7. No Doubt, the Best of All of Us
NO DOUBT, THE BEST OF ALL OF US
EXTON
Brighton. I swear she might as well have been a brother for all her torment. It’s the joy in her falsely sweet delivery that we fall for. And she hammers us every time.
“You’re seeing someone?” Pop asks tentatively, as if he wants a yes and a no at the same time.
“Not exactly.”
“You gay?” Braxton asks, with the candor of a five-year-old.
“No.” I smile at him. “You could’ve handled that better if I were though. Might’ve been a big moment for me.”
“What’s Bright on about?” Pop interrupts me schooling my brother.
“I met someone. A woman. She’s here. I’m going back to Washington,” I say, sliding my hands on my hips.
Pop’s head drops. He’s not emotional normally, but since Mom passed, it rolls off of him in waves.
I can’t read if he’s happy or sad or disappointed or distrusting.
All I can tell is that he is overwhelmed.
He keeps his eyes fixed on his boots, before walking to me and clamping a hand on my shoulder.
“Want nothing but the best for you, son. Don’t care what package that’s wrapped up in.
Knowing your mom will never know your partner…
I—” He squeezes the hand on my shoulder and walks toward the house, never finishing his thought.
Not needing to... I feel the exact same way.
“When?” Brax asks.
“When what?”
“When do you go back?”
“Next week.”
He nods solemnly. “I get it, Ex. I just miss you is all.” He turns on his boot and heads toward his house at the front of the property.
Now all I need is Layton to make some you should come home comment and the full-family guilt trifecta would be complete.
But Layton is smart. He’s got a place halfway between here and Austin, still in the country, for the off-season.
It’s nice, but not ostentatious. His Florida place, on the other hand, says first-round draft pick clout and pro football money.
He managed not to become enmeshed in the family business when he left for college. I thought I’d avoided it too.
I grab my phone and see the texts that my argument with Brighton sent to Willa and her response.
Me: Long story. Hope you’re having a good day.
I’m sliding my phone into my back pocket only to pull it out when it rings with an unknown number.
I answer anyway. If it comes through the filters, it’s not spam. “Ranger.”
“Ranger, how are you? It’s Fitzgerald Young in San Antonio.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I heard you’re in town. Can you consult on a case for me?”
“If it’s okay with Smithson, sure.” My boss is flexible and will like the clout of his direct reports working with Bureau chiefs around the country.
“Already checked. He’s good with it. You’ll have approval in your email by the time we hang up. By the way, I’m sorry to hear about your mom.”
“Thank you. What’s the case?”
“We have a smuggling ring. Organs. Investigation is underway but we could use your expertise. Can you come in tomorrow or Monday to discuss?”
“Monday works. Send me the time and address. I’ll be there.”
“I appreciate it, Ranger.”
He disconnects the call, and I let a small smile break free. I have a couple more days away from the damp winter of the District and maybe another night or two with Willa Jayne.
“Another sappy grin?” my sister starts. She’s back, offering me a glass of tea.
I bare my teeth, but my eyes demonstrate I’m not mad. “He seems like a nice man?”
She throws her head back and cackles. “An easy man to fall for? Does she know you? Nothing about you is easy, Exton.”
Ouch.
My eyes must shutter, because she walks to me, stopping a couple of feet away.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“Yeah, I did. But not in a mean way.”
“It’s a weird compliment then.”
“Exton,” she starts, pausing. “You are brilliant, charming, and funny. You’re loyal and, no doubt, the best of all of us. And most people will never know it, because you hold things so close to the vest that we aren’t privy to who you are.”
“Another odd compliment.”
She punches my shoulder. “Listen, asswipe, I love you. You are amazing. I wish the whole world knew it. But if one woman does, and you’re real with her, I hope she recognizes what we all know.”
I soften. She’s not wrong, not about the charming and amazing crap, but about the close-to-the-vest part.
“Occupational hazard.”
“Maybe so. But if she’s worth it, let her slay that dragon.” She taps my chest with her palm. “Love you, Bro. Let’s grab some lunch.”
She turns and begins walking, but waits for me to join her. I wrap an arm around her neck and pull her in to ruffle her hair.
“Not the hair.” She wiggles to get free. “Never the hair.”