I told Sylvia that I was going to break things off with Éclair, but that did not necessarily mean that I was going to seek her out to do it. I haven’t spoken to Éclair in over a week after our uncomfortable incident in the bedroom, and I’m glad. I don’t exactly know how to tell someone I care about that I don’t want to ever see them again –especially not after slipping up and uttering, “I love you,” in bed. Especially someone I’ve considered to be a friend for so long.

Today I decided to visit Eddie’s grave, and it’s not easy. The grass hasn’t grown over the grave yet, so it’s this mucky pile of moist dirt in front of his tombstone, although there are flowers everywhere so it kind of hides the mess. He’s buried beside our parents… beside my parents, I suppose. I took care to have Eddie buried beside our mom instead of beside Dad. He wouldn’t have wanted to be beside Dad, I’m sure –not after getting screwed out of the inheritance and finding out about not really being his kid through a coldly written letter. A small part of me wants to piss on my old man’s grave for that one. I sigh, reminding myself that even Eddie had once said, “at least he took care of me.”

Dad did. He took care of Eddie. He was always more favorable towards me, sure, but he did a lot for Eddie. He did all the dad stuff even if he was just going through the motions with him. Taught him to ride a bike, bought him his first car, sat through all the stupid ball games (even though Eddie sucked at sports), and paid his way through college. Yes, on paper, he did what he was supposed to. He took care of Eddie, but looking back I can’t believe I did not notice the difference. Eddie, the good older son, would always come to Shattered INC. to learn about the family business while I was off goofing around, but Eddie was still never good enough. I had always assumed the ridiculously high expectations our father –my father –had for Eddie was because he had wanted Eddie to take over the company. No, he was just harsher on him because he was this constant reminder that Mom had had an affair early on in their marriage. Dad wanted to keep things under wraps to keep from tarnishing his reputation, so he played nice. He was always nicer to Eddie in public than behind closed doors –that much I remember. He wouldn’t hit him or anything like that, but he was distance. I can recall a number of times being invited on father-son outings and wondering why Eddie had not been invited. Going fishing? Great! Why isn’t Eddie coming? Oh, he’s spending time with Mom –gotcha! Going to the ballgame? Awesome! What about Eddie? Oh, he’s grounded again –weird that I never get grounded for doing ten times worse shit, but whatever –go Angels! How did I not notice?

I feel kind of lonesome now. Both of my parents died fairly young. Mom didn’t even make it into her sixties. They lived a high-stressed lifestyle, so that will do it. I wonder if I’ll be in an early grave too. I shake the thought away. I’ve always been pretty good at relieving stress. Come to think of it, I probably won’t have a heart attack or cancer or a stroke –if I don’t settle down, I’ll probably be taken out by AIDS or some shit like that.

I reach out and put my hand on Eddie’s tombstone. I wish I could talk to him. I’m thankful I did have a chance to apologize and to sort of make amends for my asinine behavior, but that just wasn’t enough for me. After he was hurt and he started waking up and talking to me, I thought maybe –just maybe –we could work on rebuilding our obviously broken relationship. Whoever killed him is going to pay for this. A shiver slightly at the thought that the culprit might not ever be found. The police have precisely zero leads. I think of this random Suzette character –who is she? Why all the secrecy? Could she be the one behind all of this? Is she working with Éclair? Is Éclair even involved at all?

Éclair. Geeze, I don’t want to think about her right now. This weird, sinking feeling of lonesomeness will only be made worse by thoughts of her. I don’t know how I’m going to tell her that I no longer want anything to do with her.

I should really get going, but I can’t bring myself to remove my hand from the top of my brother’s tombstone. My big brother. My brother who, despite our differences, always had my back. My brother who came to work at my company –who pretty much ran the entire place –despite the big middle finger he received from my father beyond the grave. My brother who grew up with me, joked around with me as kids, and my brother who deserved so much better than the shit the world threw at him.

“Hey-” a voice behind me jolts me from my trance, and I lower my hand from the tombstone and turn around.

Awe fuck. It’s fucking Ricardo Smith –Eddie’s biological father. I hate this fucking asshole. He’s worse than my own father. He’s standing behind me with his hands in his pockets, his big black leather jacket over his shoulders, and that stupid-ass swastika tattoo on the side of his bald head. Fuck this guy. I grit my teeth. “Missed you at the funeral,” I say.

“I don’t do well in crowds,” he says, “Besides, you really think Eddie would have wanted me showing my face up there for everyone to see?” He laughs when he says it.

I look over his shoulder, and a good ways back is Tommy –one of Eddies’ half-brothers –the unlucky son of a bitch who wound up being stuck with Ricardo. Tommy is standing by a beat up, old pickup truck smoking a cigarette. I draw my eyes back on Ricardo and take a breath, knowing I should try to make nice, but my last interaction with the fucker had not been a pleasant one. “Probably not,” I say angrily. “But regardless, you’re still his father.”

“Why do you think I’m here?” he grumbles and holds up a single rose. He just tosses it over to the grave, not daring to come too close.

I take another breath. At least the old man came to visit the grave. “You’re right,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

“You really don’t like me, huh?” he asks.

“Not particularly, if we’re being honest,” I say.

“Well,” he says, “at least the feeling’s mutual.” He prances past me and stares down at the grave covered in flowers. He pats the top of the tombstone. “I do feel bad, you know?” he says, not bothering to turn around to look at me when he says it.

“I would hope so,” I say. I notice him turn his head; he’s looking at my mother’s grave, and there is something about him doing that that makes me sick to my stomach. “I’m sure I’m going to regret asking you this,” I say, “but how did you and my mother meet exactly?”

“It’s not really that special of a story,” he says as he turns around to look at me, “she was a newlywed wife of a billionaire asshole who just wanted to leave the house for a night. My guess is the sudden change in lifestyle had her on edge. I saw her at a bar. I saw the wedding ring, but that shit never really mattered much to me. Believe it or not, I wasn’t sore on the eyes back then. Neither was your mother. She was drunk, and the two of us hooked up in the bathroom at some nasty bar. That was it. We parted ways. I saw her one other time out in public with Eddie once. The boy couldn’t have been but five years old. She had a little guy on her hip too. My guess is that was you. I came up to her because it didn’t take a genius to figure out that boy was mine; he looked just like me. We talked around it, you know, since the kid was listening, but she confirmed it for me. She actually told me to fuck off. I remember Eddie looking at her and going ‘Mom, that’s a bad word.’ And she just patted his head and walked off with you both. I didn’t really care. I just remember thinking that was a close one.”

“Yeah, a close one,” I grumble, “can’t risk having too much responsibility and having to take care of your own kids, right?”

“You asked me, so I told you,” Ricardo hisses. “You know, you’re a little asshole, right? I ought to-”

“What?” I snap at him. “What are you going to do, you old fuck? You going to push me again? Look, I appreciate you coming here and paying your respects, but just stay the hell away from me from now on.”

Ricardo just laughs. “Fine, kid, whatever. I did want to ask you, though, before we part ways, whether or not Eddie thought of his old man in his will?”

“Go to hell,” I say, “and no, he didn’t. You didn’t mean shit to him anymore than he meant to you.”

The man looks pissed. His shoulders tense up, and he has the audacity to turn and spit on my brothers grave right in front of me. I react, reaching out and grabbing him by his arm. “You fucking asshole!” I shout, my other hand forming a fist at my side.

I see Tommy from the corner of my eye darting towards us. I assume I’m about to have to tussle with these two, and Tommy I know from experience carries. Turns out, Tommy’s not running to his father’s aid. I feel this horrible, piercing sensation in my side, and I look down to see my own blood trickling out of me. Tommy grabs his old man by his shoulders, throwing him back onto the ground. “What the fuck did you just do?” Tommy screams, but I can hardly hear him. “Get out of here! Get the fuck out of here!”

Ricardo gets up and starts rushing out of the cemetery, still walking –but walking fast.

I take a few steps back, grabbing hold of Eddie’s tombstone to keep myself balance. My other hand grips my side, and I realize the damn knife is still in me. Holy fucking shit. I feel Tommy’s hands on my shoulders. “Relax, I got you, man,” I hear him say before I drop to my knees. Yeah, I’m going to black out. I feel it coming. I go to pull the knife out of me, but he stops me. “Don’t. Trust me, don’t.”

Maybe I will be going to an early grave after all.