He stepped into the main room, clocked the couch, and flushed pink all the way to his ears. The last thing anyone would call Shay was sheltered. He was a hell-raiser as a teen, took a break for a stint in the army, and returned to take up where he left off—but he still blushed like a Victorian maiden. He turned briskly on his heel and raised one hand to scratch his temple and block out that view of the side of the room.
“You’ve got company,” he said. “What the hell, Boyd. Do you even know his name?”
Boyd clenched his jaw on the old argument. He didn’t need a protective big brother or anyone to run his life for him, but he didn’t think it would do any good to claim the high ground tonight.
“I know his name,” he said through gritted teeth.
From the other side of the room, Morgan said, “Morgan, if you wanted to know.”
The low rasp of his voice made the back of Boyd’s neck tingle despite his best efforts to not be an asshole. He took a deep breath. “Look, just… I can explain.”
“You don’t need to,” Shay said. The expression of disapproval on his face softened with bitter sympathy. “Sometimes you just want to forget, right?”
Boyd cringed.
“It’s not that simple.” He grabbed Shay’s arm and dragged him across to the kitchen. It was open plan, so it didn’t give them that much privacy, but it felt like something. Boyd lowered his voice. “Morgan…. Morgan was a, mmm… bad idea.”
He’d started to saymistake, but his tongue tripped over it. Bad idea felt like it fit better. Shay crossed his arms and frowned.
“You want me to throw him out?” he asked without bothering to lower his voice.
“No,” Boyd said.
“You can try,” Morgan said with contempt. The metal-on-metal sound of a zipper rasped. “Or if the nerd wants me to leave, he can just ask. If I’m not welcome—”
Boyd twisted around and held up his hand. “Stay,” he said. Morgan glared back at him sullenly. “Please.”
After a smug glance in Shay’s direction, Morgan settled back into the couch. He cocked his leg up and slung his arms over the plastic-covered back of the new couch.
“Why do you have two couches?” Shay asked as he registered that. “Did you go to the furniture store alone again?”
Boyd rubbed his hand over his eyes. “The DNA the cops in Huntington matched wasn’t to remains,” he said quietly. “It was to someone, a living someone, who was in their system.”
Shay looked… blank, mostly. His face went slack, and he stepped back to lean against the counter. He swallowed hard and scratched at his eyebrow as he tried to absorb that. “That’s impossible.”
“I know,” Boyd said. His chest felt tight, and his throat was pinched until it was hard to breathe. “Mac thinks it was some sort of mistake—”
“Of course it was,” Shay said sharply as he visibly latched on to that explanation. He snorted as he shook his head. “Or another con artist. Fuck, Boyd, did you think it was real? Is that why you wanted me to come over?”
“I don’t know what it is.”
“Don’t,” Shay said. “You’ll break your heart like Mom, kid. I know it’s hard not to, but you can’t have hope after this long.”
“The DNA matched. They double-checked it,” Boyd said. “There were some problems with the DNA sample, but they said it was a match. So whatever it is, it’s something. That’s why Mac brought him back here, so we could find out.”
“Who?” Shay asked.
Boyd licked his lips and glanced toward Morgan. Whom, he wondered, had he thought he was going to take to bed—Morgan or Sammy? Neither reflected well on him. He looked back round, an apology on his lips, and saw the grim anger on Shay’s face.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Him?” Shay grimaced as though he tasted something sour. He pushed himself off the counter. “Get the fuck out of my way, Boyd.”
Boyd blocked him, arms spread. “You can be mad at me if you want. I don’t blame you,” he said. “But what if—”
Shay’s laugh was a nasal, angry noise that caught in his nose. He shook his head.
“What if?” he blurted angrily. “What if you fucked my baby brother? Is that it? You stupid fucking—”
