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Michael felt their mother come up behind him, felt her slim hand on his shoulder. “No one is leaving,” she said. “People say things in anger all the time. Michael didn’t mean it.”
Three sets of eyes locked on his.
“Tell them,” she said.
Michael looked at his three brothers. He could read the new emotion there: desperation. They wanted him to deny it.
He wanted to.
He just didn’t want to lie.
So he shrugged off his mother’s hand and went for his bedroom.
And he didn’t come out all night.
CHAPTER 3
Emily stared at the door to the shop. Sweat was trickling down her back despite the blasting air-conditioning.
I come on Wednesdays and Fridays.
Maybe he wouldn’t show. Her father sure hadn’t been subtle when he’d called the Merricks. But maybe that would work against her. Just like the other day. Michael had seemed just as surprised to see her—and then she’d gone and provoked him. Sure, her parents had a deal with his, but it felt flimsy. Kind of like those treaties with countries who kept nuclear warheads.
We promise not to use them unless you piss us off.
Maybe she should keep a putter on the counter.
Maybe she shouldn’t have told her parents.
But at least they hadn’t made her quit.
The clock struck four, the time he’d shown up on Wednesday. No Michael.
At four-thirty, the door swung open, but it was only a young mother with children coming to use the putt-putt course.
She had to do something to settle her nerves. She plugged her iPod into the sound system and scrolled through for her favorite musical.
The hands of the clock were creeping toward five, when her shift ended. Maybe her father’s phone call had worked. Besides, this wasn’t the only place around town with batting cages.
But then the doorknob creaked.
Her hand closed around the handle of a putter. If she screamed, would the woman with the preschoolers hear her?
The door swung open. Michael stood there.
But he didn’t come through the doorway. Just like the other day, she watched him sweep the corners with his eyes.
What was he looking for?
His gaze settled on the putter on the glass counter, then lifted to meet hers. “I was kind of kidding about you trying to kill me every time.”
She flushed and slid it into the holder.
He came all the way into the shop and put a five-dollar bill on the counter. “Can I get five tokens, or do you need to check with Daddy first?”
Her blush deepened. For some insane reason, she felt like she should apologize—when he was the one who should be avoiding her.
She fished the tokens from the drawer and slapped them onto the glass counter. She mustered the courage to meet his eyes, to let him know she wouldn’t let him screw with her. She tried to make her voice hard—and it ended up making her sound like a bitch. “Is that all?”
