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Gabriel reached out and gave his ponytail a yank. “Maybe if you didn’t look like Charles Manson, they would be.”
“I do not look like Charles Manson.”
Gabriel gestured at the door. “Go tap-tap on your laptop and look him up. Dead ringer.”
Michael laughed. It was a good sound, one Gabriel couldn’t remember hearing since . . . forever.
But then Michael stood up, and Gabriel lost the smile. He shouldn’t have mentioned the laptop. Their landscaping business was probably on the brink of collapse since Michael had spent ten minutes not being an ass**le. That familiar wall was going to fall back into place between them; Gabriel could feel it.
Michael stopped and turned. “I won’t tell Chris and Nick.”
Gabriel glanced up, surprised. “Thanks.” He paused. “I won’t either. About . . . the other stuff.”
And then Michael was sliding the door open, pushing through, leaving Gabriel alone on the porch. Game over.
But Michael stopped before sliding it closed. “You know, they won’t be home for a while. You want another beer?”
Gabriel smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.”
CHAPTER 8
Gabriel dribbled the basketball a few times and threw, making the basket for an easy three-pointer. He was alone on the court, killing time until Nick was done with whatever after-school do-gooder activity he’d signed up for.
Layne hadn’t said a word to him in class.
Gabriel hadn’t known what to say to her, either.
Dribble, dribble. Shoot.
Basket.
If Nick hadn’t broken his leg, Gabriel would be finishing the soccer season this week. He’d played under his twin brother’s name so he could get around the school’s stupid rule limiting students to playing on two varsity teams per year. Gabriel missed the team, the camaraderie, the physical exertion fed by a common goal.
He didn’t really miss any of the guys.
It made him think of Michael’s comments.
Stupid. He didn’t need friends. He had his twin brother.
His phone chimed. Speaking of Nick.
Go ahead without me. I’m going home with Quinn.
Of course. Gabriel shoved the phone back in his pocket.
Nick hadn’t even talked to him last night. Usually they did the postmortem when one went out without the other. But maybe Nick didn’t feel like he had to. He’d been with Chris, after all.
Whatever.
Dribble. Shoot.
The ball hit the rim and ricocheted sideways, toward the bleachers.
Gabriel swore and jogged to retrieve it but Layne’s brother stepped out of the shadowed corner by the door and picked it up.
Simon wore basketball shorts and a loose T-shirt, the clothes making him look smaller than he really was. Sweat darkened his shirt and matted his hair at the temples he’d probably been out running. The JV coach always made them run at the end of a practice. Gabriel remembered.
If Simon had stayed late for practice, did that mean Layne was still around?
