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to forget: the pain of a boy who didn"t understand why his father hated him, the

anger of a young man who knew his father despised every inch of him. The despair

of a mother who couldn"t get her family to stop fighting. A young man terrified of

following in his father"s footsteps.

Rome took a second chest-expanding breath and thought of his brother. He had

to get Turin out of Brushwood. The last time he was at the Haskin mansion, he was

driving a broken-down pickup truck that wasn"t even good enough to be scrap

metal. Now he was driving a foreign luxury car.

He had to remind himself he wasn"t that boy anymore. He"d traveled the world

and discovered success.

The Haskin mansion was aptly named. It was a three-floor antebellum-style

white home with old-century grace in its architectural lines. Unfortunately the

house had not been cared for more than thirty years. Over the decades it slowly lost

its glamour and prestige. According to the books on Brushwood"s history, at one

point the building had been a blinding white color that seemed to outshine the sun.

Although the description might have been an exaggeration, staring at the building

now, one could barely see how it had been. The paint was peeling in great sections,

and many parts of the building seemed to be rotting. The Haskins had fallen on

hard times. Many hard times.

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He reached out and touched one of the infamous pillars. Ten years and nothing

had changed. When his fingers brushed against it, the peeling white paint fell to the

sooty floor, mixing with the decay that already lined the floor.

In his youth, the Haskin mansion had been both his savior and prison. It was

someplace he could go to rant about his bastard father. It also was another home

that kept him restricted, telling him he wouldn"t amount to anything, would never

see beyond their village lines. That Rome could be no better than his father.

He proved all of them wrong.

Rome was hoping to give his brother the strength to do the same.

He knocked sharply on the front door.

The heavy tread of footsteps sounded several moments later. He followed the

echoed of the steps until they reached the door. When it opened Rome found himself

being looked over by a girl who appeared to be no more than thirteen. She was a

tiny little thing, only coming up to his abdomen. He was only able to guess her age

because of her more developed features. Her dirty blonde hair was sectioned off into

two thick braids that cascaded down her shoulders and over her chest. She wore a

flannel dress that appeared to have been made from a grown man"s shirt.

She looked him up and down before she spit out, “Who the hell are you?”

Rome gave her his best impression of a smile. “You Haskins always were polite

to strangers. I"m Rome Vicenza. Is my brother, Turin, here?”

She looked over one narrow shoulder. “Yeah, he"s in the chair.”

Ice streaked down Rome"s spine at her answer. He strode into the house, fairly

pushing past the girl. He remembered the chair all too well. He rounded corners,

marched down a hallway, and took a right at the bend to end up at the infamous

parlor. “Get the hell away from him,” Rome thundered as he entered the room.

The middle-aged man snapped back in surprise and whipped around to stare

at Rome in shock. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I"m the brother.” He eyed the tattoo needle in the older man"s hand. “I suggest

you take a step back.”

Turin turned slowly and looked over his shoulder. His eyes widened.

Mick Haskin eyed him for a moment. “Rome?” he asked, surprised.

“Yeah, it"s me, Mick.”

Mick clasped Rome"s shoulder. The blow from his large, beefy hand nearly

knocked the air from Rome"s lungs. It would have taken down a man who wasn"t

prepared for the heavy hand.

But Rome had spent his youth in Mick"s parlor.

How to stand under pressure was just one of the things Mick"s juvenile patrons

learned.

“Heard you were back in town. I blew it off as just a rumor. I guess I was

wrong to do that, huh?”

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“Well, as you can see I am in fact in town.” He turned to the young man getting

out of the parlor"s seat. “What do you think you"re doing?”

Mutinous blue eyes stared up at him from a face that reminded him so much of

his own. “I was getting some ink done.”

Rome glanced pointedly at the tattoo needle in Mick"s hand. “I can see that.”

His brother shrugged. “How long have you been in Brushwood?”

Rome looked over the younger Vicenza male. Turin was taller and thinner

than Rome had been at sixteen. He turned to Mick. “Mind giving us a moment?”

Mick nodded and jerked his head in the direction of the right back corner.

Rome"s gaze automatically followed his movements. “There are some drinks in

there. Help yourself.”

“Thanks, Mick.”

Rome waited until Mick left the room before turning back to his brother. “I just

got in four days ago.”

“Wow! Four whole days.” Turin gasped with feigned excitement as he strode

toward the small refrigerator that stood against the corner wall. He pulled it open

with a little too much enthusiasm. “Want something?” he threw over his shoulder

before squatting and staring at what the tiny fridge held.

The coldness between them was his fault. Rome felt the truth down to the

soles of his feet. He hadn"t lived in the same house with Turin since his brother was

six, and since moving out Rome had allowed his father to keep him away from his

family. To make matters worse, he"d been in town for almost a week and was just

now coming to see his brother. He was an asshole.

Rome knew when he left that he wouldn"t be allowed back under any

circumstances. He also knew he couldn"t stay. Eventually he and his father would

have one too many fights.

“I"m not thirsty.”

Turin shrugged, a simple, soft movement meant to convey Turin"s nonchalance

to Rome"s presence. The act cut Rome deeply, but he kept all emotion off his face.

Needing something to distance himself from the pain, Rome glanced around the

room for the first time seeing that nothing really changed. The parlor was the same

tattoo and piercing parlor it had been when he left town. He lifted his gaze. Even

the faded posters on the wall hadn"t changed.

His gaze snagged on the tattoo needle Mick had been holding. He opened his

mouth to ask his brother what he had been about to get done but thought better of

it. The young man who sat in front of him wasn"t about to answer the question. He

moved to the left and pulled open the built-in tray. There was a large picture taped

to the top. Rome stared down at it, feeling his pulse race.

The skin across his right shoulder blade felt tight and itchy. Unconsciously, he

rolled the shoulder in question. When he got his own ink done, Mick told Rome, in

his cigar-roughened voice, that as far as he was concerned, real tattoo artists didn"t

draw the image onto the skin beforehand. They worked freehand.

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Rome tapped the picture. “Were you actually going to get this on your back?”

Drink in his hand, Turin stopped suddenly. His whole body stiffened as he

glanced at where Rome pointed. Slowly, Turin lifted his gaze and stared at Rome,

blue eyes cold with icy anger. “What are you doing here?” Turin mumbled before

taking a sip from his can of soda.

Rome glanced back at the picture. He knew he should let it go. It wasn"t even

his place to ask. He was Turin"s brother, but mainly in blood. The other man owed

him no obligations. It was a sad thing to accept. Still, he could not watch his kin

make a mistake without letting him know he stood in the danger zone. “Don"t get

the tattoo.”

Turin lowered his drink and looked him over, Rome felt, for the first time.

“Why not?”

“Because when you leave Brushwood, when you live among people who are not

the Haskins, the Taylors, or the Whites, you"ll realize the world is not the place they

told you it would be, that you are not the man they tried to make you, but you"ll be

scarred for life.”

Turin blinked. It was the only indication the young man was paying attention.

He was so still he reminded Rome of a statue, but silence gave Rome hope his

brother was listening. “I almost got a similar tattoo. I didn"t. I got something else. I

haven"t regretted my decision, but I promise you if you get that, you"ll regret it for

the rest of your life.”

Turin shrugged. Again. “Like I said before, what are you doing here?”

Rome ran his fingers through his hair. Since Mary Beth mentioned Turin hung

out at the Haskin mansion, he"d pictured the conversation a thousand times. He

never could get the words right, couldn"t get his emotions straightened out enough

to make a clear statement, even in his mind. He doubted reality would be much

better.

“I came to talk to you.” It was weak, but it was best he could do.

Turin cocked one dark eyebrow in disbelief. “About what?”

“About a lot of things.”

“Like?”

Rome sighed. Less than a minute into the conversation, and he was blundering

it badly. “I wanted to talk to you about leaving with Mary Beth.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Why would you want to stay…with him?”

Turin gave him a cold smile. “At least I know what to expect. Half the time

he"s too drunk to stand. The other half…” He shrugged one bony shoulder. “I can

handle it.”

Rome strode across the room and grabbed his brother"s shoulders. “You

shouldn"t have to. You don"t have to.”

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Turin shrugged out of his grasp. “Don"t pretend to give a shit about me. So

Mom left. Whoop-de-do. That was her decision.”

Rome stared into Turin"s angry eyes. “I do care,” he said softly. “More than

you"ll ever know.”

Turin smirked at him. “That"s why you"re showing up now? Ten years later.

The same week of your high-school reunion? Yeah, you care!” He took another sip of

the drink he held. It was then that Rome realized it was not a soda. Turin was

drinking beer.

He swiped it out of his brother"s hand. Turin looked up, surprised by Rome"s

swift actions, but it only took a few moments before the shock gave way to anger.

“You think you can come around here for a few days and play the big brother?” he

yelled before striding back to the compact fridge. He reached for another beer.

“Don"t you dare!”

Turin looked over his shoulder. Ice-cold blue eyes stared at Rome. “What are

you going to do? Beat the shit out of me?” He reached for the alcohol.

Rome knew Turin was testing him, but he wasn"t sure how he could possibly

pass. “I would never put my hands on you.”

The young boy flinched as though he had been struck. Almost reflexively his

fingers tightened around the aluminum can. He lifted it from the shelf and

slammed the refrigerator door. “I really wish you would stop pretending to give a

shit about me.”

Rome glanced at the beer. His brother was all of sixteen. Way too young to be

drinking. But Turin hadn"t opened the can. “I do care about you. That"s why I"m

here.”

Turin snorted. “You"re here because Mom sent you.”

Rome grimaced. He knew he should have come to see his brother earlier. But

he had been too nervous to make the move. Now it would seem as though he was

simply doing their mother"s bidding. “I"ll admit that Mary Beth sent me, but I

wouldn"t have come if I didn"t care. I wouldn"t be here trying to get you to put down

the beer can if you didn"t matter to me.”

Turin turned away and placed the can on the shelves beside him. “I"m not

going. I won"t leave him.”

For a moment Rome was too surprised by his brother"s statement to respond.

“Why would you want to stay with him?”

“Somebody needs to take care of him.”

With Mary Beth gone someone would have to feed their father. Rome

remembered all too well how infamous his father was among the townspeople. They

watched the ups and all too many downs of his life like hawks. According to the

townsfolk, the man had become so bad that the only thing he did was drink. He

would need that person, and Turin wanted to be needed by his father.

Rome understood the feeling.

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He"d felt the emotion once. A lifetime ago.

“Mary Beth needs you.”

Turin"s bony shoulders shook as he laughed before turning around slowly to

face Rome. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. Rome felt his chest burn at the

sight. Proof his brother was hurting. And he could do nothing about it.

“Mom doesn"t need me. She has you.”

Rome decided to take a chance. He stepped forward. “And what about me?”