You Gonna Man Up?
LEO
Badger State Brewery and Pub sits on Main Street between the hardware store and what used to be a diner. Small town Wisconsin in December; Christmas lights strung across storefronts, snow piled along the curbs, the kind of cold that bites through your jacket.
Isaac holds the door. Warm air and noise rush out. Country music playing, people laughing, the smell of fried food and beer.
Max is already inside. Scanning for a table like he's on a mission. "There." He points to a booth in the corner. "That's our spot. We always sit there."
"When were you last here?" I ask. "You're twenty-one."
"Shh." Max grins. "Isaac has been bringing me since I was nineteen. Don't tell Mom."
Isaac snorts. "Pretty sure Mom knows. She knows everything." We claim the booth. Max slides in first, and I follow. Isaac sits across from us. A waitress appears immediately. Blonde, maybe mid-forties, the kind of smile that says she's known Max since he was in diapers.
"Max Webber! Look at you, all grown up and legal now?"
"Hi, Carol." Max is blushing. "Yes, I'm legal and everything now. Can we get three—"
"Three Spotted Cows, I know. Your brother's usual." She winks at Isaac. "Be right back, boys."
Max is vibrating with energy. Drumming his fingers on the table. Looking around, cataloging every detail. "I missed this place," he says.
"It's been four months," Isaac points out.
"Four months is a long time!"
"You literally texted me two weeks ago that you never wanted to see another corn field as long as you lived."
"I was being dramatic. I love corn. Corn is great. Wisconsin is great. This pub is great." Max grins at me. "Isn't this place great?"
"It's nice," I say. There's only a slim chance my voice sounds normal, but Max doesn't seem to notice. He's already talking to Isaac, gesturing wildly, nearly knocking over the napkin dispenser.
I’m watching him; I can't help it. He's so happy here. Relaxed in a way he hasn't been in days. Like being home has flipped a switch, and suddenly everything's easy again. It’s like nothing happened. Like we didn't have sex.
Carol returns with three bottles and sets them down. "You boys need food?" Isaac and I shake our heads. Max doesn't hesitate. "Cheese curds, please."
"Of course, sweetie." She laughs and heads back to the kitchen.
Isaac takes a long pull from his beer, eyes on Max. The corner of his mouth pulls up but doesn't quite become a smile. "So," Isaac says. "How's school?"
"Good! Really good. Oh, did I tell you Sebastian moved to Switzerland?
With Gavin? So the house dynamic has completely rebalanced.
The social equilibrium is actually more stable now, which sounds counterintuitive because you'd think losing a variable would create instability, but it turns out Sebastian was a destabilizing force, and now the system is—"
"Max." Isaac's smiling. "Breathe."
Max stops and grins sheepishly. "Sorry. I've been saving that for when I saw you."
"I can tell."
I take a long pull of cold beer and sit back while Isaac talks: winter prep, equipment maintenance, spring planting. The kind of conversation that belongs to people who know Wisconsin. Max leans forward, elbows on the table, nodding along like he understands every word. He probably does.
Max, who can talk hydraulics with his dad and then turn around and explain quantum mechanics and somehow, I don't know. He just fits. That's the thing about Max. He belongs everywhere. Every room, every conversation, every world he walks into. I'm not sure I belong anywhere.
Knock it off, Bennett. That's the anxiety talking. I belong with the guys. I belong there. And Max is the reason I have them in the first place—he's the one who decided we'd be friends, who pulled me into the group, who made space for me.
I can't lose that. I can't lose him.
"Actually," Isaac says, his voice shifting. Heavier. "I wanted to run something by you. Both of you."
Max leans forward. "What's up?"
"I've been thinking about diversifying. Adding a small dairy operation. Maybe twenty to thirty heads to start. There's grant money available for sustainable farming practices, and the margins on corn aren't what they used to be."
"That sounds amazing," Max says immediately. "Like, really smart. But why are you only doing corn now when you could—"
"That." Isaac's jaw tightens. "That's exactly what I tried to say. Dad won't even discuss it. We had a fight yesterday. He shut me down before I could even finish explaining."
"What? Why?"
"Because it's different. Because it's 'not how we've always done things.
'" Isaac stares at his beer. "I'm twenty-seven years old.
I've been running this farm for the better part of four years while he deals with his back and hip issues, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
But any time I suggest changing anything, he acts like I'm trying to destroy his legacy. "
Max's eyebrows draw together, a little crease forming between them that only shows up when he's genuinely upset. His mouth pulls tight. Hurt for his brother. Frustrated with their dad. "That's bull-pucks."
"Yeah." Isaac takes another drink. "It is."
"The dairy thing makes sense," I say quietly. Both of them look at me. "Diversification reduces risk. If corn prices drop, you have another revenue stream. And if you're focusing on sustainable practices, you're positioning for long-term viability."
Isaac’s eyebrows climb. “Exactly. Thank you.” He slaps his hand down on the table and grins at me.
“Leo, you know about farm economics?” Max grins at me. "Since when?"
"I took an agricultural economics class a few years ago." There's a good chance I'm blushing. "It was interesting."
"Sophomore year," Max says suddenly, looking at me. "I forgot about that."
I'll never tell him why. When he first invited me home for Christmas that year and wouldn't stop talking about his parents, Isaac, and the farm, I panicked and enrolled in a class on soil pH and commodity markets just so I wouldn't walk into his world completely blind.
That I'd wanted his family to like me that badly.
"Just an elective," I say. Our eyes meet. And there it is. That thing that's been sitting between us since we slept together. The thing neither of us is talking about. It's there for just a second, and then Max blinks and looks back at Isaac, easy as flipping a switch.
Isaac's eyes move between us. Back and forth. Slow and deliberate. I take a long drink of my beer and look at the table. Fuck, I’m being weird, and Isaac’s gonna kick my ass if he figures it out.
A man walks past our table toward the bar, and Isaac's whole body changes; spine straightening, jaw tightening. The man notices. He grins, cocky and deliberate, tips an imaginary hat at Isaac, and keeps walking.
Isaac glares until he's gone. "Who was that?" Max asks.
"Nobody."
"That didn't look like a nobody. That looks like somebody you want to punch." Max is teasing, but I kind of think he's on the right track.
"He’s the foreman at the Johnson ranch next door." Isaac doesn't look up from his beer. "And an asshole."
Max waits, but Isaac doesn't elaborate. "What's his problem?"
"Don't know. Don't care. He was a dick when I was over there last month." Isaac takes a drink. "That's all."
"Why were you at the Johnsons'?"
The corner of Isaac's mouth pulls up but doesn't quite become a smile. "Checking in on old Mr. Johnson. That's all."
Max nods and moves on, but I catch it, the way Isaac's voice goes carefully neutral. Too casual. Like he's choosing each word. Max doesn't notice, or if he does, he lets it go. Small town politics, maybe. Or something else. Either way, not my business.
Carol delivers cheese curds. Max immediately grabs one and makes an exaggerated sound of pain.
Isaac laughs. They're comfortable together.
The way brothers should be. I want that.
Fuck… I used to have that. I take a drink and try not to think about why I don't anymore. I already know why. I made a choice, and I’d make it again, and that's the problem.
"Soooo, Max." Isaac's voice is casual, too casual. "Mom mentioned you're dating a lot this term."
Max chokes on his beer. "What? No. I mean, not a lot. Just… exploring options."
"Exploring options." Isaac's face is perfectly serious. "And how's that working out for your GPA?"
"My GPA is fine!"
"Because Mom said you sounded stressed on the phone this week—"
"I wasn't stressed about dating, I was stressed about finals and—" Max stops. Eyes narrowing. "You're messing with me."
The beer doesn't quite hide Isaac's smile. Max grabs a napkin and throws it at him, but Isaac catches it. "Making sure you're keeping your priorities straight. Education first. Dating second."
"I can handle both, thanks."
"Can you? Leo here looks like he's been keeping you on track." Isaac glances at me. "That true, Leo? You keeping Max focused?"
There's a 93% chance this is a trap. "Max doesn't need me to keep him focused," I say carefully. "He's doing fine on his own."
"Hmm." Isaac takes a drink. Still watching me over the bottle.
That's not what he's actually asking. Shit, he knows. He has to know. And he's going to kill me. Quietly and efficiently, they'll never find the body because he knows every inch of this farm.
Max nudges my shoulder. Casual. Easy. Like he's already put what we did behind him.
I wish I could say the same. Can I tell him I want more?
But he wants to date more guys when we get back to school.
JP's gonna find him, someone this time, and…
No, that's better. If JP finds someone, we can be friends again. None of this weirdness.
"Hey," Max says quietly to me while Isaac goes to the bar for another round. "I… Did I thank you for… You know. Helping me out. With the… thing."
The thing. The night that's been replaying in my head every second all week is now ‘the thing’.
"You don't have to thank me," I say.