Page 7 of Broken Brothers

It was that I knew that Morgan couldn’t relate. He was a billionaire by inheritance alone. Me? I was lucky to be a thousandaire by association.

Because of Morgan’s inability to relate to the topic, he was going to feel awkward. It didn’t help, either, that Morgan felt responsible for some of his own father’s mechanisms and schemes, which left him feeling guilty, mostly when it came to those concerning either his mother or me.

I knew, just as everyone knew, that I had a brash attitude and an even brasher mouth—that is, when I wasn’t feeling like shit as I did now—but that didn’t mean that I didn’t feel emotions like any other kid his age. It was just that I had learned to bury them beneath an act of casual indifference and sarcasm. At least Morgan knew this well and knew how to recognize after our years of friendship and brotherhood.

Unfortunately, that did not change the facts. Morgan might have been more sensitive and self-aware than most of his peers in his social circle, mostly due to his mother’s influence, but he was still a rich boy and always would be. It made it that much harder for him to actually identify and keep from self-absorption, no matter how much he was my brother.

Morgan’s laugh was easy enough, even if I could sense some discomfort for him.

“We’re twelve,” he said finally, laughing around the words as if they were actually funny at all. “We’ll have time to figure it out you asshole, we have all the time in the world.”

My jaw tightened at the words. I tried to ignore that rush of irritation that they brought, a persistent reminder of just how easy it was for the son of a billionaire to say something like “all the time in the world.” If only he knew how rare and how good he had it.

Again, I was reminded of our differences, of the different rate at which they had had to grow up. Morgan didn’t get it, he wouldn’t be able to understand, and he would never have to face that hurt. Even when Morgan moved, striking forward and punching me jokingly and jovially in the arm, I was still preoccupied. But, wanting to dodge my thoughts and because I felt I had to, I gave chase regardless.

It would be too easy for me to go nowhere, something I was all too aware of, even if no one else was. Morgan seemed to forget about the fact that his father was the man that he was, like I didn’t understand that just because Mr. Hunt had adopted me didn’t mean that he couldn’t discard me even faster. Perhaps Mrs. Hunt would have some sympathy and bring me back on as a damn butler, but I sure didn’t have the guaranteed future Morgan did.

I was overly aware of this fact, aware that if I didn’t find some other service to provide to the man of the house, that it was very likely that he would cast me aside the minute it was that it became evident that I wouldn’t fill the role that he had intended for me to. For now—emphasis on now—I had access to the same schooling as Morgan, to the same society I was such an outcast from, to the connections and the means that allowed him to have them… but that was a limited time frame.

And I only knew that it was limited, not to what degree.

I wasn’t going to inherit anything like Morgan was, I wasn’t going to be written into the Hunt family, I hadn’t even been given their name when I was adopted. Mr. Hunt’s snort at the question posed by the social worker referring to such still echoed in his head. Only the insistence of Mrs. Hunt had allowed me to become Chance Hunt, but a legal certificate did not change what Mr. Hunt thought.

For at least a few seconds, though, I just became another twelve year old boy, chasing after his brother for some rough and tumble—maybe some physicality would get rid of the thoughts in my head.

I caught Morgan by the waist and tackled him down onto the compact earth, the both of us rolling and fighting for control until I could work his knees around either side of Morgan’s ribs. I pushed him back even further into the dirt and cocked my arm back. By all appearances, I was about to beat the shit out of my brother.

It would be too easy to take my frustration out on Morgan; it wouldn’t even be the first time for either of us to go that route. Too easy to release my coiled arm and connect with Morgan’s still laughing face again and again until we were actually fighting, until Mrs. Melanie Hunt were screaming again about the bloodstains and the broken bones they inevitably inflicted upon one another. Too easy to bring him down to the level that kids who didn’t have wealthy mommies and daddies lived at.

However, Morgan was my best friend and my brother. And even if he didn’t have a damn clue about how the world worked, he was my naive best friend and brother.

The tension in my arm released and the flat of my hand lowered to the ground instead, grabbing an accumulation of dirt and grass… and throwing it in Morgan’s face.

If I was being honest, for all my dark thoughts, it wasn’t just Mrs. Hunt that would keep me from the streets. Morgan wouldput a word in as well. I appreciated that, even if I couldn’t admit it.

Unfortunately, if push came to shove, that wasn’t going to keep me from ending back on the streets. The only thing that was going to keep me from ending back up on the streets was myself and my humility before Mr. Hunt. I fully intended to use whatever leg up I could get from being adopted by Mr. Hunt as I could; I just had to find out how it would be most profitable for me, and absorb all of those lessons I was getting unintentionally through just being present and Morgan’s best friend and brother.

“You dick!” Morgan muffled from underneath.

Morgan, showing surprising strength, buckled me off. My knees came up under in an attempt to get back to my feet before Morgan got his hands on me, but that was ruined the minute that Morgan’s hands closed around my ankles, jerking me back and digging his elbows mercilessly into my back.

“You’re not getting away that fucking easy, you prick,” Morgan said through his laughter, the sound of Chance’s jacket tearing inspiring even more laughter still.

It seemed the two of them weren’t going to get away without a lecture from Mrs. Hunt after all, but I figured we could handle that. Dirt accumulated on our nice clothes, said clothing ripped, and a few scratches formed, even drawing blood.

I had to say, fuck girls, and fuck money… but damnit, I loved Morgan, even if he came with a whole lot of surrounding baggage.

3

On the other hand, as we made our way back to the house, past the pool and the horses and everything else the Hunts owned, I had to say that there were some times in which I just could not stand Mr. Hunt.

Mrs. Hunt was tolerable, although she seemed to sometimes have aggressive mood swings, not so much from happy to sad, but happy to utterly withdrawn. She would go from cleaning my clothes off, fearing for my life from the tiniest scratch, and making sure I had the cleanest shoes in all of Connecticut, to just getting a look in her eye, standing up, looking at Mr. Hunt, and walking away. At first, it confused me and made me wonder if she felt she was not allowed to treat me as she did Morgan.

But then, she would do it to Morgan too, and the feelings of jealousy and paranoia would quickly vanish. My gratitude toward Mrs. Hunt grew all the time, although I could never quite call it love, not with all of the conditions surrounding it.

But Mr. Hunt…

Edwin Hunt seemed to carry the way he conducted business to the house. He doted on Morgan, probably because Morgan would take over Hunt Industries someday, while I got theoccasional “Hello, Chance,” if he seemed festive. If he wasn’t—which, let’s be honest, was most of the time—then he would just walk right by me and ignore me.