“There’s…I think there’s some things I need to tell him, that like…aren’t about me and you.”
Riggs squeezed my thigh and angled his entire body toward mine, knees knocking the center console. “Do you want me to wait in the car?”
“That feels wrong.”
“If it’s what you need, it’s not wrong.”
There it was again, that ease.
That comfort.
“I’ll tell him at the end,” I decided. “Maybe if he doesn’t act right, he won’t get to hear it.”
Riggs chuckled and pressed his knuckled against my chin. “Ah, of course. Conditional love.”
I smacked his hand away and grabbed the door handle. “Let’s get this over with.”
He obediently followed my lead, which amused me to no end. And then we were there on Marshall’s porch, Riggs so close behind me the zipper of his leather jacket kept rubbing against the small of my back. The man was not going to make this easy for Marshall, but his choices were meant to make it easy for me and that meant more than I’d ever be able to thank him for.
Before we left Silverlake, Riggs had worried about what to wear. He’d seen Finn that day I’d met Damon and he’d seen me coming from work enough times to know our ideas of professional or adult weren’t necessarily the same. He’d wanted to make a good impression, but I wanted him to make an honest one. Riggs had settled on a pair of pale wash jeans, his standard black leather boots, a white t-shirt, and his well-worn leatherjacket. He tied his hair back, put some lotion on his knuckles, and that was that.
When I made no move to knock on Marshall’s door, Riggs lifted his arm over my head and rapped against the wood. Marshall opened it almost immediately, which led me to believe he’d been standing there and waiting for us the whole time. He could have already opened the door, but clearly had no interest in making this whole meeting easy for me, which upset me enough to reach for Riggs’s hand.
Ever observant, Marshall tracked the movement, stare flickering down to Riggs’s tattooed hand against my still untouched fingers, then back up to our faces. Marshall looked well-rested and comfortable, wearing jeans and a weathered college t-shirt.
“It’s been awhile since you’ve been here,” he said to me in greeting.
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
His gaze drifted to Riggs. “It’s alright. You’ve been busy.”
“You’ve been busy,” I snapped, scrubbing a hand down my face. “Can we come in?”
“Of course.” Marshall remembered himself then, stepping out of the way so we could both come inside. “Do you want anything to drink?”
“You know I do.”
“I don’t know what Riggs likes,” Marshall said simply and softly, the sound almost lost as Riggs pushed the front door closed behind us.
“Whatever you were planning to have for yourself is fine with me,” Riggs said, his hand at the small of my back.
“Wine,” I said to him.
“Shocker.”
I managed a smile, and I led him toward Marshall’s kitchen.
My brother already had a bottle of red wine open and breathing on his dining room table, two empty glasses beside it, because he knew me that well. He grabbed a third from the kitchen and then the three of us were sitting at the table with nothing real to say. I disliked Marshall in that moment because I’d spent so long putting him on a pedestal, acting like he always knew what to do best in every situation , trusting that he was the most mature, the most responsible, but everything he’d done since my arrival felt like a test he’d already decided Riggs and I were both going to fail.
“Why are you acting like this?” I finally asked him, chasing the question with a swallow of wine. It was delicious, as usual, Chateau Montelena, according to the label.
“Like what?”
“Like a judgmental father.”
Something flickered in Marshall’s eyes that I couldn’t quite decipher, then his expression washed away into something that looked much more tired and weary. He sipped his drink, and I knew him well enough to know he was looking for bravery in the grapes. Riggs scooted his chair a little closer to mine, pressed the edge of his foot against the outside of my sneaker.
“Is that not who I’ve always been?” Marshall asked.
