“He does sex work, for one. Which is fine, but the money isn’t consistent and if you’re trying to act like owning a tattoo shop is somehow less than that…” I trailed off, and Marshall frowned at his sandwich. “His car is also a piece of shit.”
Marshall chuckled.
“But Hunter loves him and he makes Hunter happy.”
“Silas likes him too.”
“Silas loves him,” I corrected. “And you met him through Silas, so you’re letting the fact that you knew him before color your opinion of him now. If you had met Riggs separate of Smith, the two of you would have driven me off the roof of a building.”
“How do you figure?” Marshall asked.
“He’s a lot like you, and I think that makes sense considering how Smith feels about you. Not that he’s trying to find a partnerwho is a copy of you, but I think he appreciates the things in his life that you represent.”
I picked a burnt corner of crust off my sandwich, ready for Marshall to have his come-to-Jesus moment because I was running out of ways to convince him Riggs Ember was the kind of man Smith deserved.
“What do I represent in your life?”
“Pardon me?” My attention snapped up, finding Marshall studying me with the same quiet kind of intensity I’d grown to hate about him.
“What do I represent in your life?” he asked again. “You used to tell me everything.”
“I used to tell Hunter everything.”
“Does he know what’s going on with you, at least?”
Hunter and Smith both knew about Neil and Annette, but I hadn’t told either of them about Sophie and Daniel. I wasn’t ready to handle the judgment and I also wanted to make sure it was going to work before I even entertained the thought of socializing the idea. It was one thing for Marshall to date someone almost half his age, for Hunter to get involved with a sex worker, for Smith to fall in love with Marshall’s worst nightmare. It was another thing entirely for me to drop a bomb that I was involved—seriously—with a couple.
“There’s nothing going on with me,” I lied.
“I didn’t want to have lunch with you to be lied to.” Marshall tugged at a frayed piece of plastic on the tip of his toothpick, fidgeting with it until the entire thing unraveled onto the table. And wasn’t that the way of my brother, to needle and jab at something until it opened up and gave him what he wanted. Marshall Covington, ever the control freak.
“I appreciate your concern, Marshall, but there’s really nothing for me to share with you right now.”
“I’m just worried you’re in over your head.”
I tried to see his side of it. Tried to imagine what it must have been like for him to be out and have seen me on a date with a married couple. What the perception would have been, seeing the matching wedding rings—what a joke, by the way—and watching me lean over and kiss another man’s wife after he excused himself to use the bathroom. I knew the optics were bad, but things with Neil and Annette were old news.
“I might have been before,” I told him truthfully. “But I’m not now.”
Resignation washed over Marshall’s face, and seeing the wind leave his sails took all the bravado right out of me.
“I promise I’m fine. It hasn’t always been fine, but it is right now. I’m good, and I’m getting better. Okay?”
Marshall swallowed, staring at me.
“I know your concern is well-meaning, but it’s overbearing.” I chased the confession with some water, the plastic bottle crinkling in my hand. “We’re not kids anymore, and we haven’t been for a very long time. If you want to make decisions about someone’s life, you’ve got Silas. Okay?”
Marshall leaned back in his chair, scratching his cheek and not taking his stare off me.
“Okay?” I repeated.
Finally.
Finally.
“Okay,” he agreed.
“I promise if there’s something you need to know, I’ll tell you.”
