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  The bitterness in Nate’s voice makes me recoil. “Nate, that’s… that isn’t the point of this at all. Just that it’s hard to recreate the same circumstances surrounding Chris and Jacob as with Alex and the agent who saved his ass from gang-style execution. There’s a history there Chris isn’t a part of, but that doesn’t mean he can’t become friends with Jacob in his own time.”

  Before Nate answers, his phone beeps from the pocket of his jeans, and he pauses to fish it out and read whichever message awaits him. Though he offers no indication as to whom it’s from, his whole face darkens and a flush rises in his cheeks. He shoves the phone back into his pocket and pushes himself up from the sofa, in a worse temper than I’ve seen him in a long time. “Maybe you should just let Chris have something of his own once in a while, instead of Alex hoarding everything like a goddamned child,” he snaps. “Even if he’d just fuck it up eventually, Chris deserves that much.”

  Whoa. As he’s about to storm off, I reach out to snag Nate’s wrist, the one not holding the beer bottle. For a second he glares at me so hard, I almost expect him to hit me with it. “Hey,” I say gently. This whole conversation has come out of left field for me, even though I’m the one who started it. “We are still talking about the books, right?”

  He shakes off my hand. “Yeah, Hugh.” And then—“I’m going for a run, I’ll see you later.”

  HOURS later, he comes back smelling inexplicably of sex. I see faint scratches against his skin, pale bruises that might still darken into hickeys. I have no idea how Nate has the capacity to go out and find a girl when he’s out for a run, of all things, but he’s certainly capable enough—or was, before he got married. Our old house hosted a veritable parade of women, sometimes a different one every night, sometimes more than one. I often wondered what the hell he was trying to prove. I have every certainty that’s what he’s done now, and the thought that he’d do so because of some stupid character in a book makes me want to grab my brother by the shoulders and shake him until some common sense rattles loose.

  I catch him on his way up to bed from the kitchen, cornering him at the bottom of the stairs like a parent who’s just nailed their kid breaking curfew. “Nate,” I say gently, and the eyes he turns on me aren’t angry or annoyed, just tired and maybe a little shifty, like he’s been busted doing the walk of shame back up to his room. “Everything okay?”

  He shifts his weight from foot to foot and scratches the back of his neck before answering. “Yeah, Hugh, I’m fine.” Sounding reluctant, he adds, “Sorry for storming out on you before, guess it must be that time of the month of something.”

  The quip makes me wince, but it’s such typical, politically incorrect Nate I can’t help but chuckle. “I appreciate the apology, but I think I might have been acting a bit insensitive myself.” Despite how much my brother hates talking about feelings, it seems like all our major conversations lately are about that. Still, this is a period of adjustment for both of us, and even if that has to do with very different things, there’s enough overlap to compel me to get on with it and make sure our relationship isn’t another source of friction. “Does it piss you off that I’m friends with Phel?” I ask. “I know you don’t like him all that much.” Fighting the urge to inquire why, I stop myself there and wait for Nate to answer.

  The response is slow in coming as he stares down at his hands and chews the inside of his lip. I brace myself for the full barrage of reasons why my big brother can’t stand my best friend, maybe with a demand or two that we stop hanging out, but Nate surprises me by speaking in that soft voice he uses when he wants to say something important. “I don’t hate Phel,” he begins, “and no, it doesn’t piss me off that you’re friends with him. I just… I guess I’m going through some stuff right now that makes me realize I’m not doing so hot at the family thing. Pretty shitty, actually, and that’s kind of a lonely feeling.” Nate gestures vaguely. “That hurts, no lie, and then I see you and Phel together, the way the two of you click, and it makes me realize how isolated I really am.”

  I shift uncomfortably, knowing how petty my next statement will sound before it’s even out of my mouth. “That’s not how it looks from my end,” I tell him. “Maybe I hang out with Phel more, but sometimes I get this creepy feeling like the two of you have this… this mind meld or something. This conversation going on that doesn’t include me.”

  Nate looks at me, a hard, stony look. “That’s retarded,” he answers curtly. “I barely know the guy.”

  Shrugging, I fold my arms. “Since we’re sharing, I figured I’d just put that out there.”

  “Trust me,” says Nate, “I don’t know the first fucking thing about what goes through that guy’s head. Half the time he looks like if he clenches any harder, he’ll pass out. So, no, there’s no ‘mind meld’. You and Phel, on the other hand… you understand each other, even if some of your conversations together could out-geek an astrophysicist. I don’t have that with anyone anymore.” For a second he looks like he wants to say more, but then he tightens his jaw and comes to a full stop, glancing up at me hopelessly.

  With Nate being so serious, I’m for some reason compelled to fill the void of inappropriate humor that’s usually his forte. “You want to have geeky conversations with people?” I ask glibly. Off his unimpressed look, I offer, “You have that with me, man; we can talk about anything.”

  He dismisses the thought with a wave. “That’s not what I’m talking about, Hugh. You’re my brother—it’s different. I wouldn’t give that up for anything, but you said so yourself—it gets a little claustrophobic without other people.”

  “I was talking about my book,” I point out.

  Nate snorts. “No, you weren’t.”

  Okay, point taken. “That doesn’t mean you can’t also be friends with Phel,” I suggest. “I know he seems kind of uptight, and, well… he is. But he’s a really interesting guy once you get to know him and he starts to relax. He could probably use someone like you to help him loosen up too. ”

  Grimacing, Nate mutters, “I’ll say,” and then, louder, “You trying to set us up, Hugh?”

  I shrug. The wording isn’t exactly right, but Nate’s not far off the mark. “Not the way you’re implying, but yeah. I think it’d be great if you started spending time together without me. It might be good for both of you, especially now I’m going to be spending a lot more time writing. This might sound stupid, but….”

  Nate lifts his eyebrows at me. “What?”

  My cheeks flush. “I kind of feel like we have to stick together, you know? You and me and Phel are kind of like outcasts around here. We should have each other’s backs.”

  Nate rolls his eyes. “Christ, Hugh, this isn’t Robin Hood and his band of merry men. It won’t solve anything to have three codependent assholes instead of two.” I glare, and he sighs. “Is it really that big of a deal to you that Phel and I hang out?”

  “Is it really that much of a hardship that you do?” I shoot back. Great, what was supposed to be an adult conversation is quickly dissolving into bickering, and we’re still facing off at the bottom of the stairs, no less. “You’re a big boy, Nate—do whatever you want. I just thought it’d be less awkward if we all got along with one another.”

  It shouldn’t delight me so much that his resigned sigh signals my victory over the argument. Nate knows it too, and shoots me a pained glance. “Okay, okay. Don’t get all passive-aggressive on me.” Leaning back up against the wall of the stairwell, he quirks a smile. “Suppose it makes a certain amount of sense, though, since I’ll probably be sticking around for a while.”

  This catches me off guard. “Sticking around? Here?” He nods, and I furrow my brow. “You mean… you aren’t going back to Ohio?” I don’t mean to sound like I don’t want him around, because my house feels so much more full with Nate here, so much like old times, but this is a development I didn’t expect, given the circumstances and the people he has waiting for him in the Midwest.

  With a s
hrug, he makes a vague gesture. “Eventually, yeah, but for now it seems kind of moot. Emilia and I are through, and I might not even get joint custody of Liam. There’s nothing for me out there besides him, and until I know for sure how much I’ll even be allowed in his life, it makes sense to start thinking about the kind of life I could have out here.”

  “I guess….”

  “Nothing’s definite,” he assures me. “I understand if you don’t want me in your hair forever, so I’ve been looking around at apartments in the area. Even San Diego would be okay, if I can’t afford anything here.” Apparently my silence and hesitant expression must be getting to him, because his face darkens. “Try not to act too excited about the prospect of me coming to live nearby.”

  Unable to stop myself, I scoff. “Come on, Nate, you know that’s not what this is about. You aren’t exactly a free agent, that you can just go moving across the country on a whim.”

  “It’s not a whim!” he protests.

  “Okay, well, what about your job? Suddenly you no longer need to work?”

  There’s a dramatic eye roll, the kind Nate often employs when he thinks I’m being thick. Which—I get that eye roll a lot. “You honestly think I still had a job after word got out I cheated on the boss’s sister-in-law? Craig’s wife would have had his balls if I’d stayed on. I left as much for his sake as mine.” Apparently Nate hears the defensiveness in his own voice, and huffs gently before trying to get his temper under control and stave off another of our legendary spats. “Look. This time of year, there’s never a shortage of construction jobs, that’s for sure. Hell, you could probably even pay me to mow your lawn and I’d make a decent living of it. Work is just about the one thing I’m not worried about right now.”

  From anyone else, the talk about finding alternate living arrangements would be a way of blowing smoke up my ass, a thinly veiled guilt trip before I dismiss the idea as stupid and offer a place to stay in my own house. But from Nate, I know it’s genuine—he doesn’t mooch off anyone and never accepts handouts. He has to know I’d never force him to go off and live in a shitty studio apartment somewhere, though, especially not with all he’s done for me, and the four extra bedrooms I have at my disposal. Plus, having Nate around makes me happier than almost anything. At least that’s a better alternative to how much I tend to worry about him when he’s out of my sight, and there’s a lot to worry about these days. Really, all this points to me as the asshole, the one who should shut up and drop it. I guess a little part of me still wants to teach Nate a lesson, make sure he understands what he’s gotten himself into. But that’s stupid, I realize. It’s been clear for weeks Nate doesn’t think about much else.

  “You don’t have to move out,” I sigh, still a bit sullen. “I want you to stay here. And you don’t need to worry about finding a job, unless you really want to. It’s not like we’re short on cash.”

  “I know I don’t need to,” Nate scoffs, flashing a smile that’s both grateful and annoyed by the suggestion. “But you know how I feel about pulling my own weight.” He scratches idly at his wrist. “You sure you don’t mind me staying here?”

  “No, Nate,” I say. “I might not totally approve of your decision not to go back to Ohio, but as long as you’re here, my home is yours. Plus, someone needs to keep you out of trouble.”

  Nate’s look turns sad and a bit wistful. “I coulda used you before,” he says, the statement less an accusation about my lack of involvement in his life and more recognition that the responsibility for his fuckups is entirely on his shoulders. That might seem like a heavy thing to take for granted, given that the human condition is to reject accountability whenever possible, but Nate is the kind of person who needs to be reminded he can’t take fault for everything. He assumes the blame for all of my mistakes but none of my successes, and if you sing his kid’s praises, he’ll say he owes it all to Liam’s mother. As far as Nate’s concerned, the only good he’s ever done in his life was getting Emilia pregnant by accident.

  I’m struck, suddenly, by such a wave of sadness and loneliness on my brother’s behalf. I can’t help but go up to him and put my arms around in him a hug. He tenses at first, then relaxes into me, clutching at my shoulder for a second before trying to withdraw. I don’t let him. “Everything’s gonna be okay, Nate,” I promise him. “We’ll get you through this. I’m sure even Phel is rooting for you.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure he is,” says Nate in a flat voice, and I think that’s probably about as much as I’m going to get out of him tonight before he starts to feel I’m pushing too hard. But that’s okay. I think we’re as much on the same page now as we’ll ever be, even considering the unusual circumstances that have brought us together this time around.

  DETERMINED not to leave Nate in the lurch, I broach the subject with Phel as we’re out surfing the next day, waiting until we’re both tired and sunburned and loading up the Land Rover for home. Phelan looks so happy, his thick hair madly tousled from the sea, and he beams at me in a way I’ve never seen, but reminds me why we’re friends all the same. Nate begged off from the excursion, claiming a headache like a put-upon housewife trying to escape her marital duty. I wish he could see Phel like this, excited and carefree and alive. Maybe this should give me pause, because Phel has always been a bit subdued from the Paxil, kind of like a muffled bell; but it’s so nice to see him full of life like this. I can’t help but imagine this is what he was like before his dreams came crashing down around his ears. In a way, I’m enchanted by it, dazzled even. We could be meeting for the first time. There’s no way Nate couldn’t like this person as much as I do.

  “You seem a lot better, man,” I tell him, sure my grin must match his own as we load his surfboard into the back of the Rover and slam the hatch closed. At his smile of confusion, I add, “Happy. It’s a good look on you.”

  “I guess I have a lot to be happy about,” he answers with a shrug. “I’m almost at the end of my program, and for the first time in a while, I feel like things are finally back to the way they were. It’s a great feeling.”

  “Did you get in touch with your family or something?” He swore never to talk to his ex-boyfriend again, but for a while he spoke really wistfully about convincing his parents to come around, getting them to show the same level of respect and acceptance as his sister, Aurelia. That’s another relationship he hoped to patch up, since he knew estrangement from the rest of the family would take its toll on her too. Perhaps he’s made headway in this regard, but a swift shake of his head disabuses me of the notion.

  “No,” he answers. “I’ve kind of given up on them…. Maybe if they make the first move in contacting me, I’ll consider it, but right now I’m concentrating on myself, on feeling like I’m in control. Doing things I never would have done before, standing up to my fears.”

  “Like what?”

  Much to my surprise, Phel shrugs tentatively, nothing more than a lift of one reddish-bronze shoulder. “I’ve been seeing someone.”

  The words make my stomach clench unpleasantly; I have no idea why. I immediately want to blame it on some bad food I might have eaten at breakfast, but remember all I had was a couple of slices of toast and some jam. Some other reason, then. Frowning, I answer, “You have? Where the heck did you find time to start dating?”

  Phel grimaces as though something I’ve said offends him deeply. “I didn’t say ‘dating’, Hugh, I said ‘seeing’. There’s a distinct difference.”

  Touchy. “Okay, so you’re ‘seeing’ someone. Did you meet this person at Palermo?”

  Another shrug. “Sort of. I don’t want to rehash all of it,” he says. Plastering that look of happiness back on his face, he comes around to the other side of the truck to clap me on the shoulder. His hand moves down to squeeze my arm reassuringly. “But trust me, I feel great. I’m really happy you’re here to share that with me.”

  “Of course, Phel. I’m happy too.” Man, he’s like a kid in a candy store. Right now, I could ask him to do just ab
out anything and he’d probably giggle, while here I am fretting over a casual suggestion that he spend some time with my brother. My weird response to this information about his love life makes me feel like the aged aunt who’s a bit stingy with her change and won’t spring for the gum tape or something. “Speaking of sharing stuff,” I begin, “I’ve been doing some thinking lately—a lot of thinking, actually.”

  “You?” he quips, and I scowl.

  Trying to hide my expression as we go around the car to our respective doors, I ask, “Who taught you sarcasm, man? Nate? Or this new lover boy of yours?”

  The jibe makes his face darken slightly as he climbs into the passenger seat and shuts the door, using a bit more force than is necessary. I wince, because—hey. It’s not like Land Rovers come cheap. “Why the hell would I have learned it from Nate?” He sounds so baffled and bitter at the suggestion that I begin to see shades of what Nate was talking about. His hesitation to chummy up to Phel makes sense when both of them seem to flit from good mood to foul in the span of a blink.

  I close my own door a bit more gently, twisting my body so I can prop my knee up on the seat under me. It’s not the most comfortable position, but comfort is a pipe dream once you exceed six feet tall. I need to look at him, and the cramped space of the car isn’t ideal for that. “It was just a joke,” I inform him with a roll of the eyes, “but it actually ties in to what I wanted to ask you. Nate and I had a chat a couple days ago and, well, I thought it might be a good idea if the two of you started spending some time together. I’ve been so busy with the book that I haven’t had much time for either of you. No offense—because this applies to all three of us—but we aren’t exactly known for our vast and diverse social circle. I feel shitty about ditching you guys, and I’d be really happy if you got to know each other a bit better instead. The best friend and the brother should get along, right?”