He gave her that. It wasn’t as though she could turn it into coffee. He waited until the sound of her feet reached the top of the stairs and then gave Shay a bleak look.
“Your mom’s a—”
“Troubled,” Shay interrupted. “She doesn’t mean it. It’s just that she’s got no one else to be angry at. Maybe you should go. This is…. She’s trying, but you’re not eight, and that’s not something she’s finding easy to accept. The drink makes it easier for her.”
“Will you be okay?” Morgan asked as he got up.
Shay gave him a quick smile. It was surprisingly sweet against that coolly handsome face. “I’m used to it. Come on. I’ll call you a cab.”
They waited outside on the neat square of dead lawn next to the mailbox. Someone had carvedCallowaydown the post in stiff, pocket-knife lines. Morgan glanced uncomfortably at it and away.
“Don’t go to Boyd’s,” Shay said suddenly. “Not because of Mom or because I’m jealous—”
Morgan scowled. “Good, because you lost your chance,” he said. “He’s—”
“Not like that,” Shay interrupted with an exasperated sigh. Morgan was relieved he didn’t have to find the words to finish that sentence, because none of them belonged to him.Mine. In love already.My boyfriend.Something picked at the back of his brain, a nail against a scab, but Shay interrupted him. “Boyd’s been my stand-in kid brother for longer than my real kid brother. I kind of got used to him being around, so even if you weren’t a con artist, my nose would have been put out of joint. He never picked anyone else over me before.”
Morgan shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I don’t want to hurt him either,” he said, because why play stupid now. “If I wasn’t me, if I was Sammy, maybe I wouldn’t have to.”
“I don’t know,” Shay said. He slapped his hand on Morgan’s shoulder with awkward, halfhearted affection. “I loved my brother, but he could be a little ass. He gave Boyd a black eye, you know, that last day. God knows why. Boyd never said. I don’t think he knew.”
The itch in the back of Morgan’s brain jabbed him again and then slunk away before he could grab it. It would come to him eventually. The cab finally pulled up outside, and the driver looked out over the passenger seat at them. “Morgan?”
“Let him go,” Shay said as he tightened his fingers on Morgan’s shoulder. “Let me tell him you were a con artist, that you just used him. Or stay and face the music.”
“What if I don’t like either of those options?” Morgan asked.
Shay just shrugged and went back inside. The door slammed behind him, and Morgan was left with a decision to make.
“Hey?” the driver said irritably as he tapped the horn. “You want a ride or not?”
“Yeah,” Morgan said as he shook off the moment of doubt. “Get me the hell out of here.”
THE TRUTHwas that Morgan got in the car with the best of intentions. Or at least the best intentions he could muster when tomorrow he was going to try to pass himself off as a missing eight-year-old. The driver had the address of the B and B, and the only company Morgan planned to have was a beer to rinse away the smell of whiskey.
That lasted until the black Toyota pulled up outside a bar and Morgan looked out the window and saw Boyd on the sidewalk. A stocky woman with curly shoulder-length hair pulled him along, both her hands wrapped around his wrist. Boyd laughed as an older man, hair shaved down to fuzz and beard clipped neat and square slung a wiry, companionable arm over his shoulder. Another man orbited them, all smiles and good humor. Friends on a night out, easy and casual as the bouncer waved them through the door.
“Let me off here,” Morgan said. He pulled cash out of his pocket, the notes still beer-scented from the scuffle in the bar, and passed them forward. “Thanks.”
The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror, his brown eyes tired and red-rimmed. “You sure?” He tapped the GPS screen with one blunt finger. “Still a long walk to your hotel.”
“Yeah. Don’t worry about it,” Morgan said as he popped the seat belt loose and nudged the door open. “I got somewhere else to sleep tonight.”
The driver chuckled, shook his head, and tucked the money into his jacket. “You gotta love a confident man,” he said. “But if it doesn’t work out? I’m working until two.”
Morgan smirked. “I won’t.”
He slid out of the car, slammed the door behind him, and loped across the road to the door of the club. The bouncer gave him a brief once-over, and his gaze lingered on the bruise on Morgan’s temple. Then he pointed his chin to the taxi that still idled at the lights.
“If you just saw your ex go in,” he said, voice pitched to carry over the thump of music, “go home. She don’t want to see you, and I don’t want to have to haul your ass out.”
Morgan tilted his head to the side and peered past the wide black-clad shoulder. He could see Boyd, one arm propped on the woman’s shoulder as they settled into a booth.
“Far as I know, he hasn’t dumped me yet,” he said. “Cute guy, dark and pretty eyes. He’s a firefighter.”
The bouncer rolled his eyes. “Great. So if I don’t let you in, I’m keeping a hero from getting laid? Fine. Go on in. But don’t make me regret it.”
Morgan mock-crossed his heart, and the bouncer waved him through into the club. The lighting was low and the music was too, for now. The night was still young and chill. Only a few people had ventured onto the dance floor, laughing and engrossed with each other, while most of them were still at the bar or at tables. Two of Boyd’s group had already veered off, one after a blond in a miniskirt and the other to the restrooms.
