Page 81 of Almost Beautiful (Beautiful 3)

Dad and Trenton both stared at me.

“What the hell, Trav?” Trenton said. “You got married and turned into Dad.”

Dad’s belly bounced as he laughed, and I looked down, cracking a smile.

“Fuck you,” Trenton said, still staring up at the ceiling.

“Well? How’s the new job going?” Dad asked.

I sat back, trying to get comfortable on Dad’s worn couch. It was lumpy and had lost half its stuffing, but Mom had picked out that couch before I was born. Dad had to let her go, so he chose to hold on to things he had a choice in keeping.

“It’s okay. My boss is a dick, but I’ve learned to dodge him for the most part.” I glanced at Trenton. Sweat was beginning to form along his hairline. “Trent. Have you taken your pain pill today?”

He shrugged with his good shoulder. “Took one this morning.”

“Then what’s your deal?”

“I don’t know, man. I just don’t feel good. Quit bustin’ my balls.”

“How did you get here?” I asked. Camille’s car was totaled, so she’d been driving Trenton’s dilapidated Dodge Intrepid since she’d been cleared to drive.

“Dad picked me up in the truck.”

I glanced at Dad, who was watching Trenton with a concerned expression.

“He didn’t sound good on the phone,” Dad said.

“All right.” I stood up and held out my hand. “Gimme me your keys, Dad. We’re taking Trenton to Urgent Care.”

“What? Fuck no,” Trenton said.

“Get up,” I demanded.

“Trav,” Trenton said. He looked up at me, exhausted. “I can’t afford it.”

I watched him for a second, and then sighed. “I’ll cover it. You’re going.”

“No. I can’t ask you to do that,” Trenton said, looking worse by the second.

“Get up, Trenton, or I’ll toss your ass over my shoulder.”

Trenton glared at the carpet, cussing me under his breath, and then stood. He wobbled, and I slung his good arm around my neck, carrying his weight as we walked to Dad’s pickup.

I helped my big brother in, and then Dad. He tossed me the keys, and I walked around to the other side, making sure my bike was far enough out of the way.

I pulled my cell from my pocket and started to text my wife, but knew any way I explained would be alarming, so I decided to wait until we had some news to report. I slid in behind the wheel and stabbed the key in the ignition. Dad’s truck whined, and then silenced.

“Don’t pump the gas,” Trenton said. “You’ll flood the engine.”

I turned it again, listening to it crank without catching. I looked at Trenton. He was the one always working on Dad’s truck, but he’d been hurt and not feeling well, so there was no telling what was wrong. Dad’s old Chevy was a constant patch job.

Dad pointed to the ignition, rolling his finger in a circle. “Okay, turn it one more time, let it sit, then turn it again, pressing the gas pedal all the way to the floor.”

I did as he said, and when I pressed the gas to the floor, it cranked four times then caught. I pulled down the gear shift and backed out of the yard.

Trenton grunted when we bounced over the curb, and then again when I pulled away. The farther we drove, the worse he looked.

“Trav,” he said, closing his eyes. “I’m not feeling so hot. Pull over.”