Free Second Chances by T. A. Webb

they were his elves. They darted back and forth, distributing presents and gift bags and cards. I caught Brian’s eye and gave him a smile, then put a little heat into it. He blushed a little, because he knew what that meant, and glanced away fast.
    When I looked around, I saw Sam looking like somebody farted in his drink. He glared at me, and I mouthed “Fuck you” at him and gave him a middle finger salute. If he had his way Brian wouldn’t be there. Hell, I wouldn’t be either. No love lost.
    But as Patrick Swayze says, nobody puts Baby in a corner. So I got up, reached in my pocket, and pulled out a hammered silver chain, like a collar, that I’d been carrying for just the right moment and came up behind Brian. I reached around and draped it across his neck and did up the clasp. He looked down, then around and up at me. His smile made me a little weak. Must be getting warm in here, I thought.
    I turned him around and pulled him up against my chest and wrapped him in my arms. We were standing right there in front of the tree, my family, and God and I kissed him. Not a friendly kiss, or a brotherly kiss, or even a full-press fuck-me kiss. But it was long and deep and open eyed and it meant I love you . Merry Christmas. You’re mine.
    “Ewwww, they’re kissing. Gross. Uncle Brian, stop, you’re gonna get cooties,” one of the rug rats screamed and tried to work in between us.
    “Make him stop, Uncle Brian. I want you to play Legos with me. You said you’d play Legos with me, and you can kiss him and all that gross stuff when you go back to your house. Pleeeeaaaassseee, Uncle Brian,” another one begged.
    Brian grinned at them and pushed me back and said, “Okay, babies, just for you. Jed, you and Andrew get the boxes and we’ll take them and put them on the table in the den, okay?”
    That seemed to appease the little heathens. They grabbed a couple of their cousins and took off to get the boxes. He looked over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows at me. “Later,” he promised, fingering his chain.
    I smacked him on the ass and walked back into the dining room to get some more of the pecan pie I knew Patty’d made. She’d gotten the family recipe book after Mom died and was taking over as the baker in the family. Good damn thing, because none of us could make a decent crust except her.
    “Fucking filthy faggots,” my brother breathed as I passed by.
    I stopped and leaned down so he could hear me, but nobody else could. I kept my voice low and looked straight ahead, a small smile on my face. Anybody looking would’ve thought I was sharing a quiet laugh with him. Well, maybe Brian would’ve known better.
    “If you say one more fucking word, if you use that fucking word one more time, under your breath, out loud, however the fuck you want to do it, I’ll knock you on your damn stupid redneck ass. Right the fuck out. You’re nothing but a piece of shit. I’ll call Child Protective Services and tell them how you kick Jean’s ass when you have too much booze. And I will tell Dad too. Everything. Now are you going to shut your hateful mouth or am I going to shut it for you?” I asked, my voice quiet and even and low.
    He went still and looked up at me. His eyes widened then narrowed and he started to open his mouth, but I wasn’t done. Not yet.
    “Think really, really hard about what you’re going to say here. Because this is it. I’m done. You don’t scare me and you never have. I let it go without saying anything because Dad loves you. I don’t. It would hurt him if I kicked your worthless ass. I don’t care anymore. Yes or no. Are you going. To shut. The fuck. Up?” I bit off every word, still smiling.
    He didn’t look at me. He just nodded and went back to his drink. I patted him on the shoulder, a little harder than necessary, and went off to look for that pie. God, that felt so fucking good.
     
     
    L ATER than night, at home, Brian and I sat on the couch watching television—one of my