Page 9 of Broken Brothers

“Not really,” I said.

“Oh, you needn’t worry about her,” Mrs. Hunt said. “You will meet plenty of women as you move forward. You will have plenty of chances to find love. I would not worry in the slightest.”

And while Mrs. Hunt made a great point, she did not understand the consequences of what had just transpired. I had confessed to Sarah I was adopted in the hopes that it would make me seem more real. Instead, it had caused me to lose her.

And Sarah would not stay quiet about this. She didn’t stay quiet about much. I was looking at a future of mocking and derision from the boys in school, cold shoulders at worst and polite rejection at best from the girls, and judgmental gazes from my teachers whenever I failed to answer a question properly. I had not just lost Sarah; I had lost a chance to continue having fun in school.

Suddenly, the notion that I had to get the hell out of town seemed more pressing than ever. Wherever I went to school, it would not be in the state of Connecticut—with apologies to Yale, Mr. Hunt’s alma mater and the school Morgan had seemed destined to go to since the beginning days. I would go somewhere far away, where my identity did not tie into the Hunts, where my last name meant nothing more than who I had spent the first 18 years—or majority thereof—with.

I would, in short, make a name for myself.

Except… I knew in my heart the name would follow me wherever I went. Forever the black sheep of the Hunt family, it would affect me for as long as I ran in these circles.

It felt like I had no happy middle ground. I was either cursed to poverty, to go back to the foster home, forced to work menial jobs and live in a crappy apartment, a nightmarish existence following the bliss and benefits of my current situation… or I was chained to the shackles of the Hunts, given everything I could ever want except for contentment, satisfaction, and peace. I would be in this world, but I would not be of this world.

“I wish I could,” I finally said after several seconds had passed. “But I liked her a lot.”

That was true. I could have just as easily, though, been speaking about the world I had crafted at school, where people thought of me as Morgan’s barely younger brother. I liked it a lot.

Now…

“In time, things will get better,” she said.

Then, as if on cue, Mrs. Hunt froze. Her arm practically paused where it was, as if she could not move a single finger from where she cleaned me off. I looked up at her finally and saw her gazing to the backyard, as if she suddenly wanted to sprint into the woods. Why? I could never know. Maybe she had thought of something related to a real family member that troubled her.

Or, maybe, she realized that even if she meant what she said, it was still a lie. I would still be an outsider, no matter what. Things would not get better. Things would get worse. Or, in the absolute best scenario, I would have to adjust my definition of better and worse, so that I started from such a low place that even taking a couple of steps down from my current spot still felt better than where I could let her go.

“Mrs. Hunt?” I said.

I don’t know why I said her name, as if asking if she were OK, when I knew she wouldn’t say much, if anything at all. Perhaps it was a fear of letting down the only adult Hunt who cared for me, I don’t know.

All I know is that at that moment, in the distance, I could hear Mr. Hunt’s voice fill the air.

“… this is how we do things, Morgan. You have no mercy on the opposition. When you take over Hunt Industries, I expect you to rule with an iron fist. Smile to their face, keep the firstbehind your back, and crush it into their skulls when they turn around.”

“I know, Dad.”

Morgan’s voice did not sound particularly comfortable, though I had heard Mr. Hunt speak in such drastically harsh terms many times before. He liked to see himself as a lone soldier in a field of enemy combatants, tasked with destroying the enemy—other businesses—as viciously and with as much finality as he could. It seemed… even at twelve years old, it seemed evil and wrong, but who the hell was I to say? It got Mr. Hunt his house and everything else. It got me a place to stay.

“Go see Dad.”

I was shocked to hear Mrs. Hunt’s words. I gazed up at her again, but she had not turned her attention to me at all. She simply stood, turned, and went in the other direction, as if what she had suggested had been her final words for the days. I swear I heard her sniffle, but it might as well have been allergies. It always seemed like Mrs. Hunt was on the verge of tears, but it also always seemed like she never lost her composure.

The skills of a billionaire’s wife, I suppose.

Left alone, I decided not annoying either parent made the most sense and headed for Mr. Hunt. Sitting in what literally looked like a golden throne, Mr. Hunt spoke to Morgan, who sat on a plush red couch. Morgan saw me, nodded his head to me, and I took a seat next to him.

“Do you understand, Morgan? I really want to make sure you understand,” Mr. Hunt continued, barely acknowledging my presence. “Our family’s name is pristine and among the most well-known in the country. To have this name is a privilege and an honor. You must carry it with you with pride wherever you go and make sure not to sully it.”

Now I began to think he was acknowledging my presence, albeit in the usual indirect, scathing Mr. Hunt way. In manyways, he kind of looked like the classic fat cat villain—he was quite plump, bald, always clean shaven, with a stern look in his eyes that suggested he was looking for an excuse to fire you for anything, regardless of what you had actually done.

Fuck, half the time, I expected him to fire me.

“I understand, Dad.”

“Good,” Mr. Hunt said. “Be careful who you associate with and your actions. Had someone seen you out back, it might have led to questions as to why my boy was engaging in such wild activities. You may leave.”

I knew well enough by now that Mr. Hunt was not referring just to Morgan but to me, so on Morgan’s cue, I stood up from the couch and followed him upstairs to his private bedroom, easily bigger than most of the foster homes I stayed at.