Page 36 of The Logic of Loyalty

And it will remain there until I’m dead and buried.

A knock on the door jolts me into action. I pull on my borrowed pants when Billy calls out, “Do I need to break down this door, or are you alright in there? Do you need something smaller? I⁠—”

“No. No, it’s fine. I’ll be right there.” I tug the strings snug and twist them into a bow. My clothes in hand, I walk out the door and into the tight space of the hallway. A plastic bag hangs on the doorknob, so I take the hint and drop my dirty clothes into it.

You know what? Honestly, it’s fine. We are fine. She doesn’t actually know what happened. Once I tell her, everything will be fine. “I can fix this.”

“What’s that?” Billy calls from the other room, and I head in there. Something spicy tickles my nose when I turn the corner and step into the main area of the apartment. The image I walk into, in any other circumstance, would have made me laugh. He carefully stirs something in a dainty, flowery cup. The soft tapping of the spoon hitting the sides barely registers in the absolute absurdity of the moment. I must make a sound because Billy meets my eyes with a bland look in his own.

“It’s called Sweet and Spicy. You need it.” He places the spoon near the side of the saucer and moves back to where he was sitting.

Unsure, I blink a few times, trying to reconcile the conflicting imagery of the moment. “Uh, sorry. I can’t. I gotta go.” I’m halfway through the door when he stops me with a sucker punch of a question.

“Why are you here in the first place, and not with your wife?”

Over my shoulder, Billy is leaning back with his hands loose on his thighs. He looks me over, and something about it makes me wonder. He knows she’s pregnant.

“Why were you driving my wife?”

“Why aren’t you home, asking her that question?” That hits.

“Well, that’s where I’m going.” I don’t sound convincing because I’m not convinced. Her voice is clear in my mind. The request, or demand, she made of me.

“Sit, Trevor. Tell me why you’re here.”

She told me to stay away. She told me not to contact her. I don’t know where else to go.

I hover at the doorway, shifting in place from heels to toes, the bag of puke clothes dangling from my fingers. “I’ll—go set this down.” My shoulders pinch in a wince at my indecisiveness, but I place the bag on the porch and come back inside.

I sit in the seat across from him, lace my fingers together, and lean on the table, then unlace them and lean back in my seat. I cross my legs, then uncross them. I lean forward⁠—

“That alternator in the ’97 Honda is overcharging.” He stares at his tea before taking another drink. “Shockingly, Carter is struggling with figuring out what steps to take because our tester is showing it as being good.” He pauses and waits for my input.

I consider his words, realigning my brain to fix a vehicle mode. “Has he considered the voltage regulator working intermittently?”

“Nah, I don’t figure he’s considered that. I’ll ask him.” His arms cross over his barrel chest, and his eyes move over me in a way I’m all too familiar with—like I’m being judged and found lacking.

“Hell, while I’m here, I can take a look.” I stand, but Billy shakes his head and grunts.

“It’s fine.” He taps his fingers on the side of the cup, then gestures to mine in a what are you waiting for type of gesture. I sit down and pick up my own delicate cup. It’s tiny in my hand as I lift it for a taste. An explosion of warm cinnamon flavor hits my tongue.

“Whoa.”

“Did you know that Carter wants to buy out my brother?”

It’s my turn to grunt because, yes, I know that.

“Well, what do you think?”

“I think he didn’t come up with the idea on his own, and he didn’t get the loan.”

Billy shakes his head and sighs before leaning toward me. “What are you doing, Trevor?”

“I don’t know⁠—”

“Dammit, Trevor, I know that you don’t know. Just tell me what you do know. What you’ve already done.” He takes another small sip and sets it gently on the table. His eyes jump to mine, and he holds my gaze as my cup returns to the table with a sharp clatter.

“I get it,” I snap at him, and instantly regret my tone. “Look, Billy—shit.” My fingers scrape through my hair, pulling the strands and fisting them in my agitation.