Bombora (22 page)

That was another story in and of itself, certainly one of the more ambitious and drug-influenced plot twists I’d attempted. Surprisingly enough, I pulled it off to decent critical response, and not too many comments about the book being semiautobiographical. Still no idea how that happened, but apparently readers loved the plot twist of Alex getting caught up in drugs to infiltrate the cartel they were trying to investigate, and saving his brother’s life in the process. Not semiautobiographical at all. “So they have this, I don’t know… this
special bond
between them as a result.”

Shifting in visible discomfort, Nate chews the inside of his lip and then takes a swig of beer. “So what about Chris?” he asks. “He’s just a reject, now that Alex has a super special FBI agent buddy?”

His question, or rather its vehemence, throws me off. “What? No!” I struggle to recall if I included anything resembling this dynamic in the text, but nothing comes to me. Still, Nate seems wary of the development. He’s far more protective of Chris and Alex’s brotherhood than I expected. “Jacob is supposed to be a friend to them both; there’s no third wheel in this arrangement. Don’t you think things were becoming a bit… claustrophobic? With just the two of them?”

With a shrug, Nate sets my manuscript down in front of him on the coffee table and presses his palm flat against the paper in contemplative silence. I can’t begin to guess what he’s thinking. Eventually he says, “Chris has given up everything for Alex, man. His childhood, his shot at a happy life and a family, his whole future. Even almost his life a few times, just so Alex could be normal and not follow in his footsteps. No wonder he was so pissed Alex tried to throw away his life to save him. Yeah, it’s a big deal Alex got mixed up on drugs to take the heat off his brother, but… Christ. Throw the guy a fucking bone, would you? He’s totally alone, and now it’s like he doesn’t even have his brother anymore.”

The bitterness in Nate’s voice makes me recoil. “Nate, that’s… that isn’t the point of this at all. Just that it’s hard to recreate the same circumstances surrounding Chris and Jacob as with Alex and the agent who saved his ass from gang-style execution. There’s a history there Chris isn’t a part of, but that doesn’t mean he can’t become friends with Jacob in his own time.”

Before Nate answers, his phone beeps from the pocket of his jeans, and he pauses to fish it out and read whichever message awaits him. Though he offers no indication as to whom it’s from, his whole face darkens and a flush rises in his cheeks. He shoves the phone back into his pocket and pushes himself up from the sofa, in a worse temper than I’ve seen him in a long time. “Maybe you should just let Chris have something of his own once in a while, instead of Alex hoarding everything like a goddamned child,” he snaps. “Even if he’d just fuck it up eventually, Chris deserves that much.”

Whoa. As he’s about to storm off, I reach out to snag Nate’s wrist, the one not holding the beer bottle. For a second he glares at me so hard, I almost expect him to hit me with it. “Hey,” I say gently. This whole conversation has come out of left field for me, even though I’m the one who started it. “We
are
still talking about the books, right?”

He shakes off my hand. “Yeah, Hugh.” And then—“I’m going for a run, I’ll see you later.”

H
OURS
later, he comes back smelling inexplicably of sex. I see faint scratches against his skin, pale bruises that might still darken into hickeys. I have no idea how Nate has the capacity to go out and find a girl when he’s out for a run, of all things, but he’s certainly capable enough—or was, before he got married. Our old house hosted a veritable parade of women, sometimes a different one every night, sometimes more than one. I often wondered what the hell he was trying to prove. I have every certainty that’s what he’s done now, and the thought that he’d do so because of some stupid character in a book makes me want to grab my brother by the shoulders and shake him until some common sense rattles loose.

I catch him on his way up to bed from the kitchen, cornering him at the bottom of the stairs like a parent who’s just nailed their kid breaking curfew. “Nate,” I say gently, and the eyes he turns on me aren’t angry or annoyed, just tired and maybe a little shifty, like he’s been busted doing the walk of shame back up to his room. “Everything okay?”

He shifts his weight from foot to foot and scratches the back of his neck before answering. “Yeah, Hugh, I’m fine.” Sounding reluctant, he adds, “Sorry for storming out on you before, guess it must be that time of the month of something.”

The quip makes me wince, but it’s such typical, politically incorrect Nate I can’t help but chuckle. “I appreciate the apology, but I think I might have been acting a bit insensitive myself.” Despite how much my brother hates talking about feelings, it seems like all our major conversations lately are about that. Still, this is a period of adjustment for both of us, and even if that has to do with very different things, there’s enough overlap to compel me to get on with it and make sure our relationship isn’t another source of friction. “Does it piss you off that I’m friends with Phel?” I ask. “I know you don’t like him all that much.” Fighting the urge to inquire why, I stop myself there and wait for Nate to answer.

The response is slow in coming as he stares down at his hands and chews the inside of his lip. I brace myself for the full barrage of reasons why my big brother can’t stand my best friend, maybe with a demand or two that we stop hanging out, but Nate surprises me by speaking in that soft voice he uses when he wants to say something important. “I don’t hate Phel,” he begins, “and no, it doesn’t piss me off that you’re friends with him. I just… I guess I’m going through some stuff right now that makes me realize I’m not doing so hot at the family thing. Pretty shitty, actually, and that’s kind of a lonely feeling.” Nate gestures vaguely. “That hurts, no lie, and then I see you and Phel together, the way the two of you click, and it makes me realize how isolated I really am.”

I shift uncomfortably, knowing how petty my next statement will sound before it’s even out of my mouth. “That’s not how it looks from my end,” I tell him. “Maybe I hang out with Phel more, but sometimes I get this creepy feeling like the two of you have this… this
mind meld
or something. This conversation going on that doesn’t include me.”

Nate looks at me, a hard, stony look. “That’s retarded,” he answers curtly. “I barely know the guy.”

Shrugging, I fold my arms. “Since we’re sharing, I figured I’d just put that out there.”

“Trust me,” says Nate, “I don’t know the first fucking thing about what goes through that guy’s head. Half the time he looks like if he clenches any harder, he’ll pass out. So, no, there’s no ‘mind meld’. You and Phel, on the other hand… you understand each other, even if some of your conversations together could out-geek an astrophysicist. I don’t have that with anyone anymore.” For a second he looks like he wants to say more, but then he tightens his jaw and comes to a full stop, glancing up at me hopelessly.

With Nate being so serious, I’m for some reason compelled to fill the void of inappropriate humor that’s usually his forte. “You want to have geeky conversations with people?” I ask glibly. Off his unimpressed look, I offer, “You have that with me, man; we can talk about anything.”

He dismisses the thought with a wave. “That’s not what I’m talking about, Hugh. You’re my brother—it’s different. I wouldn’t give that up for anything, but you said so yourself—it gets a little claustrophobic without other people.”

“I was talking about my book,” I point out.

Nate snorts. “No, you weren’t.”

Okay, point taken. “That doesn’t mean you can’t also be friends with Phel,” I suggest. “I know he seems kind of uptight, and, well… he is. But he’s a really interesting guy once you get to know him and he starts to relax. He could probably use someone like you to help him loosen up too. ”

Grimacing, Nate mutters, “I’ll say,” and then, louder, “You trying to set us up, Hugh?”

I shrug. The wording isn’t exactly right, but Nate’s not far off the mark. “Not the way you’re implying, but yeah. I think it’d be great if you started spending time together without me. It might be good for both of you, especially now I’m going to be spending a lot more time writing. This might sound stupid, but….”

Nate lifts his eyebrows at me. “What?”

My cheeks flush. “I kind of feel like we have to stick together, you know? You and me and Phel are kind of like outcasts around here. We should have each other’s backs.”

Nate rolls his eyes. “Christ, Hugh, this isn’t Robin Hood and his band of merry men. It won’t solve anything to have three codependent assholes instead of two.” I glare, and he sighs. “Is it really that big of a deal to you that Phel and I hang out?”

“Is it really that much of a hardship that you
do
?” I shoot back. Great, what was supposed to be an adult conversation is quickly dissolving into bickering, and we’re still facing off at the bottom of the stairs, no less. “You’re a big boy, Nate—do whatever you want. I just thought it’d be less awkward if we all got along with one another.”

It shouldn’t delight me so much that his resigned sigh signals my victory over the argument. Nate knows it too, and shoots me a pained glance. “Okay, okay. Don’t get all passive-aggressive on me.” Leaning back up against the wall of the stairwell, he quirks a smile. “Suppose it makes a certain amount of sense, though, since I’ll probably be sticking around for a while.”

This catches me off guard. “Sticking around? Here?” He nods, and I furrow my brow. “You mean… you aren’t going back to Ohio?” I don’t mean to sound like I don’t want him around, because my house feels so much more
full
with Nate here, so much like old times, but this is a development I didn’t expect, given the circumstances and the people he has waiting for him in the Midwest.

With a shrug, he makes a vague gesture. “Eventually, yeah, but for now it seems kind of moot. Emilia and I are through, and I might not even get joint custody of Liam. There’s nothing for me out there besides him, and until I know for sure how much I’ll even be allowed in his life, it makes sense to start thinking about the kind of life I could have out here.”

“I guess….”

“Nothing’s definite,” he assures me. “I understand if you don’t want me in your hair forever, so I’ve been looking around at apartments in the area. Even San Diego would be okay, if I can’t afford anything here.” Apparently my silence and hesitant expression must be getting to him, because his face darkens. “Try not to act too excited about the prospect of me coming to live nearby.”

Unable to stop myself, I scoff. “Come on, Nate, you know that’s not what this is about. You aren’t exactly a free agent, that you can just go moving across the country on a whim.”

“It’s not a whim!” he protests.

“Okay, well, what about your job? Suddenly you no longer need to work?”

There’s a dramatic eye roll, the kind Nate often employs when he thinks I’m being thick. Which—I get that eye roll a lot. “You honestly think I still had a job after word got out I cheated on the boss’s sister-in-law? Craig’s wife would have had his balls if I’d stayed on. I left as much for his sake as mine.” Apparently Nate hears the defensiveness in his own voice, and huffs gently before trying to get his temper under control and stave off another of our legendary spats. “Look. This time of year, there’s never a shortage of construction jobs, that’s for sure. Hell, you could probably even pay me to mow your lawn and I’d make a decent living of it. Work is just about the one thing I’m
not
worried about right now.”

From anyone else, the talk about finding alternate living arrangements would be a way of blowing smoke up my ass, a thinly veiled guilt trip before I dismiss the idea as stupid and offer a place to stay in my own house. But from Nate, I know it’s genuine—he doesn’t mooch off anyone and never accepts handouts. He has to know I’d never force him to go off and live in a shitty studio apartment somewhere, though, especially not with all he’s done for me, and the four extra bedrooms I have at my disposal. Plus, having Nate around makes me happier than almost anything. At least that’s a better alternative to how much I tend to worry about him when he’s out of my sight, and there’s a lot to worry about these days. Really, all this points to me as the asshole, the one who should shut up and drop it. I guess a little part of me still wants to teach Nate a lesson, make sure he understands what he’s gotten himself into. But that’s stupid, I realize. It’s been clear for weeks Nate doesn’t think about much else.

“You don’t have to move out,” I sigh, still a bit sullen. “I want you to stay here. And you don’t need to worry about finding a job, unless you really want to. It’s not like we’re short on cash.”

“I know I don’t
need
to,” Nate scoffs, flashing a smile that’s both grateful and annoyed by the suggestion. “But you know how I feel about pulling my own weight.” He scratches idly at his wrist. “You sure you don’t mind me staying here?”

“
No
, Nate,” I say. “I might not totally approve of your decision not to go back to Ohio, but as long as you’re here, my home is yours. Plus, someone needs to keep you out of trouble.”

Nate’s look turns sad and a bit wistful. “I coulda used you before,” he says, the statement less an accusation about my lack of involvement in his life and more recognition that the responsibility for his fuckups is entirely on his shoulders. That might seem like a heavy thing to take for granted, given that the human condition is to reject accountability whenever possible, but Nate is the kind of person who needs to be reminded he can’t take fault for everything. He assumes the blame for all of my mistakes but none of my successes, and if you sing his kid’s praises, he’ll say he owes it all to Liam’s mother. As far as Nate’s concerned, the only good he’s ever done in his life was getting Emilia pregnant by accident.

I’m struck, suddenly, by such a wave of sadness and loneliness on my brother’s behalf. I can’t help but go up to him and put my arms around in him a hug. He tenses at first, then relaxes into me, clutching at my shoulder for a second before trying to withdraw. I don’t let him. “Everything’s gonna be okay, Nate,” I promise him. “We’ll get you through this. I’m sure even Phel is rooting for you.”