He stabs a finger at my brother. “I want him out. There’s no way I’m letting a fucking?—”
“Donotfinish that goddamn sentence.” Lowering my voice, I command, “Walk away.Right. Now. I’ve got this.”
“Fine,” he spits, the faint smell of alcohol on his breath. “He’s your problem now.” He throws his hands in the air and kicks up dirt when he stomps away.
“The only problem is you,” I snarl.
He doesn’t hear me, or maybe he’s chosen to ignore me. Either way, he doesn’t turn or respond.
With a heavy sigh, I focus on the boys, and instantly, my heart sinks. There’s no mistaking the tears in Kane’s eyes.
His friend rests a sympathetic hand to his shoulder, but he pulls away.
“Forget him, dude,” the kid declares. “He’s a douche.”
“Hey,” I say, extending my hand. “I’m Ezra. Kane’s?—”
“Brother,” the friend finishes. “Yeah, I heard about you. I’m Mano.”
“Nice to meet you, Mano. I’m sorry about that. It was a dick move.” I refuse to apologize onbehalf ofmy father, but the kid deserves some empathy.
“S’fine.” He shrugs. He’s tall like my brother but much leaner. Cut from years on a surfboard, if I had to guess. His frizzy dark hair falls past his shoulders. To be honest, he looks more like me than Kane does.
Kane sniffs and wipes his eyes. “What the fu—” He huffs. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“You’ll stay with me,” I say without hesitation.
“But—”
“No buts.” I wave a hand in the air and step up to the line for the food truck. “We’ll figure it out later.”
“What are you doing?” Kane peers around at the people still gawking at us.
“Getting tacos for Millie. Want any?”
Both boys shake their heads, and Mano leans in to whisper to Kane. I keep my focus fixed on the line ahead of me to give them some privacy as they quickly hug.
“What’ll it be?” a spritely woman calls from the truck after Mano says goodbye and takes off.
“Hmm, what does Millie like?” I mutter, scanning the chalkboard menu.
Kane side-eyes me. “You don’t know what kind of tacos your wife likes?”
Shit. “No—I—of course I do,” I fumble. “I’m just not sure what she’ll be in the mood for. Women. They’re complicated,” I add for effect.
The woman poised to take my order rolls her eyes and motions for the customer behind me.
Yeah, that’s fair.
“I wouldn’t know.” Smirking, Kane shrugs.
“Oh my god, did you just crack a joke?” I elbow him. “Listen. You don’t have to share anything you’re not ready to share, but Millie is…” Fuck, I can’t out my own wife—fake wife—that’s her story to share. I clear my throat. “Millie and I are allies. So we’re cool.”
“You’recool?” He says it like he’s mocking a fifty-five-year-old man trying to hang with “the youths.”
“Hey, don’t make this weird.” I grin, and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t flash the quickest of smiles.
Kane trails behind me as I unlock the gate that leads to the garage apartment. We kick off our shoes, and as I ascend the stairs, I call out, “Honey, I’m home. Are you decent?”
