“You afraid?”
“Fuck that,” said Tyler. “I dare him to try. What do you say, Merrick?”
Michael looked at him, and realized he could see something in Tyler that couldn’t be said for anyone else in his life. Tyler was an adult. He was a powerful Fire Elemental—possibly more powerful than Gabriel. He owed Michael nothing—and vice versa. Tyler wasn’t an obligation or someone who needed protection.
Tyler was an equal.
Michael smiled, and for the first time in forever, he felt a shadow of genuine emotion behind it. “I say bring it.”
CHAPTER 19
Michael sat at Tyler’s kitchen table and studied the list he’d made. He couldn’t decide if it made him feel better or worse about the state of things.
4) Find out status of truck
5) Find place to live
6) Cancel jobs? Rent truck?
7) Talk to David about custody stuff
8) Talk to David about legal stuff
9) Call insurance. House secure?
10) Repay Adam
He’d taken care of the easiest things first. He wasn’t allowed to talk to his brothers, but as soon as he’d had access to a working phone, he’d called the social worker to find out if they were okay. She’d assured him that they were fine and she would pass on that he’d asked about them.
Her manner had been cool and distant, but Michael couldn’t hate her for it. He’d tried to sound as confident as he could while telling her he’d straighten out their living situation over the next day or so, and he’d be arranging a court date with his attorney as soon as possible.
She’d wished him luck and hung up.
Tyler had let him borrow his truck to run errands, and Michael had taken Nick’s phone to the wireless store to see if he could move everything from his phone to this one. He was half lucky: he could have access to his old number, but his contacts, photos, and messages would all have to wait until he had his old phone back.
But still. Something was better than nothing. He’d been able to text Hannah to tell her what was going on.
She’d promised to call him after her shift.
Clothes had been next, and it had been so long since he’d bought new clothes for himself that he’d had to check the tag of the jeans Adam had bought, just to find his size.
Now he was back at Tyler’s, sitting at the table, staring at his list.
He left a message for his insurance agent.
He left a message for David Forrest.
He thought about leaving a message for the fire marshal, but he didn’t think he should speak to anyone in law enforcement until he spoke with an attorney first. David had made that abundantly clear yesterday.
He didn’t have the pictures he’d taken. He had no way to contact whoever had been sending those text messages—not that he wanted to. Anyone else he could think to call was either a liability—Becca, or maybe Hunter’s mother and grandparents—or a complete jerkoff who wouldn’t help anyway—Bill Chandler, Becca’s father, who was also a Fifth like Hunter, and a former Guide.
He tapped his pen against the paper and thought.
“What did you come up with?”
Michael looked up. Tyler was across the table, surrounded by textbooks and notebooks and loose paper.
“Not much,” Michael said. He sighed and rubbed at the back of his head. This felt weird, sitting here with a guy he’d spent much of his life hating. “Where’s your girlfriend? I thought Quinn would have practically moved in by now.”
“She lives with Becca, which means Bill has them both under lock and key until this is over.” He paused. “I wouldn’t want her here right now anyway.”
Michael understood that. They lapsed into silence again.
He couldn’t take it. He fought for something to talk about. “How’s schoolwork?”
Tyler opened a bottle of Mountain Dew and gave him a look. “You don’t give a crap.”
“You’re right.” But sitting here made him wonder if this was what his life would have been like if his parents hadn’t died. Tyler was a year or two younger than Michael, but he’d followed a traditional path: graduating high school, going to college, moving out and getting a place of his own. Tyler had beer in his refrigerator and cabinets full of food. Michael would buy a six-pack every now and again, but he’d always kept it hidden in the back of the garage—more so he wouldn’t have to explain it during a surprise social worker inspection than because of any worry his brothers would snatch one. Their own cabinets were always a little barren because four people went through food fast.
But the biggest surprise for Michael had been the quiet. Tyler’s apartment didn’t have four teenage boys banging doors or stomping up stairs or blasting music or roughhousing in the living room. Tyler’s apartment was his.
“Sorry my place isn’t a thrill-a-minute.” Tyler gestured at the television. “Watch TV or something if you’re bored.”