Page 76 of Maybe
I didn’t open my eyes. “Probably.”
Ezra exhaled through his nostrils; I felt the rush of cool air on my skin. “No. You’re not going, Iz. To meet the estate agent.”
For fuck’s sake.Was there no limit to my brother’s stubbornness? Ezra grabbed my arm, almost dragging me to the Tube station. “What do you mean, no?”
His swift pace continued unabated. I felt like a kid being pulled along by his dad. “Ez! Bloody answer me!”
When his hand fumbled for mine, I was on the brink of punching him.
“I mean,” he said, his lip curling in a familiar knowing smirk, “that you won’t be house hunting alone.” He tossed me that superior smile of his, the one that melted my knees, even when he was being bloody irritating. “The three of us need to check places out, don’t we? If we’re all going to be living there.”
“You… you mean…”
Not breaking his stride, he leaned down and kissed the top of my head. Right outside the Tube station entrance to the accompaniment of a belch from the bloke who was apparently slightly less of a lush than my mother.
“Yeah,” he said. “That is, if you’re happy to give up that posh flat and slum it on the wrong side of the river with us.”
We plunged through the crush of people. If Ez hadn’t been clutching my hand, I might have been swallowed under them. At this point, my kneecaps were less substantial than baby Paxon’s. We were going to be all right. Me and Ezra and Jonty. That distant, unknowable future—tiptoeing through the strands of my family, navigating my mother’s addiction, the sick fear in my belly whenever I contemplated my career—cleared up. It was an inauspicious time and place to reach a level of happiness I’d thought was only meant for stories, but happiness was here, breathing beside me, folding every wish I’d ever whispered into this single, shining moment.
We squeezed into a carriage stuffed tight with bodies, hot breath, and the pulse of a city that never stopped moving.Somebody’s rucksack dug into my rib cage; sweat andstale perfume wafted under my nose. We clattered through the underbelly of London, Ezra clinging to a pole, and me clinging to Ezra. My forehead banged against his chest as I breathed him in. “I love you so much, Ez,” I whispered. “It’s embarrassing.”
A huff of laughter rumbled in his chest. Soft lips pressed into my forehead. “No, it’s not. Because I love you that much, too,” he whispered back. “Brother, uncle, lover.”
EPILOGUE
EZRA–3 MONTHS LATER
Pinned to the wall next to me, a polished wooden plaque had lots to say about the Lumley Library. How it was the jewel in the crown of the Royal College of Surgeons' long and illustrious heritage. How it stood as an important national monument, documenting centuries of learning, of fearless, scalpel-wielding pioneers, of how its alumni had shaped surgery into the safe, modern specialty it is today.
Zippedy doodah.
What it didn’t mention, which would have been helpful, was that with one hundred or more posh folks packed inside, the Lumley Library transformed into the Lumley Furnace. Thank fuck I’d had the sense to draw the line at being straitjacketed into a three-piece suit. Nonetheless—for Isaac—I’d compromised by donning a shirt, casual jacket, and black chinos. As a trickle of sweat made its way down the back of my neck, I unfastened a couple of jacket buttons. And got no further.
“You’d better not be thinking about taking that off,” Isaac hissed. “That shirt… my mother’s going to kill you when she spots it.”
Hah! Wait until she saw the mini-me replica I’d bought for Jonty. Lidl, I recently discovered, also stocked gaudy, flamingo-covered shirts in children’s sizes. “Nah, she loves me,” I whispered back.
At the lectern, Mustard Michael had been droning on for a solid twenty minutes. The smoked salmon blinis had better be good. I was earning them. The event was yet another memorial shindig to celebrate our father’s achievements—another plaque with his moniker on it, this one naming a room in the college library.
Isaac raised his eyebrows. “Pretty sure she doesn’t, actually. She still holds you solely responsible for the demise of the Fitz-Henry cardiac dynasty.”
I beamed at him, sitting next to me in his smart suit, preppy and clean-shaven and… healthy-looking. “Guilty as charged.”
His gaze flicked over my attire. I’d once thought his eyes an ordinary blue; they weren’t. Nothing about my younger brother was ordinary. “It’s a shame you don’t have an office job. You look great in a jacket. You have the right shoulders for one.”
To prove the point, I straightened them. Yep, I was preening.
“You do know,” I returned, as something Mustard said gained a smattering of applause. “That saying stuff like that means I’ll give you cock any time you want.”
Isaac snorted, covering it up with a cough. He loved it when I said stuff like that. The days of being a blushing inexperienced gay had long gone. My baby bro knew exactly what he wanted, when and how. “I hadn’t realised how easy you were to manipulate.”
“You’ve always known, you fucker.”
Not giving a shit if anyone saw, I found Isaac’s hand and laced my fingers through his. Mustard had an excellent view of us, if he looked down. And Janice, on Isaac’s other side, could think what she liked. Since making a few changes, Isaac was anew man. If I was a suitable peg upon which to hang her excuses with nosy friends, I’d take it. After all, the old girl had gifted my son a fucking fortune. The least I could do was cut her some slack.
“Don’t rewrite the history books just yet,” I murmured. “According to Mrs Unwin, a cow’s heart is the size of a man’s head, and now Jonty’s obsessed. He wants us to buy one from the butcher on the market and cut it up.”
“How come Mrs Unwin is the font of all bloody medical knowledge?” Isaac grumbled, “And why, whenever I tell him something, does he look at me as if he thinks I’m bullshitting him?”
