Waves of Fury (Surviving Earth Chronicles)

Chapter Two

Tyler

“I can’t cancel. It’s fourteen hundred bucks, Ty.”

My older brother, Aaron, isn’t exactly one to ask my permission, but then again, I’m not one to tell him how to do his job either. We’re both in uncharted waters here.

“There’s just a lot of notifications this morning about weird weather happenings,” I say lamely, holding up my phone as if to convince him. “It looks like it might storm as well.”

He walks across the tiny living room of our two-bedroom apartment that has a glimpse of the bay between two ugly buildings. His shoulders are tense and I can almost hear the wheels turning in his head. Aaron’s usually the responsible one—the one charged with looking after his two dipshit brothers, so I know whatever he decides will be the right choice.

Try telling my gut that.

My stomach is in knots for unknown reasons and I hate the feeling.

Is that how Aaron feels whenever me or Jesse do something reckless?

“The sun is shining,” Aaron says, gesturing at the glass. “It’s just a half-day booking. I’ll be in and out within a few hours. You don’t have to worry.”

What he doesn’t mention is how much he needs this booking. How even though San Francisco is thriving compared to other parts of the country, he’s seen a significant drop in bookings in the past six months or so. We don’t know if it’s because people are holding onto their money and filling their Doomsday coffers as extreme weather happenings become more common or if the flooding and oceanic events along the Gulf of Mexico and eastern seaboard causing fear in would-be passengers are to blame.

“We need this,” Aaron says softly, pulling my attention back to him. “It’s only one of two this entire month we have booked and you know that’s barely enough to cover payroll.”

The storm clouds I’d seen earlier have since dissipated. Maybe I’m worrying over nothing.

Like your parents did…

Mom and Dad were fanatics about the moon’s deterioration and its effect on the Earth. The pure definition of moon maniacs. What killed them in the end was their obsession, not an actual catastrophe.

I will not be like them.

“I know,” I relent with a sigh. “You’re a damn good captain. Plus, someone has to earn more than my measly seventeen bucks an hour. We won’t be able to keep Jesse out of jail on my salary alone.”

Aaron winces and shakes his head in frustration. “Jesse is not going to jail. I don’t care if I have to chain his ass to that sofa to keep him out of trouble.”

“He’s suspended for a week. There’s no telling what kind of shit he’s going to get himself into with all that downtime.”

“That’s why he’s going with me,” Aaron grumbles. “Wayne can keep him busy cleaning and filleting any fish the clients catch.”

Jesse is going to love that. Giddiness rises up inside me. He’s a cocky, rude sixteen-year-old who lives on his phone. Knee-deep in fish guts will do well to knock him down a few pegs.

“Shall I share the good news?” I ask, grinning. “Please, please, please.”

Aaron smirks. “Good luck getting him out of bed.”

Eager to torment my baby brother, I saunter back into the room we share. He’s sprawled out on the twin bed on his side of our bedroom, tangled up in his covers and softly snoring. I walk over to his end table, stepping over discarded boots and clothes to pick up a half-empty bottle of water. After unscrewing the cap, I take great joy in dumping it out on the back of his head.

“What the f—” he roars, jerking upright.

“Wake up, princess,” I say, cutting him off. “The captain requires your services.”

He shoots me the bird before flopping onto his side, avoiding the wet spot on the bed. “Go away. I’m on vacation.”

I start rummaging through his pile of random junk on his messy dresser, knowing it will piss him off. “You’re suspended for shoving your art teacher. It’s called punishment, not vacation, dumbass.”

“Mr. Davis called me trash,” Jesse snaps, lip curling up. “I’m not trash.”

Lifting a brow, I gesture at his clutter everywhere. “Nope. Not you,” I deadpan. “How could he ever think such a horrible thing?”

He flips me off again, but I’m immune to his bratty outbursts. Been dealing with them ever since Dad shot our mother in the head before turning the gun on himself. I’m not Mr. Davis. He can’t shove me away like he’s always trying to shove away his issues. I’m his brother and I’ll shove back.

“Get dressed and be ready to go out the door in ten. Aaron has a deep-sea private charter today. It’s big money. Earn your keep today and he might pay you.”

Jesse groans. “Bruh. Seriously? I hate the Angler-traz. It’s a disgusting excuse for a boat, Ty.”

I smirk at the name Aaron chose for his environmentally green, thirty-two-foot Wegley fishing boat. It’s a play on fishing and the Alcatraz. His clients love the connection and even buy Angler-traz merch from his website.

“The disgusting Angler-traz is what keeps Nikes on your feet and an iPhone in your pocket.”

There’s no use bringing up the fact that the Angler-traz is what keeps Aaron sinking and barely making ends meet. That boat loan has his company, Walsh at the Wharf, in debt up to its eyeballs.

“But I’m a child,” Jesse continues. “You can’t force a kid to work.”

A child?

“Dude, you’re six feet tall and growing a ’stache. You’re just immature. Luckily for you, they let bratty babies skin fish too. Walsh at the Wharf is an equal opportunity employer.”

“Whatever,” he mutters but starts to scoot off the bed.

He may be a giant thorn in Aaron’s and my sides most days, but he’s still loyal to us, especially Aaron. If it weren’t for Aaron putting his entire life on pause and going severely into debt to get us out of foster care when our parents died, Jesse would still be bouncing around from home to home. That year, when he was nine and I was eleven, we suffered both mentally and emotionally. There was only so much either of us could take, but thankfully, Aaron swooped in just in time to bring us all back together.

“Dress in layers, sweetie,” I taunt in a singsong voice just to annoy him. “Weather is being moody just like you.”

Satisfied that he’s up and going to get ready, I make my way into the kitchen. Aaron is wearing his Walsh at the Wharf royal blue polo with captain embroidered on one side of his chest, scrolling through his phone. I recognize the pinched frown of worry, but he smooths it away when he realizes I’m staring, forcing a smile instead.

“Everything okay?” I ask, making a point to glance at his phone.

“Peachy,” he assures me. “It’ll be good to get out of the bay and onto the open waters. Good for everyone. You working today?”

“Someone has to feed the corporate zombies.”

“Picking up orders in the Financial District?”

I nod as I rummage around the cabinets, looking for a package of Pop-Tarts. Once I locate the last Cherry pack, I rip it open and devour half a pastry in one bite. “The suits tip the best,” I say around a mouthful of sweet, cherry goodness, crumbs dusting the front of my black T-shirt. “Assholes but good tippers.”

“Anyone ever teach you not to talk with your mouth full?” Aaron asks, shaking his head. “You’re an animal.”

“I’m pretty sure you failed at that job.”

He smirks at me. Despite all our ribbing, me and my brothers are tight. When our world was crumbling because of our unhinged parents, we had each other and it got us through to the other side. Life, despite Jesse being a mouthy delinquent and Aaron working his ass off to keep his company in the black, is pretty good.

Aaron’s phone buzzes, stealing his attention once again. When he starts rapid-fire texting, I know it’s with his newest girlfriend, Tabby. She’s my age and has major daddy issues. I have no idea why my brother can’t find a normal girl to date. They all turn out psychotic in the end.

“You two fight more than you get along,” I point out with a shrug. “Might be time to cut this one loose too. Maybe stop finding girls at Jesse’s school.”

He snorts. “She’s nineteen and in college, punk. Lay off.”

“And you’re pushing thirty, old man. Seriously, break up with her already.”

“I tried last week,” he mutters, “but she started crying. You know I can’t deal with tears.”

“She makes you miserable. Let me guess, she’s mad because you won’t have lunch with her again.”

Aaron gapes at me. “How do you know that?”

“She’s selfish and demanding. That would only be the fifteenth time she’s pissed at you for the very same thing.” I shrug as if this is common knowledge. “Maybe she could join you on your booking. Help wrangle Jesse.”

We both chuckle at that thought. Tabby has eyelash extensions and acrylics. It’s shocking she’s dating a fishing captain, but her actually stepping foot on his boat or even going near a gutted fish is a comical mental image.

“What about Jesse?” Jesse asks, stalking over to the empty Pop-Tart box. “Bruh. You ate the last cherry Pop-Tart.” He reaches for the last half of my pastry, but I shove it in my mouth before he can grab it.

“Tabby is gonna be your babysitter today,” I taunt, chomping around my words. “You’re going to have to make sure she has good lighting for her Instagram stories. The Angler-traz is gonna go viral.”

Jesse whirls around to Aaron. “Tabby is going? No way. I’m not getting on that boat with her. She’ll bitch the whole time!”

“You two should get along marvelously,” I toss out. “Two baby peas in a pod.”

This time both brothers flip me off at once.

“Tabby isn’t going,” Aaron huffs out. “Tyler is in a feisty mood this morning, so you’ll have to ignore him. You almost ready, Jess?”

Jesse chooses a different box of Pop-Tarts, settling for strawberry, even though no one in our home actually likes the strawberry flavor all that much. “Ready as I’ll ever be for forced child labor.”

I’m grinning at my brothers when the electricity flickers for a moment. Aaron’s brows pinch and I get the uneasy feeling in my gut again. The pastries sour in my stomach, threatening a reappearance.

“I’m sure there’s an opening at Tabby’s daycare,” I tease rather than address the worry niggling at me. “I have deliveries in that building all the time. You could ride on the handlebars like when we were little.”

Jesse scoffs. “Screw that. I’d rather hang with loud-ass Wayne any day of the week over Tabby.”

“She’s not that bad,” Aaron says in exasperation.

“She’s not that good either,” me and Jesse say at the same time.

We all crack up with laughter. Even with Jesse’s knack for getting in trouble, my inability to find something decent to do with my life, or Aaron’s magnetism to whiny chicks, I wouldn’t trade a thing. My brothers are my whole world, even if they’re annoying as hell.

“If you do get any deliveries near Tabby today, bring her an iced coffee from that trendy shop she likes so much as a peace offering from me. I’ll owe you one,” Aaron says. “I don’t ask for much, Ty. This will get her off my back for a while.”

As much as I dislike that woman, I’ll do anything for my brother. He’s right. He never asks for anything. All he cares about is us being together, happy, with Pop-Tarts in our bellies and a roof over our heads. I can do him a solid, even if that means being his errand boy.

My phone dings with a food pickup, signaling lunchtime is rapidly approaching. The unsettled feeling prickling in my chest subsides as I anticipate the workday ahead of me. It may not be the best job in the world, but I have my entire life to figure out what I want to do.

There’s always tomorrow.

It’s not like the world’s going to end before then.

I scoop up my backpack that goes everywhere with me—old foster home habits die hard—and give Aaron a mock salute. “Your wish is my command, Captain. I’ll expect more cherry Pop-Tarts in exchange for my meeting with the redheaded daycare devil.”

“You’ll get your cherry Pop-Tarts, brat. Now get out of here before I decide to drag you to sea with us.”

Hard pass.

On that note, I grab my bike that’s propped up by the front door, and wave at my brothers. “You two kids have fun today.”

“I’ll bring dinner later,” Aaron calls after me. “See you tonight.”

“Bye, loser!” Jesse yells.

I laugh and then set out on my bike, eager for the exercise and hopefully some good tips. One day, I’ll figure out a job that pays well so Aaron doesn’t have to work as hard. Hell, maybe I’ll even look into taking some college courses or something.

Tomorrow.

There’s always tomorrow.