He’ll come to me when he’s ready.
Chapter 7
Atlas
I've been pacing for nine minutes.
Not visibly. I'm in the front parlor with the day's mail and a glass of water I haven't touched, doing a passable impression of a man who isn't waiting on a staircase. My brothers, neither of whom I asked for, are flanking me like I'm about to walk into a board meeting.
"You look fine," Bane says.
"IknowI look fine."
"He's nervous," Zero mocks.
"I am not nervous."
Zero's draped across the arm of the couch in the t-shirt with the hole at the collar he won't replace. He's drinking Bane's beer that he stole on his way through the kitchen.
"You picked his tie out," he says.
"Yes."
"You picked his shoes out."
"Yes."
"You wrote him a note?"
"It said eight o'clock. It’s 8:03."
"Maybe he’s just making sure he looks hot for one of his boyfriends."
Bane is laughing into his beer. The traitor.
"Is the wine in the car?" I ask, tightening my tie.
"The wine's in the car," Bane confirms. "It's the one you texted me about three times. You're welcome."
"Thank you."
"Where are you taking him?"
"None of your business."
"Bertelli's?"
"No."
"The little place on—"
"Bane."
A floorboard creaks above us.
The third board from the banister. I know which board it is because I tracked which boards complained when, in the months Max was tiptoeing through this house at night trying to be invisible. The board creaks because he just stepped on it. He's on the landing.
He's about to come down.
