Chapter Five

Shawn dragged himself over the threshold of the apartment he shared with Jack and Eric, numb and heartbroken, and still unable to believe the night’s fallout.

He’d known that nothing good could come from going anywhere near Ted Brazelton, much less a party thrown at his house. A feeling of fury washed over him. He turned and punched the door to elevate some of his frustration and anger. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the look of despair on Angela’s face. This was all his fault. He collapsed against the door, leaning his forehead on the cool wooden surface. She had counted on him, and he’d let her down. He’d let her father down, too. There was no getting around it. Even though his sweet Angela, his angel, had attempted to take the blame on herself, Shawn knew exactly where it lay. And it wasn’t with her or his poor miserable friend Cory.

He’d screwed up again and now Angela was paying for his mistake.
So deep in thought was Shawn that he didn’t realize that he wasn’t alone until a voice spoke at his back, causing him to spin around.

“Hey, what’s the matter with you?”

Shawn sighed heavily. “Long night,” he mumbled uncommunicatively. He just stood there with his arms hanging down at his side as if uncertain what to do next.

Eric began down the stairs and got a good look at his face. He stopped short before coming the rest of the way down to the floor.

“What happened?” he asked quietly.

Shawn’s eyes traveled over to where he stood. He brought them into focus, noticing with detachment that his hair was rumpled, and he was wearing boxers and nothing else. A clear sign that he’d been in bed, whether or not alone, had yet to be determined.

Supremely indifferent to Eric’s varied sex life under normal circumstances, Shawn showed no spark of interest now. He advanced into the room, shoulders hunched and head down, and threw himself down on the sofa. He covered his face with his hands and vigorously rubbed them over the pale skin. The faint scruff beginning to darken his jaw rasped gently against his palms. He pulled them down and allowed his head to fall back until it met the ledge of the couch. Unblinking eyes, blank in expression, gazed up at the ceiling.

“Shawn, what happened?” Eric persisted, probing gently.

“Cory got drunk at a party,” he missed seeing Eric’s eyes widen to the size of quarters, “and when I was on my way over here so he could sober up before he went home, he decided to moon a cop car and get us all arrested.” He turned his head, looking up at his roommate who’d come over to stand near the red couch.

Eric rifled through his hair. “Do my parents know yet?”

Shawn’s head slowly bobbed up and down. “Oh yeah. Your Dad brought me home since the cops couldn’t get in touch with Jack.”

Eric sat down next to him. “Damn! This is bad. I thought I heard the phone, but I was um busy.” He glanced up at the door to his room and then at Shawn sheepishly.

Shawn dismissed his embarrassment with a careless shrug. His head lolled forward until his chin rested on his chest. He stared down at the floor, utterly depressed. What did it matter? Neither Eric not Jack could have helped him anyway. The damage had already been done. Nobody could help him now.

“It doesn’t matter, Eric,” was the verbalized response that matched his mood.

Eric’s eyes narrowed. They swept over his despondent roommate. “That’s not all there is, is it?” He tilted his head inquiringly.

Shawn swallowed. “No,” he replied, slowly shaking his head. “Angela was with me.”

He heard rather than saw Eric groan.

“And so, of course, her father was called, he came down to get her, lit into me and now,” he paused and seemed to be struggling a little for control before he added, “I-I can’t see her anymore.” Eric heard the slight break in Shawn’s voice.

“Why would Angela’s father take this out on you?” He frowned. “It was Cory who caused the whole thing.”

Shawn raised his head to look at him directly. “Angela’s father doesn’t know Cory. I’m Angela’s boyfriend, and she was detained in a police station because she was with me,” he said sharply, his voice rising with frustration. “Because Cory’s my best friend, and I was trying to keep him from getting into trouble with your parents. What else was I supposed to do? What does that guy want from me?”

“Damn, man,” Eric blurted out simplistically, unable to answer the questions. “Angela’s father must be a pretty tough dude.”

Shawn laughed harshly. “Yeah, you could say that,” he stated, his tone ironic, remembering the stern face and censorious eyes of Sergeant Moore as he’d looked down at him from his much superior height. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands almost as if by doing so he could erase the whole hideous confrontation from his mind’s eye. But it was no use. He couldn’t pretend this one away. Angela was lost to him now, just like everything else he’d ever valued or loved. A wry smile twisted his lips. He’d been a fool to think that he wouldn’t get kicked in the teeth this time.

Eric saw the bitter smile that was more closely resembled a grimace really. He wanted to say something comforting, but was at a loss for the words. It wasn’t a time for flippancy or glibness, two forms of speech at which he was particular skilled. No, this situation called for someone with a little more depth and a means of expressing it, he thought, with a feeling of diminished self-confidence. So when the front door eased open mere seconds later, he was extremely glad to see Jack come into the room. Here was a sensitive guy who was a veritable well of empathy and understanding and shit like that. Jack could go deep. While Eric couldn’t deny that every now again he had his moments, Jack was more suited to dealing with stuff like this, especially since his little brother had been getting kicked in the teeth on the regular for more years than he cared to count. Besides being out of his league on this one, Eric wanted to call his own brother anyway, and see how he was holding up after the tongue lashing and grounding he was sure Cory had received. He got up, glanced from Shawn to Jack, and quietly left the room.

“What’s up with you two? You look like somebody died,” Jack said, taking off his light windbreaker and throwing it over the chair near the door as he stared at Shawn. He walked over and stood in front of him, gazing down at his brother’s bowed head.

Shawn didn’t respond, but just gazed at the floor, a mantle of melancholy resting firmly on his shoulders.

“Alright, what’s up?” Jack asked, a strong sense of unease beginning to manifest itself. “I-Is it Dad, Shawn?”

Shawn pursed his lips but didn’t respond.

“Shawn? You’re scaring me.”

“It’s not Dad,” he said shortly, getting up. He didn’t really feel like explaining the events of the night over again, but realized that he’d have no choice. “I got picked up with Cory and Angela tonight.” He walked over to the refrigerator and took out two cans of soda. He opened one and pushed the other across the island over to Jack. “To make a long story short, Cory got drunk at this party we went to, mooned a cop car before I could bring Angela home,” he raised his voice to be heard over Jack’s gasp, “and the cop decided to bring us all in because he recognized her. He was in the regular Army with Sergeant Moore.”

Jack came over, scratching his head absently, to sit on the stool facing Shawn. “Let me guess. Angela’s grounded, and you can’t see her for a month.”

The hand holding the can of soda Shawn had been in the process of raising to his mouth paused in its ascent. “I can’t see her at all. Her father’s friend must’ve told him about my drinking, and along with everything else he knows about me, he’s decided I’m scum. He thinks she’s too good for me,” he remarked, gazing down at the soda can before looking up at Jack. “And you know what? He’s right. Angela can do way better than me. She’s smart, gorgeous and deserves to be with someone who’s not a screw up.”

“You’re not a screw up, Shawn,” Jack said, sighing. “You weren’t drunk, were you?”

“No. Not this time.”

Jack threw up his hands, in support of having made his point. “Well, there you are. This is just a-a…” he searched for the word he wanted, “…a random piece of bad luck.”

Shawn’s mouth twisted in a humorless smile. “Then my life is one random piece of bad luck after the other, Jack. It’s time for me to face it. Being friends with Cory all these years made me think that I could have things that other people have.” He abruptly sat his can down on the island, stalking out of the kitchen. “But I can’t. And I never will!” he spat, recklessly bounding up the stairs two at a time, and reaching his room just off the top landing, he slammed his door shut. A loud bang sounded on impact.

Jack winced, not so much due to the din, but on account of his brother’s obvious pain. He chewed on his bottom lip as he thought about Shawn’s situation. A couple of minutes later, he sighed heavily, feeling wholly inadequate to deal with this latest crisis. Damn, he was only twenty, and because of a sheltered and privileged upbringing hadn’t been through half as much as Shawn had been through in his young life. Yet even though he was only an older brother, and a half-brother at that, he felt like he should do something. Take some kind of action to show Shawn that the situation wasn’t hopeless. Jack began to mull over what he knew of the situation. Popping the top of the cold can of cola and taking a large swig of it, he wiped his mouth, coming to a decision. Maybe he wasn’t their father or Shawn’s mother, but he was all Shawn had, Jack mused, especially now, his mind on Cory, who seemed to be immersed in his own set of problems and realized with startling clarity that either he took up Shawn’s cause with Angela’s father or leave his brother to hold fast to the erroneous belief that life held nothing more for him but a series of disappointments. Placed in that perspective, his duty to Shawn was clear cut.

Hell, Jack thought, this goes beyond duty, but that was as it should be. However rocky their relationship, Shawn was his little brother, and whether he knew it or not or even wanted to believe it, Jack loved him and wanted the best for him.

For the half a year that Shawn had been dating Angela, he’d seen a maturation he hadn’t thought possible in the philandering slacker. He didn’t want it to stop now. Angela was good for Shawn and somehow, someway, he, Jack Hunter, would find a way to get through to her father and get them back together. Gnawing on his fingernail, he conjured a mental picture of the large, battle hardened Army soldier Shawn had described and amended his vow. He’d get them back together…even if he had to die trying.

~~*~~

The next afternoon, Jack presented himself at the Moore residence. Once the decision to beard the lion in his den had been made, he decided that there was no time like the present. Especially considering Sergeant Moore’s extensive traveling and he wanted to get this thing settle if he could without more delay.

Ingrained good manners had prevented him from showing up without calling first. Angela’s father had been cordial enough on the phone even though Jack had heard the reserve in his voice. Still, Jack had been encouraged since he hadn’t hung up on him or refused his request for an impromptu interview.

Standing in front of the door of the modest house, Jack straightened his shoulders and lifted his head. He was dressed more formally than he would have been on a Saturday afternoon in a dark blue sports jacket, grey slacks and dark brown Italian leather loafers. His silk knit shirt was a soft looking off white color. He looked preppy although that hadn’t been his intention.

He cleared his throat again, raised his hand to knock on the door and was surprised to see it whip open before his hand had gotten anywhere near the bright red painted surface.

Angela stood in the doorway. She nervously glanced over her shoulder before stepping outside, closing the door behind her.

“I overheard my Dad saying that you could come over. Jack, I just wanted to thank you for trying to help us,” she said, and surprised him by throwing her arms around him.

When she’d removed her arms and moved away, Jack awkwardly patted her arm.

“I’m glad to help…if I can,” he said modestly. Despite his words, Angela continued to gaze up at him, her brown slightly almond shape eyes hopeful.

She really is a pretty little thing, Jack thought suddenly, having never really paid that much attention to her before then. Yet now he was beginning to understand on a more personal level a few of the reasons why Shawn was so smitten with her. Flawless dark chocolate skin, classic features and soulful brown eyes that were surrounded by black eyelashes as thick as they were long were striking attributes worthy of admiration. Yes, she was a very pretty girl. The light pink terry sweat outfit she currently wearing was very becoming to her figure and skin tone. The figure hugging ensemble accentuated her modest breasts, tiny cinched waist and rounded hips. Pure white sneakers peeked out underneath the bottom of the flared pants. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a cute ponytail at the back of her head and matched the casual mode of her attire.

Angela shifted her weight from leg to the other, feeling a little self-conscious under his intent gaze. Her eyes dropped from his, the long lashes fanning onto her cheeks in dark crescents. The movement of her arms as they rose to lie over her chest brought Jack out of his trance. He colored up, realizing that he had been staring which was very rude and extremely inappropriate since she was his brother’s girlfriend.

The door opening behind them put an end to the awkward moment. It was almost with relief that Jack welcome the interruption in the form of Angela’s father. He eagerly stepped forward, extending his hand passed where Angela stood to her clearly surprised father who hadn’t been expecting enthusiasm from his daughter’s rejected suitor’s older brother. Nevertheless, he reached out, taking the younger man’s hand in a strong grip.

“Sergeant Moore,” Jack greeted him, wringing his hand heartily, “I’m Jack Hunter, Shawn’s brother.”

“Yes,” Alvin Moore said in measured tones, eyeing Jack a little cautiously. He tugged on his hand and Jack belatedly released it. “Let’s go inside.”

He stole a glance at his silent daughter, his lips tightening with disapproval. Her eyes were downcast, and tension eradiated from her slight form. Alvin Moore transferred his gaze to his guest, motioning for him to come inside.

As both the Moores followed Jack, Alvin Moore hung back in the small foyer, his arm barring his daughter from following their guest.

“And just where do you think you’re going? You’re not going to be apart of this discussion, Angela.” Her father raised his arm, pointing to the stairs. “I want you upstairs now. I don’t even know how you knew about this.”

His raised eyebrows said he wanted an answer before she left. She swallowed hard. “I picked up the phone upstairs at the same time you did when Jack called,” she began, squaring her shoulders before continuing bravely even though she didn’t feel it internally, “and instead of hanging up, I listened.”

Alvin sucked in his breath. “Angela Moore, you will go upstairs and remain there until I tell you otherwise.”

Angela’s chin went up. “I’m not a child, Daddy,” she declared defiantly. “You can’t run my life. And I’m not my mother either.”

“Angela,” he growled in warning, trying with supreme effort to keep his voice low. “I don’t think you really want to do this.”

Folding her soft lips together to keep from saying something she’d regret, Angela turned away and began climbing the stairs, pausing mid-way to toss a look of resentment over her shoulder that mercifully went unseen before running the rest of the way up.

Already on his way to the living room and his guest, Alvin sighed, distressed by the growing schism between himself and his only child. He stopped short, cringing as a door slammed upstairs and then trudged on to face the brother of the worthless young man who was the cause of the present dissension in his family. This meeting held as little appeal for him as had the altercation he’d just had with his daughter.

His must have face reflected his mindset because upon seeing it, Jack cleared his throat nervously, reminding himself that he was here as much for Angela as for Shawn. The two of them were depending on him.

Alvin sank down into the chair opposite much as he’d sat across from Shawn the week past. He sat forward, with his elbows on his large thighs. Jack noticed that he had on his dress uniform’s dark olive dress pants and the light olive green shirt. He had abandoned both tie and jacket, and the first few buttons undone with the sleeves rolled up to his just below his elbows. He must have had Army business that afternoon.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Hunter?” he asked, his manner stiff and reserved.

Jack’s eyes flickered in recognition of his tactics. He’d seen his step father use formality as a barrier too many times when working in his offices as a first wave of offense when dealing with a hostile entity. It more often than not proved to be an effect one. And Sergeant Alvin Moore had been trained in tactical warfare. He realized with a jolt of discomfiture that he would have to watch his step with this man. He’d be a formidable adversary.

“Mr. Hunter?”

Jack refocused and mentally snapped to attention. “Call me Jack. Please.”

Alvin Moore stonewalled him. He just sat looking at him, the expression on his face plainly asking him to just get on with whatever it was he’d come to say.

Flushing painfully, Jack’s hand went to the collar of his shirt. He made himself lower it as unobtrusively as possible. He didn’t want to give away just how tense he was feeling. “Okay, well, I wanted to meet with you because I think you’ve gotten the wrong impression about my brother,” Jack stated bluntly.

Alvin more sat back in his chair, his arms folding across his wide chest.

“I don’t think I have,” he contradicted him coolly.

Ignoring his pessimism, Jack went on. “That’s not to say that he hasn’t had some problems what with our Dad and his Mom abandoning him regularly, but he’s a fighter, Sergeant Moore. Many other kids would have just given up on having a better life and given into the streets. But Shawn didn’t. He’s struggled and really pulled his life together. He even made it into Pennbrook.” Jack watched as Alvin Moore’s eyebrows shot up at that news. “Look, it’s no secret that Shawn’s made a couple of missteps, like any teenager, but his really on the right course now. And more than that, he loves Angela and would do anything for her. He’d never let her come to harm, sir.”

“It seems we disagree again, Mr. Hunter. This Cory person has Shawn’s devotion as far as I can tell from what happened Friday night. Angela was just an after thought,” he remarked harshly. “I won’t let my daughter be hurt either emotionally or physically due to neglect by your brother. She deserves someone better, and I think I’ve found a more appropriate candidate for her.”

Jack’s mouth fell open. A good twenty-four hours hadn’t passed yet since he’d broken up Shawn and Angela, and he had a replacement already lined up? What the hell?

Alvin Moore stood up. “Now if that’s all you came to say, I think you can see that you’re wasting your time here. And I want to thank you for letting me know about Pennbrook. I believe that’s the school Angela wants to go to, but now that I know Shawn’s going to be there, other arrangements will have to made,” he said coldly, his face austere.

Jack stared up at him, unmoving. “Other…arrangements?” he asked hesitantly, cringing inside. Had he made things worse for Shawn and Angela? Had he inadvertently accomplished the exact opposite of his mission?

Alvin Moore inclined his head. “My daughter has been accepted at several fine schools,” he informed him proudly. “One of them being Stanford University, and at this point, I really think that’s where she’s going to be next fall.”

Jack scrambled to his feet. “Pennbrook is a first rate school, Sergeant Moore. It has one of the top liberal arts and humanities programs in the country. Shawn’s mentioned Angela’s interest in writing.” Jack fought the urge to raise his hands to his hips in response to the man’s unreasonableness. “Are you saying that you’re willing to send your daughter across the country to a school that’s ranked lower than Pennbrook in the area she’s interested in just to keep her and Shawn apart?” he spluttered incredulously.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you, Hunter,” he blustered, irritated by having been put on the spot, and being unable to answer the charge without sounding like an idiot.

Unimpressed, Jack cocked an eyebrow. “Is that the best you can do?” he challenged him, exhibiting a hint of the infamous Hunter temper.

Angela’s father face tightened at the criticism. He looked down at the shorter man haughtily. “As her father, it’s my business to decide where she’ll go to school and who she dates,” he said, emphasizing who’s business his daughter’s future plans were for his unruly tongued guest.

“You can choose my college for me, Daddy,” Angela called out from the bottom of the stairs, causing Jack’s head whipped around at the sound of her voice while her father’s snapped up in surprise and chagrin, “but that doesn’t mean that I’ll fall in with your plans for me to date Ted Brazelton because you think he’s ‘suitable’. And banishing me to Stanford doesn’t mean that I’ll forget about Shawn either.” The bitterness in her voice shocked her father and Jack, too.

“Angela, go up to your room, now!” her father hollered. “And this time, stay there until I come up, young lady!”

Her face crumpled in distress, and as she pivoted, she threw over her shoulder in a final act of rebellion, “Tell Shawn I love him,” before running up the stairs, her sneakers pounding on the solid wood treads. The echo of a door slamming once again reverberated off the walls.

Alvin Moore seethed with anger, not unmixed with sadness at the regrettable state of affairs between his daughter and himself. They’d always had a loving relationship and a close bond of affection between them in spite of his frequent traveling for the Army. Now all of that changed on account of a boy who wasn’t worthy of wiping her shoes much less receiving her love.

It’s all that punk’s fault, Alvin thought fiercely, more determined than ever to eradicate all traces of Shawn Hunter from his daughter’s life. He would run her social life from now until she went away to college. He had remembered Brazelton as the last guy she’d dated before Hunter, and knew that he still called Angela because he’d taken the phone calls, talked to the boy briefly at those times and sensed that he was still very much interested in his daughter.

In fact, a couple of weeks ago, the last time he’d spent an evening fielding calls for her while she was out with Hunter, Ted, thinking to get a couple of brownie points with his ex’s old man whom he knew was a football fan, had purposely mentioned being recruited by Stanford and a couple of other schools. He’d also let slip his grade point average, meant to let Sergeant Moore know that he had academic skills that more than match his athletic abilities. Although Alvin Moore had been mildly impressed, he hadn’t thought much about Ted since Angela didn’t seem interested, but the problem of Hunter’s unsuitability made the young man seem a like a life line thrown to a floundering father.

The boy had a bright future ahead of him. Moreover, he came from a good, solid family. This was the kind of young man to who deserved his precious Angela. And with her needing an escort to her prom now that Hunter was thankfully out of the picture, he couldn’t think of a better time to renew her former relationship with the football player. If still available, Ted would certainly fit the bill.

With this in mind, Alvin Moore rudely and in a move that was completely out of character for him, abruptly started for the entrance to his home. Opening the door, he stood beside it, expressionlessly. “I think we’ve concluded our business, Hunter.”

A prolonged burst of air left Jack’s lungs. All he’d done was to make things worse, he thought sadly, slowly walking over to where his host stood, erect and with eyes staring straight ahead of him as if at attention, in anticipation of unwanted guest's departure.

As the door closed with a decisive snap behind him, Jack leaned against its painted, etched façade, wondering how he was going to break the news to Shawn that not only was Angela still forbidden to see him, but her father already had a replacement in the wings in the form of John Adams High School’s star wide receiver, the despised Ted Brazelton.

~~*~~

Shawn moaned and turned over, squinting at the legged alarm clock dancing around on his nightstand. It kept buzzing until he blindly reached over, assaulting it with his hand. The noise stopped, and lying on his back, Shawn gradually drifted off again. Five minutes later, it started up again and, dragging himself up right, he sat on the side of his bed, rubbing his eyes, his mouth open in a wide yawn before he leaned over ending the noise for the second and last time that morning. Just as the last buzz died down, Jack poked his head into the room.

“Finally!” he cried loudly, bursting into Shawn’s semi-clean room. He was dressed already since he had early classes that morning. He had on tight blue jeans and a dark short sleeved muscle shirt that showed off his biceps and muscular physique. His mousey brown hair was carefully gelled and spiked, giving him that fashionable bed head look.

As he stood in Shawn’s room, he looked around warily as if expecting something crawly to come out of the shadows to run up his pants leg. He rarely ventured into his younger brother’s inner sanctum. When Shawn had first come to live with him, the room had resembled a pig sty before he’d lived there a solid week. The very different brothers had done nothing but fight about how much of a slob he was. However, this time, it was cleaner and more orderly than he had any reason to expect. In fact, it actually looked like something a person, and not a farm animal, could live in and be reasonably comfortable. Relaxing, Jack naturally attributed this newfound neatness to Shawn’s relationship with Angela. He was aware that she’d got into the habit of coming over sometimes to spend the odd evening with Shawn, and they’d retreat to his room to watch movies, listen to music in private or just be together without Jack or Eric continually walking through the living room.

Presently, Shawn ran his hands through his hair, pushing it back from his face. Although he had school that morning, he didn’t seem to be in much of hurry to make it on time when normally he would be dashing into the bathroom to get cleaned up and running around the room throwing on clothes at a frantic pace since he never set his alarm for more than an hour before he had to be in his first class. This Monday morning, however, he seemed to be moving in slow motion. He’d spent the entire weekend moping about the apartment, sleeping a lot, showing none of the usual voracious appetite that shocked many considering his slim build, a state of affairs that worried Jack. He was taking the break up hard.

Although not unsympathetic to Shawn’s plight, Jack folded his arms impatiently. “Do something about that-that bazooka in your shorts. I don’t want to have to look at it while I’m talking to you,” he complained.

Shawn scratched his arm through the soft cotton of his white, short sleeved t-shirt and glanced down at his morning hard-on. “So don’t look at it,” he countered huskily, in a raspy morning voice.

“That’s kind of difficult to do, Pinocchio—”

A crack of hoarse laughter interrupted him. “Pinocchio had a long schnoz, Einstein, not a big schlong,” his brother snickered. “I may not be the brightest crayon in the box, but even I know that.” Yet before a full scale argument could ensue, he got up, stumbling out the door to the bathroom across from his room. Fifteen minutes later, he came back and started the routine of getting dressed.

“Okay, so how’re you going to handle this?” Jack asked, his eyes following Shawn as he went into his closet.

He stuck his head out of the closet’s opening. “Handle what?”

Jack snorted and put his hands on his hips. “Don’t play, Shawn,” he shot back. “This thing with Angela. Seeing her at school today. You’ve got to stay away from her…for now, at least.”

Shawn’s head disappeared. A minute later, he emerged fully clothed in a black t-shirt with some kind of funny logo on it, tan khakis, and black Timberland boots.

“Look, Jack, don’t tell me what to do, okay?” he said belligerently, giving him a hard stare from underneath his heavy brows that was meant to intimidate.

It fell short of its goal. “Hey, don’t take your frustration out on me, Shawn,” he admonished him sharply. “I’m not the one who’s keeping you from seeing Angela. But I’ll tell you something.” He paused, watching Shawn spray on a spurt of cologne and hoist his book pack onto his shoulder. “If you don’t back off and stay away from her now, it’s going to cost you and big. It might be the biggest mistake you’ve ever made. And Angela’s gonna pay, too, because for some crazy reason, which is making me wonder about her mental health, she loves you.”

Shawn roughly shouldered his way past him as though he hadn’t heard a word. However, just when Jack thought he was going to walk out, his warning unheeded, he stopped short, threw back his head and then pivoted on his feet. He let his backpack slide off his arm. It landed on the floor with a thump.

“What do you want from me, huh?” He raised his forearms and hands out from his sides as he came back to stand in front of Jack, his attitude aggressive and his disposition bad. “So I’m just supposed to walk away from her like some pussy because Daddy says so?” Shawn looked at him with contempt. “Fuck that! Maybe that’s what’d you’d do, but I can guarantee that ain't gonna happen.”

Jack met his gaze without flinching. “Yeah, Shawn that’s what I would do, and you know what? I’d get the girl in the end. Too bad you won’t though, you dumb, selfish meathead,” he warned him, digust lacing his voice.

Shawn's lips curved unpleasantly. "Yeah, whatever," he commented dismissively. "Unlike you, I wasn't raised to be anybody's bitch."

Jack felt the cut. “Hmmm, you love Angela alright, but just not enough to put her above your macho pride one measily time, you stupid, egotistical prick," Jack bit out nastily.

Stung, Shawn widened his stance and flexed the hands hanging down at his sides. “Don’t make me kick your ass, Jack!” he gritted out furiously, his jaw jutting out pugnaciously.

Jack pretended not to have heard him. He tilted his head thinking of how courageously Angela had defied her father for his ass wipe of a younger brother. “You know what? Maybe Angela is better off without you.” He dismissively flicked his hand in his brother’s direction. Disappointed and feeling like he’d let Angela down again, he turned on his heel. Yet before he could make two steps, a heavy weight landed on his back, propelling him face first into the wall.

Shawn gripped Jack’s arm, twisting it behind his back in between them. His forearm was wedged against Jack’s neck, pressing his cheek into the rough plaster surface.

“You take that back, you stuck up, hoity-toity, snot-faced, spoiled little shit!”

Jack struggled, trying to work his arm free, but failed. He’d been captain of his wrestling team, and this wasn’t the first time he and his stubborn half brother had tussled. However, they’d been pretty much evenly matched. Not so now. Shawn seemed to have the strength of ten men at the moment, probably the result of pent up aggression built up over the weekend, Jack surmised, as he kept trying to break his hold.  But nothing he tried worked; he couldn’t move.

Shawn applied a knee to his back.

“Let me go, Shawn!” Jack mumbled, his voice muffled since half of his face was pushed into the wall. He continued to try to get free. “I’m going to kick your pale, skinny ass for this!”

Shawn ignored him, his grip tightening. “I love Angela. I’d do anything for her,” he ground out querulously, his teeth clenched so tightly that the muscles of his jaw bulged. “And don’t you ever imply otherwise.”

“That sting a little, you selfish turd?” Jack taunted him breathlessly, imperceptibly inching his right arm that was pressed as though in a vice between his body and the wall a little to the side. “The truth hurt, pretty boy?”

Shawn scowled ferociously behind him. “I’m going to show you hurt, Jack-ass!”

Jack got his arm free and swung around, catching Shawn off guard. Jack used one of his wrestling moves, hooking his leg behind Shawn’s knees and sweeping his legs out from under him. He fell hard along with Jack coming down on top of him because of the death grip he had on him.

The ensuing fight undid the remainder of the room’s semi-neat appearance. They knocked over a lamp, the clock and the nightstand itself before falling over onto the bed that they bounced off of and onto the floor, dragging the blue, tan and red plaid comforter and light blue top sheet with them. They rolled and tussled on the polished hardwood floor, narrowly missing Shawn’s stereo, TV, VCR recorder/player and play station perched on a wide console lining the expanse of wall in the between the bedroom and closet doors. Heavy panting, the sound of footwear pounding the floor and low key grunts along with pungent curses hung on the air.

Shawn had Jack in a headlock, his forearm around his throat. Jack rocked back and forth until they rolled over so that now he was lying on Shawn with his back to him. Unable to remove his arm from his neck, he reached back with both hands, grabbing a handful each of Shawn’s hair. He grunted with pain. Jack quickly reared back with his head, butting Shawn in the face. He quickly followed up the attack, ramming one elbow into his captor’s gut.

Shawn finally let him go. He cupped his lower jaw and wrapped an arm around his ailing stomach.

Jack rolled off Shawn onto his side. He laid on the floor next his brother, his hand automatically going up to his throat, gasping for air.

“You puny prick!” he managed to croak. “I…could h-have…died of asph-asphyxiation!”

Shawn shot him a glance full of animosity which he didn’t bother to conceal. “Drama queen,” he muttered audibly, still breathing hard. “I wasn’t even using all…of my strength. T-Told you pumping all…that iron was a waste…of time.”

“Yeah, but only if I want to be…a ninety-eight pound weakling…like you!”

Shawn guffawed. “That’s why you had to fight so hard…Mr. ‘Captain of My Wrestling Team’,” Shawn uttered, mimicking Jack’s prideful tone with insulting precision, “...because I’m such a weakling.” An insufferably smug expression marked his features as he raised his shirt to look at the reddening bruise on his stomach but not before tossing out, “Freakin’ pathetic,” in an intentionally audible murmur.

“Conceited jerk!” Jack yelled, incensed.

“Muscle bound dipshit!” Shawn snarled.

“Wanker!”

“Dickhead!”

“Fuck up!”

“Ass-hole!”

Shawn glowered at him, his blue eyes flashing with hostility. Jack glared back hard with equal enmity in his brown orbs. Each tried to stare the other down. Time stretched out as the brothers’ healthy Hunter egos and obstinate wills clashed. Abruptly and without warning, their stern visages began to crack. Both erupted into sudden laughter. They laughed long and hard, eventually beating the floor with their hands, trying unsuccessfully to stem the tide of laughter. The hilarity last for a long ten minutes because every time their mirth would subside to a manageable degree, one would catch the other’s eye, initiating new hoots and chortles of merriment. Finally, Jack rolled onto his back, puffing out his cheeks. A few seconds later, Shawn sat up. After a few more involuntary chuckles, their case of the giggles gradually began to dissipate.

Shawn ran his hands though his hair, eyeing Jack speculatively.

“What’s wrong with us?” he asked breathlessly, winded from fighting and laughing for such an extended period of time. “Why do we…have to fight? Can’t we just have…a regular conversation…like normal brothers?”

Lifting his head to gaze at his brother, Jack grinned and hunched his shoulder in a quick mini shrug. “It’s how we communicate,” he replied, pausing to swallow a big gulp of air. “Probably because…we didn’t grow up together.”

Shawn digested this, breathing loudly and heavily from his exertions. Jack took advantage of his silence to get down to brass tactics.

“Look, about this thing…with Angela. You can be smart,” Jack panted, wasting no time in getting back to the point while vigorously rubbing his wrist and elbow, “or you can be stupid. It’s up to you.”

Shawn flipped his hair out of his eyes. “What do you mean?” he asked, sucking in his cheeks as he pulled more air into his lungs. The action made him wince. He raised his hand to gingerly touch one corner of his mouth; his fingers come away with a sight stain of red. He experimentally licked the edge of his mouth. It tasted salty like blood.

“Damn Jack! You busted my lip,” he cried resentfully.

Jack snorted derisively. “It was just a head butt, pretty boy,” he snapped. “And you nearly broke my neck and twisted my arm off!”

Shawn’s upper lip curled. “Cry me a river,” his little brother sneered mockingly. He was totally unrepentant. “Want some more?”

Jack reached into his back pocket, taking out a white handkerchief and waving it in surrender. He was already tired, and the morning was growing late. He had a couple of class that morning, the same as Shawn had school, and he still had yet to talk some sense into him.

Shawn eyed the handkerchief askance. “So we’re even?” he queried, getting up and going over to his bed. He plopped down on the end of it.

Exhausted, Jack nodded, agilely rolling over onto his hands and knees to get up before going to join him. “You’ve got to man up, little brother,” he advised him quietly as he sank down beside him.

His head bowed, Shawn said, his voice low and uncertain, “I-I don’t know if I can do it, Jack.” Without turning his head, his eyes slid to the side to glance at Jack. “Stay away from Angela, I mean.”

He gently grabbed the scruff of Shawn’s neck and gave him a little shake. “Bro, you’ve got to. I’ve seen my step father broker business deals that people thought couldn’t be done by exercising patience and winning the other guy’s trust.” Jack spread his hands. “It’s the only chance you’ve got. You have to prove to Angela’s father that you’re not just some irresponsible punk kid from the wrong side of the tracks.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Shawn massaged his forehead, thinking about what Jack had said. Gradually, he began to nod slowly at first, then more vigorously. He was beginning to comprehend Jack’s strategy. But what if he couldn’t pull it off? he thought panicking. What if all he ended up proving was that he was just trailer trash fronting as someone respectable? What then? His eyes popped opened as he turned his head to look at Jack.

Jack either read his mind or his face. “Then you lose Angela. Her Dad will ship her away from here in a heartbeat without compunction.” He looked down at his hands and sighed heavily. “I-uh-went to see him Saturday.”

Shawn’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I didn’t tell you because nothing came of it. I thought I could talk him into giving you another chance, but he wouldn’t budge. In fact,” he added, studying his manicured fingernails even more intensely,” he mentioned-um-Angela possibly going to Stanford University this fall.”

Shawn stared at Jack’s profile, stunned. Slowly, unspeakable wrath darkened the light blue eyes to deep azure.

“Stanford! But that’s in California.” His eyes narrowed as an elusive memory attempted to push through from the recesses of his mind. Something he’d heard recently. Before much longer, his eyes widened as it dawned on him. “Wait a minute! That’s were that bastard Brazelton—” He paused abruptly, carefully watching the wave of red rise up into his brother’s face, confirming Shawn’s worst fears. He swore descriptively and vilely. Jack grimaced, but showed no other emotion for his brother’s passionate inventiveness.

Shawn’s diatribe finally wound down. “Are you trying to tell me that he’s already planning to hook up Angela with that…” More uncomplimentary adjectives criticizing the size of his rival’s brain and sexual organ spewed from Shawn’s mouth. He sprang up, grabbing his head. He proceeded to howl like an animal in pain. However, in the next moment, he straightened, intoning ominously, “If that uncoordinated fuck dares to even talk to Angela…if I so much as think I see him anywhere near her, Daddy or no—”

“Shawn, you’ve got to think and focus." Jack got up and grabbed Shawn’s arms. He shook him hard. "I know that isn’t going to be easy for you,” he commented without intentional malice, “but you’re going to have to prioritize here. This is not the time to go off half cocked on some jealous vendetta.”

The thunder clouds that had gathered on Shawn’s face, began to abate a little, much to Jack’s relief. His little brother had a hot temper and an impulsive nature that led him into situations that while easily entered into often proved more difficult from which to extricate himself.

Shawn regarded Jack solemnly. “Why’re you being so helpful?” He tilted his head dark head. “Not so long ago, you were saying that Angela and I were getting too serious. Why the one-eighty, Jack? I’d have thought you’d be siding with Sergeant Moore,” Shawn said frankly.

Jack bristled at what he interpreted to be an insult. “Side with a man who things my little brother isn’t good enough for his daughter? That’s hardly the same thing as wishing you and Angela would slow down a little,” he argued, irked and a bit hurt by Shawn’s assumption. “The man doesn’t know you, Shawn. He's got you pegged all wrong, and I want you to show him that he is wrong about you."

Shawn sighed and folded his lips between his teeth, still not quite certain that he was up to the task. Angela was his everything. This was going to be hard. But he’d try anything if it meant being with her. She was worth the effort of trying to convince her overbearing, opinionated father of his worthiness. He smiled slightly. It also felt good to know that Jack cared and was on his side.

The two brothers exchanged shy, muted looks of affection. Shawn awkwardly cuffed Jack on the shoulder.

“You really tried to talk to Angela’s father about letting us see each other, huh?” he asked, his tone awed rather than skeptical.

“Yeah.” Jack nodded, looking away. “I really did that.”

Shawn drew in a sharp breath and let it out slowly. “Well then, forget what I said about you taking Sergeant Moore’s side,” he said gruffly. “That was—way out of line.” That was as much of an apology as his stubborn nature would allow him to offer up.

He held out his fist

Jack dapped it with his own, contrasting pale and tan hands coming in contact briefly.

“So we’re cool now?”

A slow smile curved Jack’s thin lips. “Sure. We’re cool.”

“Good.” The tension in Shawn’s body eased. “ ‘Cause I really need a ride to school, or Feeny’s gonna kill me for being late.”

Chuckling, Jack wagged his head and grabbed Shawn affectionately by the scruff of his neck. “Okay, come on.”

Shawn scooped up the backpack he’d dropped by the door. Jack was right behind him.

Shawn glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, and Jack?”

“Huh?”

“Wanker?” he asked, his tone scornful. “You called me a wanker? Who says that?”

“Can I help it if I’m well traveled?” Jack responded with his nose in the air. “You uncouth clod. That better?”

Unfazed, Shawn answered with a colorful comeback.

Eric, who’d quietly come out of his room unbeknownst to the amicably squabbling siblings as they proceeded across the living room, was leaning over the side of the railing watching and listening with a puzzled look on his sleepy face. He ventured to offer his contribution to the “discussion”.

“Idiots,” he called out loudly, startling both into a bewildered silence. Then with a sharp nod of his head in their direction and satisfied that he’d done his part, he sauntered into the kitchen to prepare his breakfast sandwich of cereal and peanut butter.  

Jack looked at Shawn, his expression pained.  "Sometimes, I'm really scared for him," he muttered, shaking his head. 

Shawn chuckled, and the brothers left with their roommate blissfully unaware and whistling off key.