grown into a striking young woman—tall and slender, with their mother's dark hair and their father's stubborn jaw. She was wearing jeans and a community college sweatshirt, looking every bit the student she was supposed to be.
"Sophia." Brandon stood, keeping one hand on Lily's shoulder. "I didn't know you were coming."
"Surprise visit." She crossed the room and pulled him into a hug. "You look terrible, by the way."
"Thanks. Love you too."
"I'm serious. When's the last time you slept? Or ate a real meal?"
"I've been busy."
Sophia pulled back, studying his face with an expression that reminded him uncomfortably of their mother. "We need to talk later. Catch up."
"Yeah. Sure."
Julia appeared at his elbow. "Brandon, can you get the barbecue started? The coals should be ready by the time I finish prepping the meat."
It wasn't a request.
"On it."
---
The afternoon passed in something resembling normalcy.
Brandon grilled burgers and hot dogs while Lily played in the backyard, chasing Sophia around the swing set with a water gun. Julia stayed inside mostly, emerging occasionally to bring out condiments or check on the food. She didn't speak to Brandon directly unless she had to.
But she didn't yell at him either. Didn't bring up the money he'd stolen or the days he'd been gone. For a few hours, they pretended to be a functional family, and Brandon found himself almost believing it.
As the sun began to sink toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, Brandon settled into a lawn chair near the back fence. The grill had been cleaned and covered, the leftovers packed away, and Lily had been sent inside to wash up before dinner.
Sophia appeared beside him, carrying two bottles of beer. She handed one to Brandon and dropped into the chair next to his.
"Thought you might need this."
"You thought right." Brandon twisted off the cap and took a long drink. "Thanks."
They sat in silence for a moment, watching the colors bleed across the sky.
"So," Sophia said finally. "Where have you been?"
"Working."
"Working where?"
"A restaurant. Fast food place called Burger Barn. Nothing glamorous."
"Burger Barn." Sophia laughed, but there was no humor in it. "The great Brandon Parker, flipping burgers. Mom would have a field day with that one."
Brandon winced. "Don't."
"I'm just saying." Sophia took a sip of her beer. "You always acted like you were better than that kind of work. Too smart, too ambitious. And now look at you."
"I'm doing what I have to do."
"Are you?" Sophia turned to face him, her expression hardening. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're doing everything except what you should be doing."
Brandon felt his defenses rising. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
"It means Julia called me crying three days ago." Sophia's voice was steady, relentless. "It means she told me you disappeared for almost a week, that you took money you weren't supposed to take, that she had to kick you out of your own house because she couldn't stand to look at you anymore."
"She told you all that?"
"She tells me everything, Brandon. She has for years. Because you're never around to listen."
Brandon opened his mouth to respond, but Sophia cut him off.
"Why aren't you coming home? And don't give me the 'I'm working' excuse. I know you have a job now. So why are you staying at motels instead of being here with your family?"
"Because Julia kicked me out."
"And you just accepted that?" Sophia shook her head. "You didn't fight for her? Didn't try to make things right?"
"I am trying to make things right."
"How? By hiding? By running away from your problems like you always do?"
Brandon felt something snap inside him. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Then tell me. Explain it to me. Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you've given up on your marriage, your daughter, and everything else that's supposed to matter."
Brandon wanted to tell her. Wanted to say the words that had been burning in his chest for days. Your precious Julia is sleeping with Derek. Has been for months. While I was out there failing, my best friend was in my bedroom taking everything I had left.
But he couldn't.
He couldn't do that to Lily. Couldn't blow up his daughter's world just to win an argument with his sister.
"It's complicated," he said finally.
"It's always complicated with you." Sophia finished her beer and set the empty bottle on the ground. "You know what I think? I think you should let her go."
Brandon turned to stare at her. "What?"
"Julia. I think you should divorce her."
"You can't be serious."
"I'm completely serious." Sophia's eyes were cold, unflinching. "You're not making her happy, Brandon. You haven't made her happy in years. Every time you disappear, every time you break a promise, every time you gamble away money that was supposed to go to bills or groceries or your daughter's future—you're hurting her. You're causing her pain. And she's too loyal to walk away, so she just keeps suffering."
"I love her."
"That's not enough. Love doesn't pay the mortgage. Love doesn't put food on the table. Love doesn't magically fix all the damage you've done." Sophia stood, brushing grass off her jeans. "If you really loved her, you'd let her go. Let her find someone who can actually be there for her. Someone who won't destroy everything he touches."
Brandon couldn't speak. The words were like knives, cutting deeper than anything Julia had ever said.
"And while you're at it," Sophia continued, "maybe remember that Mom is still in the hospital. Still waiting for treatment that costs money you don't have. Still hoping her son will actually show up and act like he gives a damn."
"I'm trying—"
"No, you're not." Sophia's voice was sharp enough to draw blood. "You're hiding. You're making excuses. You're being pathetic." She turned and walked toward the house, pausing at the back door. "I love you, Brandon. You're my brother. But right now? I don't like you very much."
She went inside without looking back.
Brandon sat alone in the gathering darkness, his sister's words echoing in his skull.
Pathetic.
Let her go.
Stop being pathetic.
He finished his beer in one long swallow and wished he had another.
---
He left an hour later, after saying goodbye to Lily and exchanging awkward nods with Julia. Sophia was nowhere to be seen—hiding in the guest room, probably, or helping Lily with homework. Avoiding him.
The walk back to the Vista Motor Lodge took ninety minutes. Brandon barely noticed the time passing, his mind churning through everything Sophia had said.
Was she right? Would Julia be better off without him?
Probably. Almost certainly.
But that didn't make it hurt any less.
He let himself into his room, collapsed onto the bed, and pulled out his phone. The screen was blank—no messages from the texter, no instructions, no demands.
For once, Brandon was the one who initiated contact.
BRANDON: I need money for my mother's hospital bills.
He waited. Thirty seconds. A minute. Two.
UNKNOWN: How much?
BRANDON: Ten thousand. At least. Probably more.
UNKNOWN: That's a significant amount.
BRANDON: I know. But she's dying. The doctors say she needs a new treatment, and I can't afford it. I can't afford any of it.
Another pause.
UNKNOWN: What are you offering in return?
Brandon stared at the screen. He thought about the warehouse. The twenty dead gang members. The bomb he'd unknowingly delivered.
BRANDON: I'll do whatever you want. More tasks. More deliveries. Whatever. But I need you to promise me something.
UNKNOWN: I don't make promises.
BRANDON: Then make an exception. I'll keep working for you, keep following your instructions, but I need you to stop giving me tasks that end with people dying. No more bombs. No more explosions. I can't have more blood on my hands.
The response came faster than Brandon expected.
UNKNOWN: That's not how this works.
BRANDON: Then make it how it works. I'm asking you. Please.
Silence. Brandon watched the screen, his heart pounding.
UNKNOWN: There's a house at 1847 Willow Lane. The Rosewood Heights neighborhood. Go there now.
Brandon frowned.
BRANDON: What's the task?
UNKNOWN: You'll find out when you arrive.
BRANDON: That's not good enough. I need to know what I'm walking into.
UNKNOWN: You need to follow instructions. 1847 Willow Lane. Go.
---
Rosewood Heights was the kind of neighborhood Brandon had always imagined living in someday—tree-lined streets, manicured lawns, houses that cost more than he'd earn in a lifetime. The kind of place where people drove luxury cars and sent their kids to private schools and never worried about where their next meal was coming from.
1847 Willow Lane was a two-story colonial with white shutters and a wraparound porch. Lights glowed warmly behind the curtains, and a late-model Mercedes sat in the driveway.
Brandon stood at the end of the walkway, his stomach tight with apprehension.
BRANDON: I'm here. What now?
UNKNOWN: Knock on the door.
Brandon climbed the porch steps and knocked.
Footsteps inside. The click of a lock disengaging. The door swung open.
The woman standing in the doorway was stunning.
Early forties, maybe, but she wore her age like a weapon. Dark hair cascaded over bare shoulders. Full lips painted deep red. A silk robe that clung to her curves, revealing more than it concealed. She looked at Brandon with eyes that held equal parts curiosity and invitation.
"You must be the one they sent," she said, her voice low and honey-smooth. "I've been waiting."
Brandon's mouth went dry. "I'm sorry, I think there's been a—"
His phone buzzed.
He looked down at the screen.
UNKNOWN: Sleep with her.
Brandon's blood ran cold.