Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 8

heart.
    CHAPTER 7
    Tater poked his head around the corner of the door just as Peter woke up from the painkiller he'd been given down in the emergency room. He cleared his throat. "Hey, Tater, come on in. Did Rufus—"
    "We just can't keep you Jenkins men outta trouble this year, can we?" Rufus peered over the top of Tater's head, one dark brown eyebrow quirked up toward his hairline. Tater elbowed him with enough force he made an 'oof' noise, and Peter laughed hard enough his whole body shook. He winced when the shaking got to his leg, and Rufus winced when the words that had just spilled out of his mouth made it to his own ears, and even Tater winced at how hard he'd hit Rufus. They were all in all a fairly sorry bunch.
    "I'm sorry—"
    "I didn't mean—"
    "Dear God that hurt."
    The three exchanged glances with one another, mouths open to say more, brains all stuck on auto-pilot replay and re-evaluate loops of what the other two had just said. Rufus was the first to recover. "Hey, we got here just as soon as that fella with the sexy hair— ah, your roommate came by to tell us what happened."
    Peter blinked at his oldest cousin for a moment. He shook his head, and then spoke. "Rufus, if'n you can get the nurse to come and give me something to help with this pain I'll take that the way you meant it and not the fucked up way it actually came out." Rufus squeezed his eyes shut, mouth turning down at both corners. Tater's gaze shot between the two of them. A tiny muscle below his eye jumped rhythmically, and he swallowed after each motion. Once Peter noticed the connection between the two things, he couldn't look away. He found the sight mesmerizing.
    Twitch.
    Swallow.
    Twitch.
    Swallow.
    Twi—
    "Peter!" Tater's voice cracked again, and Peter finally tore his gaze from the interplay between the jumping muscle and the bobbing of Tater's Adam's apple. Tater stood, hands on hips, mouth pinched up in a disapproving pout. He was even tapping his foot for good measure.
    "That was really mean. You know he didn't mean it that-a-way, and I think he took Uncle Ezekiel's passing harder than you did. Did you know Rufus was the one keeping your ma and pa's place kept up whilst they was gone?"
    Peter sucked in a shocked breath. "I thought Uncle—"
    Tater slashed a hand through the air sharply. "But you never asked, did you. Nope. We was all so proud of your pa for getting that fancy job and then your ma working in an actual factory… not to mention you being the star football player and getting to go to college. We didn't want none of you to give that up. But would it have hurt to look back once in a while? Jest to give us a wave and a how-de-do? His pa hurt his back the fall you left, and Rufus done been keeping everything kept up in case y'all ever needed the cabin again. So's it's you owe him an apology not the other ways around."
    Rufus hurried back into the room right then, and silence fell. Peter fidgeted, rubbing his fingers over and over the edge of his bed sheets. A hot, weighty ball of emotion sat in the center of his chest, the acidic burn of it picking away at his flesh. Tater's cheeks glowed with a hectic red color that threw his golden freckles into stark relief across the bridge of his nose. Rufus stopped, hard and fast, like he'd run into a sudden wall of solid glass. His mouth opened and closed, opened and closed. His head snapped to the right, where Tater stood. His eyes narrowed in slits of blue fire, and before Peter could cry out or even really wrap his mind around the sequence of events, Tater sprawled on the floor of the room. Rufus shook his hand, spat on the floor, spun and stomped back toward the door.
    At the very edge of the entry into the hall, he paused. "You weren't supposed to tell him. I didn't do it so's he'd feel obliged. I did it 'cause that's what family does, and you couldn't afford to take the time from studying with Miss Carey."
    The red in Tater's cheeks spread and darkened, covering him from the base of his throat to the tips of his ears in a sort of purple-red. "Shut up."
    "Stop it. You both just need to stop!" Peter grabbed the little pitcher of ice water from the over bed table, slinging the contents half over himself and fully over Tater and Rufus. The movement pulled against his sore leg, and before he could hardly register their shocked faces he was curled up in a ball on the bed making those awful dying animal noises again. Something wet splattered down on Peter's face.
    "He sounds