Page 111 of Summer Holiday Lifeline

“And?” Myles’s insides twisted into a snake pit, and he suddenly wished he hadn’t dismissed Steven with a curt gesture. It would have been nice to have him there as a buffer between him and his nerves.

“And he says he would like to speak with Jet about an inheritance issue, but he wouldn’t divulge what that issue was.”

“No.” The hard jerk of reaction came out in Myles’s voice. “I’m not letting Jet put himself at risk for a rich asshole who never even sent him a fucking birthday card or offered his mother a penny to help raise him. Just no.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line; then Giroux sighed. “Look, I have kids, so I understand completely. I do have to point out, however, that Jet is old enough to have the right to make some decisions on his own. You need to trust him to be smart about it, but you do need to trust him.”

“It’s not Jet that I don’t trust. What if Priory has suddenly decided he wants his kid?”

“One step at a time, Myles.”

“Giroux—”

“Look, before we jump to conclusions, or burn bridges, or do anything else that will make this a bigger mess, let me try again to find out exactly what he wants. It may not be at all what you’re thinking. For all we know, he could be reaching out to see if Jet needs any help after his mother’s passing. I think we have to at least hear him out.”

“Then he can damn well tell me what he wants before I tell Jet about it. Period. You tell him that. If he isn’t willing to talk to me first, it’ll be a lot harder for him to talk to Jet.”

“Understood. I’ll get back to him and let you know what I find out.”

“Thanks.” He hung up and stashed the phone back in his pocket, all sense of ease having fled.

After a few minutes had passed, he heard Steven moving books around in the front and squared his shoulders to go back out.

Steven glanced up at his reappearance with a smile. “Hey there. Everything all right?”

Myles shrugged. “It’s fine. More waiting.” He waved a hand. “It’s nothing. Don’t do that. I’ll clean up my own mess.” He’d reached for a pile of the cookbooks, but Steven grabbed his hand and pulled him over.

“I know you won’t leave my store looking like a hurricane went through. Tell me about the other mess.”

“It’s nothing.” He didn’t need to tell Steven his problems. He couldn’t help or do anything more about it than Myles could, so what was the point? And letting the nearness of the man ease his worries wasn’t any better than reaching for a bottle.

Was it?

But Steven didn’t let go of his hand. “You have to go talk about it in another room, and while I didn’t listen in on what you said, you did say it with some venom. Talk to me.”

“You can’t do anything about it. Hell. I can’t do anything about it right now.”

“So what? Why carry it alone?”

Myles extracted himself. “Because it isn’t any of your business.” He grabbed up a pile of books and wheeled to take them back to the closet he’d originally liberated them from.

He’d only taken two steps when the music from the speakers overhead blared, then crackled out with the fizzle of speakers, and the light flashed off, leaving them in dimness and silence.

Steven scuttled around the table and blocked his passage. “A month ago, I probably would have let you get away with that,” he said, so mildly it made Myles bristle. He knew what steel lay under Steven’s mild exterior. “But we’re beyond that now. You don’t have to tell me what’s going on. Obviously, if you want your privacy, you get it. But I won’t let you talk to me like that, and I don’t need my house to point it out.”

The lights flickered again, then went back to dim.

Steven glanced up. “Though I do appreciate that you have my back.”

Of course, the lights came up full. The music stayed off, and at the back of the room, a door closed with conviction. Probably the closet Myles had been half intending to put the armload of books in.

Instead, he set the books down. “You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry.”

“And so are you. Right, I mean. It’s not my business, and you don’t have to tell me.”

Myles drew in a deep breath. He expected it to snag somewhere on the tangled emotions in his chest, but when Steven took both his hands, it didn’t. It filled his lungs, and when he let it go, some of the emotions went with it. “You could make it so much easier.”

“Then why don’t you let me?”