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He’d seen the bottom line of the business creep closer and closer toward the red as they took bigger jobs and needed more supplies. He’d worried about college and leaving his brothers without help.
He’d had no idea that Michael had a safety net.
“I wish you’d said something,” said Michael.
“I didn’t want to stress you out.”
“Please. That’s like a constant state of being.”
The waitress brought their drinks, followed by the basket of onion rings and the steamed shrimp that Michael had ordered for appetizers.
Nick stared at the food and realized he was starving.
“Go ahead,” said Michael. “I knew you’d change your mind once it was in front of you.”
Nick grabbed a shrimp and started peeling. It felt better to have something to do with his hands. At least he couldn’t check his phone every ten seconds.
“Sometimes I forget,” Michael said slowly while peeling his own shrimp, “that you’re the same age as Gabriel, and not the same age as me.”
“You mean, aside from the fact that we’re identical and all?”
Michael gave him a rueful look. “No, I mean sometimes I forget that you’re still just as much a kid as he is.”
Nick peeled another shrimp and didn’t say anything to that.
“That’s not an insult,” said Michael.
“Oh. Okay.”
“Actually . . .” began Michael—but he stopped there. He ran a hand across his newly short hair. Gabriel had asked him when he was shipping out, but Nick liked it. It made Michael look older, more serious and less angry.
Nick hadn’t said so. Stupidly, he felt like any acknowledg-ment of a guy’s looks would show his hand.
He kept his eyes on his food. “Actually what?”
“Sometimes I forget to pay attention.”
“Attention to what?”
“To you. I think I’ve got a pretty good handle on Chris and Gabriel. I know when they’re veering off the rails. You’re a little more challenging.”
Nick met his eyes. “I’m all right, Michael. I’ll work it out.”
Michael picked up an onion ring. “See, that’s why you’re tough to crack. Even keeled, nothing wrong. I’d almost buy it if I hadn’t frozen my ass off on the drive here.”
“I was just pissed at Tyler.”
“Yeah, and who else?”
“I really don’t feel like sitting through an interrogation.”
Michael shrugged. “I’m not interrogating you. Talk or not.”
“Not.”
So they ate in silence. When the waitress brought platters of ribs, Michael thanked her, but Nick remained silent.
He wished Michael had pushed. Did everyone think he had it all together? He felt like his life was a hot mess of lies and secrets and betrayals.
