Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jet didn’t stay at the shop long after Myles left to bring Shelly to her classes at the Y. The quiet, after he left, and Steven took over from Stephanie, was loud. It was great to have his dad’s stereo system working again, but even with that, the bookshop was beginning to feel oddly small.
It had never felt that way before. Steven had never needed space away from his space.
At least, not for years now. Not since the months following their parents’ deaths.
He liked it here. He was comfortable. Maybe the feeling of needing a moment’s peace from the place was down to the way the building kept reminding him it was there.
It was small things at first. Blinking lights for no reason. The radio going fuzzy until he said something about it out loud. Finding the windows open to let in too much heat upstairs so he didn’t feel like lounging there when the shop was closed or he had a break.
Now, when he wandered into the front room at closing time, he found the front door wide open.
“What the hell?” His father had installed a spring mechanism on the door to make sure it closed after customers coming and going, and it had always worked just fine. “What are you up to?”
That was the moment he saw Jake scuttling with purpose across the street, and he stepped out onto the porch to greet him as he mounted the sidewalk on their side.
“Jake?”
Both of Jake’s fists were scrunched tight at his sides, and he glared at the ground as he mounted the steps. He still wore his Oaks serving staff apron tied precisely around his waist.
“What’s wrong?”
Jake’s jaw worked, a sure sign he was choosing his words and trying hard to make sure he moderated his volume. Getting too loud was only ever an issue when he was truly upset, and the fact he was actively thinking about it was both worrisome and impressive.
Steven waited.
“You should come,” Jake said at last, eyes still on the ground between them.
“Come where?” Steven frowned across the street at the B and B where Jake had come from.
“He got in a fight.”
“Who did?”
Jake lifted his gaze to Steven’s chest. “He has bruises, and if he gets too hurt, you’ll be hurt. So.” He stomped one foot. “You should come.”
“Are you talking about Myles?”
That got a vigorous nod.
“Does Lucky know you came to get me?” Best to push back against the instant worry, the almost panic that Myles might, in fact, be seriously injured. Focus on the practical. Focus on Jake and what he needed. That was easiest.
Unnecessary, probably. Jake seemed to be doing just fine.
“Oh.” His gaze dropped like lead back to the porch. “He’ll be mad.”
“More likely worried.” Steven glanced behind him at the open door to the shop, but even as he did, it swung shut and locked itself. “Goddammit.” Out of curiosity, he tried the handle, which of course, didn’t turn.
Jake shuffled his feet.
Steven turned back to look across the street over his brother’s shoulder.
On the B and B’s front porch, Lucky appeared, apron on, coffee pot in hand.
Steven waved.
Nodding once, Lucky turned and went back inside.
“Go on back to work, Jake,” Steven said gently. “I’ll call Myles. I’m sure he’s fine.”
“It’s important,” Jake insisted with another foot stomp. “You have to tell him this is not on.”
“I will.”
“To his face.”
“Jake—”
Jake lifted his head and glared at Steven, right in the eye, for a split second before the look glanced away again, bouncing over Steven’s shoulder and then slightly downward to the potted plant next to the door.
“This is really important to you.”
Another of those teeth-rattling nods.
“Why?”
“He’s important to you.”
He wasn’t wrong. But it was a summer fling, and not something Steven had a right to have a say in. If Myles was the violent type who got into fights, maybe it shouldn’t even be that.
“You have to look after him,” Jake said. “So he can look after Shelly. She’s little.”
“Myles is not little. He doesn’t need looking after.”
Jake looked up again, this time holding the eye contact while he spoke. “Everyone needs some looking after. Even me.”
“Oh jeez.” Steven almost pulled him into a hug to hide his grin and the amusement, pride, general bursting feeling of Jake-ness that overtook him, but then Jake stomped his foot a third time and let his gaze slide away again.
“Even you,” Jake went on. “I have Lucy and she has me. Steph has Bob. Lucky and Kreed. Tris and Ozzy.” He pointed a finger at Steven and shook it. “Don’t mess this up. It’s your turn!”
He couldn’t explain to Jake how temporary Myles was. How fleeting. How, at the end of the summer, all Steven would have was the house, the shop, the four walls that had become his responsibility to protect. He couldn’t explain it, because he didn’t want to say it out loud.
He had the house.
He thought about what Tiffany had said.
Maybe the house had him.
He glanced back at the closed door. It swung open, and for a split second, the relief that he might not have to leave was palpable.
Then it swung, fast and jerky, and the OPEN/CLOSED sign flopped around to land on Closed.
The door shut again with a determined clap of wood and snick of lock.
Well, that message couldn’t be much clearer, could it?
“Okay,” he said on a sigh.
Jake lurched, his shoulders going up then pushing back, and he grinned. “Okay?”
“Okay, then.” Steven held out a hand. If Jake thought it was for him, that was fine. Steven knew it was because he needed the moral support.
Without a breath of hesitation, Jake took it and turned, practically yanking Steven into motion.
“Good thing I wear house slippers, Jake. You didn’t even give me time to put shoes on!”
“Slippers are good,” Jake reminded him. “Feels like home. Safe.”
They weren’t Jake’s bunny slippers, but he wasn’t wrong. The familiarity of them on his feet did hold a sort of homelike comfort. He wasn’t mad about that.
The B and B door opened to them, though neither of them touched it, and no one was on the other side, waiting.
Jake muttered a thank-you to her and hauled Steven through. “He’s in the kitchen.”
Unable to take his hand back if he wanted to—and he wasn’t quite sure he did want to—Steven followed through the dining room to the swinging door that led to the kitchen.
Shelly sat on the huge dog bed with MJ and Emma. Kreed was cooking, and Lucky was arranging dishes in the dishwasher.
Jake dropped Steven’s hand and hurried over to relieve him with a muttered “Sorry.”
Myles sat slumped at the kitchen counter, elbows on the granite surface, fingers tangled in his hair.
“Hey.” Steven put a hand on his shoulder.
Everyone except Jake stopped what they were doing to look at him.
“Mr. Stevie!” Shelly bounded up and wrapped herself around his legs.
“Heya, Shelly. How are you?”
“Went to the Y today!” And she was off, mile-a-minute, about—well, Steven wasn’t honestly listening, because Myles’s face had caught and held all of his attention.
A black eye had started on the left side, where his whole cheek was an angry red. His knuckles were raw, and he had a split fat lip.
“You’re here,” Myles said. His expression gave nothing away, and his eyes were too shadowed to be of any help figuring out what he was thinking.
“Jake—” Steven pointed at his brother.
Myles tilted his head. “Jake?”
“Takes after our sister, that one. Bit of a busybody.”
Myles almost smiled, but it shifted to a grunt and a grimace before his face went back to neutral.
Steven wasn’t sure what came next. If he wanted to talk to Myles, he didn’t want to do it with everyone there, watching from the corners of their eyes, questions practically bursting their curiosity at the seams.
Then the back door opened and Jet came in. He only glanced at Steven, avoided Myles’s eye completely, and held out a hand to Shelly. “C’mon, Shells. Ozzy needs our help at the Cabin. He has to fix up a room for Uncle Myles’s new friend.” At that, he did shoot Myles a dirty look.
Steven took a step back. “New friend?”
“Shit,” Myles whispered, and dropped his head back into his hand.
Shelly took her brother’s hand and followed him out of the Oaks without question, cat and dog both hot on their heels.
Animals were smart that way. Get while the getting was good. Steven wasn’t sure he blamed them one bit.
Squaring his shoulders, he put a hand on the back of Myles’s neck, a gesture that he already knew would get his attention and focus it. “I came all this way,” he said, as calmly as he could. “Best we talk, yeah?”
Myles shrugged.
“Best we talk,” Steven said again, with more conviction and a light squeeze of his fingers. Because he had come, and Myles had already acknowledged that he had, that he hadn’t been expected, and hell. He done the thing, and now Myles could damn well tell him what was going on.
He’d only ever used that tone of voice to get Myles to kiss him properly and didn’t know if it would work now.
It did.
Myles got up and pointed to the door leading to the back rooms.
Good. Steven hadn’t relished having this conversation with witnesses. He tried not to feel self-conscious as he followed Myles through the door while Kreed and Lucky emphatically did not look up from what they were doing.
Jake gave him two thumbs-up as he passed, and Steven chuckled. Thank you, Jake, for being Jake. He returned the gesture with one hand, and then they were through the door and alone.
They’d made it through the door, which closed with a thump behind them, and along a narrow corridor to a small room with a bed, layered throw rugs underfoot, and the sparse but serviceable decor of a guest room.
Myles sank onto the bed, head still hanging. He said nothing.
Steven pulled a chair over from the nearby table and set it facing him. Before he sat, he went to the adjoining bathroom to fetch a damp cloth, towel, and the small first-aid box he noticed in the under-sink cupboard that popped open when he entered.
“Thanks,” he said to the room as he removed it.
The sink’s tap came on, water lukewarm.
“Helpful.”
The lights flickered in what he could only interpret as a self-satisfied way.