That Night
With the exception of Carson’s slightly bent nose from when I accidentally broke it when I was a moody fourteen-year-old, their features were near identical.
“Oh shit, dude,” Wyatt said as he slapped Carson in the abdomen. “Remember that show we watched last night, the one with football’s worst injuries?”
“Yeah?”
“That’s number twenty-three—Rick Bennett. The guy who got tackled and you could see his leg snap.”
“Oh, shit!” Carson jumped back and looked Richard up and then down. “What the hell are you doing with her?”
In one second I went from beaming with pride to ready to shove my older brother into a shallow grave. “I may be small, but I can still slap the shit out of you. Speaking of, wher
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