“Not much to do,” Hunter explained. “If his mother hasn’t said anything to him about it, then it’s not for any of us to tell him the truth.”
“Don’t you think he’d want to know his father? Know he had brothers?” I asked.
“Nobodywantsto know Willem,” Finn said with a shrug. He swirled his ice around and took a sip of his drink. “Bet you wish Hunter had opened with this instead of letting you take the heat for being a tattooed and sexually active delinquent.”
“Oh, my God!” I flung my napkin across the table, but Finn was quick and he batted it out of the way.
“What does your boyfriend do for work?” Finn asked, finishing his drink in preparation for the next round. “Please tell me he’s not an architect too.”
“He’s a tattooer,” I said.
“Of course he is,” Marshall groaned.
The waiter appeared with perfect timing, leaving fresh drinks and taking our appetizer order.
“He owns his own shop,” I said. “The whole building actually. It’s a gorgeous restoration in Silverlake.”
“I knew it had to do with architecture.”
That earned a quiet laugh out of Marshall, and for the first time since sitting down beside him, I relaxed.
“We should all get matching tattoos,” Finn suggested next, eyes alight.
“Or not,” Marshall said at the same time Hunter shrugged. “I’d be down.”
“You’re joking.”
“I love Lincoln’s tattoos,” he said. “I think it would be fun.”
“The two of you remain insufferable,” Marshall grumbled, but Hunter and Finn ignored him, already caught up in their own conversation about what sort of matching tattoos they wanted to get. I would have to warn Riggs. They knew his firstname and the location of his shop, and that was enough for the two of them to figure out anything.
“Please don’t be mad with me,” I said under my breath, the pseudo-apology meant only for Marshall’s ears anyway.
“I could never be.” He paused, sliding his wine toward mine and clinking the glasses together. “You’ve been struggling lately, and I’ve mostly ignored it.”
“It’s not anything for you to fix.”
We both lifted our glasses and drank the same varietal of wine, then set the glasses back down on the table. I spread my fingers around the base of the stem and gave it a little twirl. Marshall had started to do the same, but stopped himself, itching his nose instead.
“But still.”
“You deserve to be happy,” I told him. “You’ve done so much for all of us, me especially…it’s okay to do things for yourself.”
He rolled his eyes, exhaling. “I’m certain I’ve said the same thing to Silas at some point. Maybe I should have also said it to you.”
“I haven’t done anything,” I muttered.
I’d come into the Covington home and name late, already a teenager by the time I met Marshall, Finn, and Hunter. The twins had been attached at the hip and unimpressed with my boring teenage outbursts, but they’d entertained them just the same. Marshall had been older by then, and he’d done all the things our father would have never dared. All I’d done was bitch and groan and let him.
“You gave me a purpose, Smith. When I didn’t have one,” he said softly. “That’s something I can’t ever repay and something I should have thanked you for sooner.”
“You still haven’t thanked him,” Finn chirped before returning to his hushed conversation with Hunter. Their abilityto eavesdrop and not lose focus on each other was admirable, if not annoying.
“Thank you,” Marshall said to me, annoyance flickering across his face before sincerity settled there. “For being the best brother our father could have made.”
“Hey!” Finn chucked my napkin back across the table, but Marshall anticipated it, snatching it out of the air and passing it back to me with an unbothered expression.
“What?” he countered, brow raised. “He is.”
