“Take your time,” Jess called back, sounding giddy.
Meanwhile, I was dumbfounded by the transformation of the place. It was unreal how much different—better—it looked.
“Looks nice.” Duane was now standing at my elbow and had closed the door while I gaped like an idiot at Shelly’s place.
“It’s completely different.”
“She must’ve done a lot of work on it.”
That pulled my eyes to my brother. “You think Shelly did this?”
“Well, old-man Tanner didn’t do it, and he didn’t hire anybody either.”
I nodded, slowly at first, then faster as I decided Duane was right. She must’ve done it all herself. At this point I wouldn’t be surprised if she could also perform brain surgery.
“Hey, why’s Jess acting like that?”
Duane wiped a hand over his face. “Oh, good Lord.”
“What?”
“She found out who Shelly was.”
“What do you mean?”
“I guess Shelly is some famous artist or something? I don’t really know.”
“Jess knows who she is?”
“Yeah, that’s why she’s been pestering me about us getting together. After seeing her at the bar, she looked her up.”
“Huh.” I let that sink in.
After seeing her sculptures in the hut, and knowing the one there was going to Berlin, it wasn’t too farfetched to comprehend that her art was famous.
What did surprise me was that Shelly hadn’t brought up the fact that she was both an artist and world famous.
If we hadn't stumbled across her statues earlier, would she ever have told me?
“Listen.” Duane stepped farther into the room, his hands coming to his hips as he peered at me. “I got a call from Simone Payton. She’s in town, but I suppose you already know that.”
“Yeah. We saw her at Daisy’s. How’d you know where Shelly lives?”
“Cletus mentioned she was staying here a few weeks ago, it was on her application paperwork. When Simone called, told me what happened, I thought y’all might come here.”
“What did Simone say?”
Duane’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “Simone called in a panic, saying you were at the diner. Then the MC shitheads ganged up on you, tried to get you to leave with them. Then she said you and Shelly got away and the Wraiths set off in pursuit.”
“That’s right.”
Duane’s peering intensified and I got the sense he was trying to control his temper. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“Why would I?” I asked honestly, then immediately winced.
Damn. Dammit, damn, damn.
Duane reared back, and his control on his temper slipped. “Why would you? Are you serious with this shit? The Wraiths come after you, they come after all of us.”
I sighed, shaking my head. “What I mean is—”
“Handling them on your own is going to buy you nothing but trouble.”
“Okay, fine. If you would—”
“Remember last year? You were the first person I told when they came after me.”
“I know that.” I ground my teeth, my frustration mounting.
“You should have called me, or texted if you needed a driver.”
“Shelly got us away, and she did a damn fine job, too.”
Duane pushed his lips together, his glare darting over me. “Shelly drove?”
“Yes.”
“She drive the GTO?”
I nodded. I was still recovering from how incredible she’d been. How competently and expertly she’d navigated the tight switchbacks, knowing when to turn, when to downshift. As in other aspects of life, she was a tactical, clever, self-possessed driver.
“She as fast as me?”
“Maybe faster.” And a lot sexier.
Duane nodded, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Well that’s good. I’m glad she was there.”
“Me too.”
“Now you want to tell me why you got the Iron Wraiths after you?”
“No,” I said through clenched teeth, growing tired of his questioning.
The previous tension—plus heaps more—returned and his eyes flashed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean what I said. No. I don’t want to tell you.”
Duane looked truly shocked, and his eyes lost focus for a moment, like he was trying to figure out my motive for keeping information to myself.
Abruptly, his stare cut back to mine. “Are you in trouble?”
“Not really.”
He threw his hands up. “What the hell is going on?”
“Nothing—”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” He took a deep breath, clearly trying to rein in his temper, and lowered his voice. “For weeks now you’ve been giving me the silent treatment.”
“I’ve been giving you the silent treatment? That’s hilarious.”
Our entire life had been one giant episode of Duane giving everybody the silent treatment interrupted by short bursts conversation, mostly initiated by me.
“Ain’t nothing funny about it, Beau. You’re acting like me leaving next month means I’ll cease to exist.”
“Well, don’t you?”
“No. Hell, no.”
I laughed, exasperated. Why the hell is he giving me such a hard time? He’s the one who is leaving.
“Yes. Hell, yes. You’re going halfway around the world, and who knows when we’ll be seeing you again. Not anytime soon. Why would anything going on with me be your business?”
Duane’s eyes widened to their maximum diameter and his face grew red as I’ve ever seen it. He charged at me, keeping his volume low even as his tone was enraged. “Because I’m your twin brother, you fucking asshole!”
His sudden vehemence had me snapping my mouth shut. When he was like this—lost in a fit of temper—the best and only thing to do was let him wear himself out.
Crossing my arms, I braced my feet apart and prepared to wait.
“Don’t fucking do that.” He spoke through clenched teeth.
“Do what?”
“You know what. Like I’m throwing a temper tantrum.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No. No, Beau. I’m not. I’m trying to tell you something, and you don’t want to listen.”
“Just say it.”
“My leaving has nothing to do with you.”
I winced despite myself, despite years of practice weathering Duane’s surly moods.
“I’m very clear on that.”
“Dammit, I didn’t mean it like that.”
I shrugged, giving him a blank stare. “It doesn’t matter.”
Duane made a frustrated grabbing motion with his hands—like he wanted to wring my neck—then paced away. “What would you have me do? Hmm? Break things off with Jess? Tell her to go without me? You’re acting like I’m a traitor for being happy and it’s pissing me off. I’ve never spent more than a few days away from you, dummy. Yet you think leaving y’all is going to be easy for me?”
We stared at each other, and I saw his torment. It hadn’t occurred to me that leaving us, leaving his sister and his brothers, might be hard on him as well.
Duane was more than my brother.
He was literally the other half of me.
“No.” I cleared my throat because I had to. “No, of course not.”
“Then stop.” His anger diffused, becoming desperation. “Stop telling me the shop ain’t my business, and stop cutting me out of things that matter.”