Page 74 of By All Accounts
Did he need to know?
“Yes,” Hunter said under his breath. “He does.”
I must have said that out loud, but I frowned at him just the same, just the way Marshall frowned at us before checking his watch. Smith slid out of the booth and made room for Marshall to take his normal seat. Our waiter brought him the same wineSmith had ordered, but even if I’d drunk everyone’s liquor, it wouldn’t be enough.
“Am I late?” Marshall asked, knowing full well he wasn’t.
“No.”
“Am I being ambushed?” My oldest brother leaned against the corner of the booth, undoubtedly so he could keep all three of us in his line of sight at the same time.
I used my teeth to bite the lone cherry on the stainless steel skewer in my drink, hoping it would be enough to get me through what I wanted to say to him.
“No,” I told him again. “Well, kind of. But not in the way you tried to ambush me.”
He at least had the decency to look ashamed.
“Finn has something he wants to say to you,” Smith volunteered, which earned me all of Marshall’s attention.
Suddenly, I was a teenager again, trapped in that cavernous estate with nobody besides Hunter for company. Marshall would come visit, but he was already in college and well on the way to starting his own life. Hunter pressed the outside edge of his thigh against mine, and I remembered how we used to sit in the marbled entryway, backs against the door after Marshall left, with our legs stretched out. I’d always been taller than him, but he’d always had more muscle. Our toes were the same shape because we were half the same. We’d talk about Marshall when he wasn’t there, jealous of the life he was building for himself while we were still stuck with tutors and homework.
“I’m listening,” Marshall said.
He prompted.
“I think I probably owe you some kind of apology.”
Marshall huffed out a laugh. “Off to a strong start.”
“Oh, shut it,” Hunter snapped, and much to all of our surprise, Marshall did.
“Is that the first time someone’s talked back to you?” I asked.
The corner of Marshall’s mouth twitched into a smirk, but he was quick to shutter it before it took root.
“I owe you an apology, but that doesn’t cancel out the fact you’re domineering and overbearing and that you want all three of us to live little versions of your own life for you,” I blurted, sucking in a breath. “But I’ve recently come to realize that while your dreams for us might not be attainable, and we’ll forever be living in your shadow and chasing the vision of us that you have, I know now you meant well with it.”
Marshall worried his tongue across the front of his teeth, shoulders still pressed against the back of the booth.
“I am the man I am today because of the man you are,” I said, hoping it was clearer. “And there’s plenty I don’t like about how I got here, but I’m glad for it. I’m grateful you’re the oldest of us.”
“Finn.” My name caught in his throat.
“I don’t want to be you anymore,” Smith said softly, and Marshall’s gaze drifted to his left. “But I would be happy to belikeyou.”
Marshall cleared his throat, and I knocked the toe of my shoe against Hunter’s foot.
“You taught us how to want more for ourselves, how to be a good judge of character?—”
“How to be a good person,” I interjected. “You modeled how to chase our own happiness, and I’m very sorry our happiness doesn’t look like yours.”
“That’s not—” Marshall tried to cut me off and object, but I raised a hand to silence him.
“Do not pretend you would have picked a man like Riggs for Smith or a man like Lincoln for Hunter.”
Marshall opened his mouth and snapped it closed. I let the accusation hang in the air, and Marshall took a drink of his wine and shrugged.
“I would have wanted good men for them, and I don’t know much about Riggs.” He angled himself toward Smith, brow knit together. “That’s my own fault and I’m sorry for it. But I do know Lincoln and there’s nobody better for Hunter than him.” Marshall paused, swallowed another taste of wine. “But to your point, no. Outwardly, they aren’t whom I would have chosen.”
