“Don’t look at me with those eyes.” Jack hissed, and you immediately turned your head. It was almost ironic, as you could hardly even see the boy you once regarded as a beloved brother. His cracked, weighted voice carried the guilt and pressures of a boy parenting a child he didn’t ask for.

You were a little too young to understand exactly what Jack was going through. All you could comprehend were two things. Your mother had died, and Jack blamed you for it.

It wasn’t your fault. He knew that. Yet the stress of managing a ranch, taking care of his blind little sister, and maintaining his own health affected the boy greatly. He had to take out this anger somewhere.

He didn’t want to yell, or scream, or berate. But it seemed the words slipped from his chapped lips without a spare thought.