“Open up!” Joe yelled. “I know you’re in there. I saw your car.”
Nathan squinted at his alarm clock. It was five thirty a.m., the usual time for their workouts. They started this ritual when Nathan moved out, and now, three times a week, Joe would bring breakfast, harass Nathan into getting dressed faster, and then drive him to the gym.
Nathan opened the door. “I heard you the first fifty times.”
“Then you should have answered. And what is this?” Joe took in Nathan’s undressed state with disgust. His brother wore black gym shorts with a sleeveless mesh top and had two bright green smoothies in his hands. “We’re gonna be late.”
“The gym’s not going anywhere.”
“I’ve got a meeting at seven and a lunch thing with—”
“You’re important. Got it.”
Nathan walked to his dresser to search for his workout clothes. Joe set the extra smoothie down in front of him. “Breakfast.”
Nathan’s irritation faded. Joe guarded the homemade mixture the way their mother hoarded her cabrito recipe. He pulled on a pair of workout shorts. “Hey look, that stuff I said at the party—”
Joe grunted and shooed the rest of the sentence away. “You ever use this thing?” he asked, pointing to the drafting table.
Nathan immediately thought about Rachel asking the same thing. She’d walked into the room and zeroed in on all his vulnerable spots. He never should have brought her here. He should have taken her home and reminded himself of his no-drama policy, which included women who made you forget to hide how desperate for affection you really were.
Teasing Joe was easy. It was also a good distraction. Nathan shrugged, picked up his cup, and gave Joe wide eyes over the rim. “It’s a good clothing rack. No wrinkles.”
“A good clothing rack?” Joe whipped around to stare at the table. “I spent weeks searching for this thing. It’s the top brand, specifically designed for left-handed people and—” Joe dabbed at the air like he was holding an invisible paintbrush. “Art… stuff.” He paused and said, “Do you have any idea how much this cost?”
Nathan took a drink of his smoothie and tried not to shudder at the taste of vinegary kale swimming in frozen bananas. “Five grand.” He pointed to a loaf of sourdough. “Do you have any idea how much that cost?”
Joe’s face slacked at the sight of the bread. George W. Bush was in office the last time he’d gone to a grocery store. “Whatever. I accept your non-apology. Make it up to me.”
Nathan grinned and slammed back the rest of his smoothie. It was like guzzling a juiced fern. “How?”
“Mom asked me to go to this luncheon for Matt Abbott. You’re coming too.”
“I don’t think—”
“Didn’t ask you to think. Find another shirt with buttons and show up to the club Thursday at noon.”
“The club? Joe, I can’t—”
“You can. And don’t pretend you hate the club. You and that Dilbert kid wore out Dad’s membership at the pool every summer break.”
“It’s Dillon, not Dilbert.”
“Is that supposed to sound different to me? Look, Dad’s been pushing me to show up to stuff like this a lot lately. He’s about to step down.” Joe turned on the faucet and filled the empty cups with water. “They have to replace him.”
His brother’s voice was calm, but the compulsive cleaning gave him away. He was a wreck. Being Beto’s heir was Joe’s entire identity. At some point, his brother must have had dreams of his own, like being an astronaut or a firefighter or even an executive at someone else’s company. But those dreams couldn’t compete with all those expectations. It had to be lonely. Which was probably why he’d never let Nathan skip their workouts.
Nathan promised himself that from now on, Joe wouldn’t have to browbeat him out of bed so they could spend time together.
“CEO,” Nathan said. “It’s what you’ve wanted.”
Joe gripped the edge of the sink. “Not like this. How can I care about some promotion when Dad is dying?”
“Beto cares,” Nathan said. “And you’ll make him proud the way you always do.”
Joe smiled weakly, and Nathan wished he knew how to lift his brother’s spirits, even temporarily. He would never admit it, but growing up, he’d wished that Joe were his father. Joe kept up with his doctor’s appointments, taught him how to shave, and forced him to see a financial advisor so he wouldn’t blow through his money before he turned thirty. Having Joe as a father might have even made a difference in how Nathan turned out. Maybe he’d have made better choices if he’d been raised by a better person.
“So, is Zara flying in with Angel?” Nathan asked. Sometimes Joe’s wife could get through to him when his anxiety got out of hand. But Joe shook his head and scrubbed the cups for a second time.
“She’s directing that documentary on the LA public school system.” Joe’s voice was flat, like he was delivering an earnings report to the board. “It’s not a good time to visit.”
“Visit?”
Joe froze. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, but—” Nathan couldn’t bring himself to say the obvious. Beto was dying; this wasn’t like scheduling a vacation. “Do they know what’s going on?”
Joe started to speak, then shook his head with a grimace.
“Hey…” Nathan’s voice trembled. He tried to push away the memory of his brother babbling to himself on the floor. “Are you uh… you doing okay?”
Joe squared his shoulders. He knew exactly what Nathan was asking. Is it happening again? “I’m fine,” he said, with a firmness that meant it wasn’t up for debate. He picked up the cups and put them on a drying rack. His voice was softer when he finally spoke again. “But it’d be nice if you had my back through all this. Like I’ve had yours.”
Nathan paused so he wouldn’t dissolve into an incoherent mass of guilt and gratitude. “You know I do. Always.”
Joe held his gaze like there was something more he wanted to say. Instead, he looked at the calendar on his watch. “The luncheon starts at twelve thirty. Club sandwich or chef’s salad?”
His brother was right—Nathan needed to make more of an effort. “I’ll take the sandwich.”
Joe smiled. “Great. Now tell me about this girl you’ve been seeing.”
Nathan froze. “What girl?”
Joe pointed to his right. “Well, I assume those aren’t yours.”
Nathan turned around and spotted Rachel’s underwear near his bed. He snatched them up and stuffed them into his pocket, shrugging. “I had company the other night.”
Joe slapped his shoulder. “Good for you! Glad you could blow off some steam.”
“It wasn’t like that.” Nathan winced at how defensive he sounded. Joe finding out about Rachel was the last thing he needed. His brother had firm ideas about right and wrong, which probably included not sleeping with a married woman.