“Careful how?”
“He’s young,” Hunter said.
“Do you think his best friend is warning him about me?” I asked, already knowing enough about Lincoln to hear the question in his voice. “Be careful, Silas, that man is old?”
He rolled his eyes to indicate yes.
“I am being careful,” I conceded, which felt like a lie on my tongue.
Silas, if anything, had me acting very recklessly. Going all in on a relationship I’d never thought possible just because I was scared of it slipping through my fingers if I didn’t act quickly about it. But my feelings for him were true, and they were strong. I’d almost slipped on more than one occasion and told him I loved him. I wasn’t even sure if the way I felt for him was love…or something more or something less.
“I am fond of him,” I settled on as a confession to Hunter. “And I am careful.”
“You’ve never had a relationship, Marshall.”
“Not that you’d remember,” I agreed. “Not anyone that mattered.”
“And does Silas Ayres matter?” he asked.
“Very much,” I whispered.
My voice cracked, and Hunter’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t call me out about it. I knew he’d heard it, also knew he’d cataloged every tic and twitch my face had made while I talked about Silas. It was the lawyer in him, always looking out for tells. For lies and truths that would either fit or go against whatever narrative he was being told.
“What are your thoughts about Andrew?” I asked, realizing we’d talked about Finn, about Smith, about myself, but not yet about him and how the appearance of a new brother—who wanted little to do with us—made him feel.
“I don’t think about him one way or another,” Hunter said with a shrug.
“How analytical of you.”
He slid his bag up onto his arm and gave me an almost sorrowful smile. “How else am I meant to be?”
Before I could counter, he gave me a quick wave, then turned on his heel and headed for his car. I stayed there and watched him go, seeing the most practical of my brothers in a new light. Hunter was pragmatic on his best days, and if he’d accused me of being too emotional in my decision-making, I found him to be quite the opposite.
No real emotion at all.
Heading back into the office, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed Finn.
He answered out of breath. “Hello?”
“Busy?”
“Wouldn’t have picked up if I was. What’s up?” he asked.
“Just wanted to see how you were handling the whole Andrew situation,” I said, sitting down at my desk and getting my work back online.
“Better than Smith but probably worse than you,” he said.
I laughed. “That’s a big range.”
“I don’t like that he doesn’t want the inheritance, but I’m also glad he doesn’t,” Finn said.
“You never shared well.”
He made a thoughtful sound. “I don’t see why he wants to meet us at all.”
“Do you want to meet him?” I asked the same question I’d asked of Hunter. The same one I would also ask of Smith on Friday night at dinner.
“I haven’t decided,” Finn said softly.
