Ezra couldn’t deny my words, and he didn’t attempt to.
His neck was rigid, and I saw his fists clench where they rested against the top of the table. He was gagging to throw a punch but our mother meant as much to him as she did me, and I knew he’d keep that urge contained until we reached the parking lot.
The tension around the table thickened to the point of suffocation and poor Jeffery had to walk right into it. His fingers were looped in sweat, and my whiskey sloshed around the glass as he struggled to set it down in front of me. His trembling nearly sent my mother’s bottle of wine crashing to the ground but she caught it with a laugh, and in a blink, she’d managed to pull a smile from him.
“Jeffery, hon, could you bring us an appetizer? Whatever the house favorite is would be absolutely delightful.”
The unspoken by-laws of personal space seemed to escape her. Reaching upward, she adjusted Jeffery’s tie with nimble fingers and gave him a pat on the arm before sending him away.
Ezra took a sip of his beer. “That man is going to quit his job tonight.”
“I hardly think my politeness will cause such a dramatic life choice.”
She was playing that server like a fucking fiddle. We all knew it.
“I’m in Seattle for three days. I know you both have more ice than heart inside your chest but I enjoy my time with you, so please shut the fuck up and appease your mother.”
She was arguably colder than either of us, but the hitch in her hardened breath was as real as her plea. I didn’t know who my father was, and it was likely my mother didn’t either, but for all her false stories and fraudulent relationships, I knew Ezra and I were the only things in her life that were real—the only things not part of a con.
Her brand of love was selfish, but she extended it toward us in the only way she knew how.
“Please, catch me up on all you’ve been up to.”
“I’ve met someone.”
My mother sputtered, and a dribble of wine raced down her chin. “I’m sorry?”
“I found him last week, and I intend to keep him.”
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
“Christ.” Ezra sputtered a laugh. “You’re such a fucking neanderthal.”
“Elijah, dear.” My mother dabbed at the mess on her chin with a cloth napkin. “When you say you found him…”
“We work together.”
My lungs filled, and the urge to claim him tore through me the same way a hand through my chest would. I wanted to boast about my baby—about his unapologetic mind and his shy need for corruption but even as his name burned through my chest, I kept my lips closed.
For as terribly as I wanted to brand myself across his heart, protecting him was more important, and it was with everything I had in me not to slice myself down the middle and tuck him between the two halves of me.
“Nice.” Ezra’s lips curled. “So, he’s a killer or a tight-lipped business freak.”
“I swear to christ, Ezra, I will send a bullet straight through your fucking kneecap.”
“Elijah—”
“It’s alright, mom.” Ezra swept a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t mind the threat. They’re always empty.”
They weren’t.
For all the ease he feigned, I knew Ezra was afraid of me. I saw it in the subtle way his chest raced beneath his shirt and the way the muscles lining his neck stiffened.
I didn’t need my gun to end his life, and we both knew it.