Chapter 35 Smith
SMITH
When we got to Marshall’s, Silas’s car wasn’t there. I took that as a good sign, assumed he was probably with Lincoln, and fought back the taste of jealousy. I put my car into park and stared at Marshall’s garage, smiling—just barely—when I felt Riggs’s attention turn from the house to my profile.
“Are we going in?”
“Yeah.”
I didn’t move.
“In a bit?” Riggs asked, reaching over the console and rubbing my thigh. As soon as his hand hit mine, relief washed over me and I closed my eyes and let my head drop against the headrest.
I knew Lincoln—and Hunter—and also Silas and Marshall were into some of the more intense examples of power exchange I’d seen first-hand at Rapture, and Riggs was too in some ways, but the nature of our relationship felt different than how I pictured theirs.
It wasn’t a constant thing or even really a necessary thing.
It was something fun, something that elevated our intimacy.
But even the situational nature of it didn’t change how nice it felt to have Riggs’s support.
Though, that was also just part of being in a relationship with someone probably.
“I love all my brothers, but Marshall means the most to me.”
“I can tell.”
“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 leather jacket.
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.
“Not the judgmental part, no.”
“That’s fair,” he agreed. “But you’ve never brought anyone home before.”
“Should it matter? I’m the same person, same age, same everything whether I’m seeing someone or not.”
“Can you point me toward the restroom?” Riggs asked, pushing his chair back. He wasn’t trying to make an escape. I could see the struggle in his face. He wanted to stay, but he could tell the conversation Marshall and I were wandering into was the one I’d been worried about in the car.
“Down the hall, open door,” Marshall said.
Riggs brushed a hand through my hair before setting off in that direction, footsteps growing quieter the farther away he got. Neither of us said a word until we both heard the door close.
“You’re being an asshole,” I said at the same time my brother offered, “I’m sorry.”
My eyes went a little wide and so did his, but he leaned back a little in his seat, spinning the stem of the wine glass between his thumb and finger.
“I know I am,” he said. “And I’m sorry, I just…”
“Maybe let me go first.”
He nodded, and I took another drink of wine to find some courage.
“You know our relationship is different,” I started. Marshall tipped his chin in agreement. “I expect it’s because of the age difference between us, because I am…because I was so young when I got thrust into this life.”
“No one should have had to come into this family the way you did.”
“And yet.”
“I’m glad for it,” he said with a half-smile. “Not that I would wish on anyone what you’ve been through, but I’m glad that you’re here. That you’re my brother.”
I’d expected Marshall to say many things but not that.
“I’m glad I’m your brother too. And I think sometimes I might have put some unfair expectations on myself because of how glad I was about that.”
He made a thoughtful noise but didn’t interrupt.
“I wanted to be like you for so long. I drink the things you like, I went into the career you have—”
Marshall interrupted, “Historical renovations would put me into an early grave.”
I chuckled, nodding. “It’s certainly not for the weak.”
“No.”
“Anyway, I…I really wanted to be so much like you, and maybe that was unfair to you. You didn’t ask for that.”
“I didn’t ask for lots of things in this life, Smith. That doesn’t mean they’re not welcome…or wanted.” Marshall paused, looking down into his wine before looking up at me with slightly glassy eyes. “You’re both, by the way.”
“I know. I just…I think what I’m trying to say is… it wasn’t fair for me to model myself so much after you. That’s not what you asked for.”
“I know how I positioned myself in your life. It was not unintentional. I understood what I was asking for the both of us.”
Blinking hard, I rubbed the side of my finger against my lower lash line, grateful to find it dry.
“And I am so proud of the man you’ve become,” Marshall went on. “Proud of the career you’ve built for yourself, even on the days you doubt it. For the life and the friends you’ve made, for the love you’ve found.”
“You were very not nice about the last part when you found out about Riggs,” I reminded him.
“I was caught off-guard by the whole thing, and I’m sorry for how I reacted. Finn made sure to put me in my place more than once since then.”
I chuckled. “Did he now?”
“He did.”
A silence fell, though it felt easier than it had in the first place.
“I do love him,” I whispered, and down the hall the toilet flushed.
“I know.”
“He’s been through a lot,” I said. The sink turned on, turned off. “He’s a really good man, Marshall.”
“He would have to be for you to love him,” my brother said, reaching for the wine bottle. “And so are you, by the way.”
My lashes weren’t dry anymore, but I swiped an errant tear before it managed to track too far of a line down my cheek. The bathroom door opened and Marshall topped off our glasses.
“I am so proud of you,” he said. “And I love you so much, Smith.”
“I love you,” I grumbled back, only holding the words in because the tears were too close to escaping.
Riggs sank down into his seat at my right and immediately returned his hand to my leg.
“Sorry about that,” he said, even though I knew he wasn’t.
“You’re good.” I rested my hand on top of his and threaded our fingers together. “Riggs, this is my brother Marshall. Marshall, this is Riggs.”
They shook hands and Marshall went again for his drink. Things might have been fine, but they were certainly awkward.
“You raised a good man,” Riggs said unexpectedly, and both Marshall’s and my head snapped toward him.
Marshall arched a brow. “Pardon?”
Riggs swallowed hard and shrugged one shoulder toward his ear. “I know some of the history with you and your brothers, and I know how…paternal…you’ve been to Smith. He’s a good man, and I imagine that’s in part because of you.”
I watched carefully as Marshall traced his tongue across the front of his teeth. It was a nervous habit of his, something he did when he was thinking too hard.
“It was always easy with him,” Marshall finally said. “Smith wanted to do good; the other two were the nightmare.”
Riggs laughed under his breath, taking a drink. “I’ve met Finn.”
Marshall’s eyes went a little wide.
“We ran into him at a restaurant,” I explained. “He was in a mood.”
“Finn is always in a mood. I don’t know what’s been going on with him lately.”
I knew exactly what had been going on with Finn, though I found it interesting that Marshall didn’t.
My oldest brother had never been a busybody, but he was the unintentional father of us all and generally always knew what was going on.
He rarely pressed about it, but apparently getting involved with Silas had given him enough cause to step back out of our lives that all three of us had found ourselves in varying states of disarray.
“I’m sure he’ll tell you when he’s ready.”
“Do you know?”
“I know,” I said. “But if you want to know, maybe you should ask him yourself.”
Marshall sighed, knowing I was right. “I’ve been very wrapped up in falling in love,” he admitted.
“You deserve that.”
He glanced across the table, from me to Riggs, to the point at the table where our arms disappeared toward their resting place on my leg.
“So do you,” he said.
I tilted my head toward Riggs. “So does he.”
Marshall swirled his wine around, took a sip and smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
It was something new, to see him out of his element, on unsteady ground and unsure footing.
I didn’t think I hated it, though. Maybe it humanized him a little bit, knocked out some of the supports in the pedestal I’d put him on over a decade earlier.
“Of course,” Marshall agreed, setting his sights on Riggs. “So, Riggs. Tell me about yourself. How did you and my brother first meet?”