“I should throwed you in the trash,” I tell Tobias.
“It’s throw, imbecile,” Tobias snorts.
“Hush, both of you,” Maman sighs, looking over to Tobias the way she does when she is about to spank us with the big spoon. “Family is important,” she says as she puts the pictures in the box. “No matter how mad you make each other, you will always be brothers.” I pick up the pictures to help her put them in the box.
“Careful, Dom . . . Merci,” she kisses my head.
“You can keep him. I’m leaving,” Tobias says, standing.
“You can’t leave,” I wiggle off Maman’s lap as she tries to hold me still. “You can’t leave Tobias . . . we don’t have any money!” I pull on his arm to stop him. “Papa said we don’t have any money to keep a roof and water! How will you brush your teeth? How will you poop?”
Tobias and Maman laugh.
“It’s not funny!” I yell. “Maman, he can’t leave when it tunders. The giant will eat him!”
Maman pulls me back into her lap, and I squirm against her when the house shakes. “It’s okay, Dom. It’s only thunder, not the footsteps of a giant.”
“You can’t leave now,” I tell Tobias. “Not with tunder.”
“Thunder,” he says, the way he does when he sounds out words when we read.
“Thunder,” I say back, and he smiles, his chest puffing as he rolls his eyes.
“If you leave, we will be brothers wherever you go, right, Maman?”
“Dom?” Tyler says as I stare through my brother’s signature.
“That’s right, Petit Prince.”
Always brothers.
For others, it’s most likely seen as a simple sentiment between siblings. Beneath the apparent, it’s been Tobias’s way of telling me I come first since he left for prep school at sixteen. Through the long years of enduring his absence since . . . I’ve struggled to believe it at times. Our call earlier being one of those times.
“Fuck, man. The suspense is killing me,” Tyler bustles next to me. I lift the heavy machine out of the box and examine it. It’s as sleek as a stealth bomber. The material seemingly indestructible.
Checking for a power button, I find none, but figure out the crux of why in seconds. Opening the laptop, I place my hands where the keyboard would be, and it lights up instantly. Typing what I know Tobias meant to be the master password, it sparks to life at the speed of light. The keyboard glitters red beneath my fingertips, the placement perfection. The screen itself looks like something out of a fucking sci-fi movie. As if you can reach in and physically touch the display and mechanical parts powering animatedly behind it.
“Holy fucking shit,” Tyler exclaims in rare animation as he grabs the slim black envelope and tears it open. “Instructions?”
I can’t help my chuckle. “Not for this.”
Within two commands, a menu of programs appears, and I choose every one of them. What I imagine is a junkie’s type of rush seeps through my veins as they download in seconds—programs that would typically take hours.
Tyler plucks a thick, lone certificate from the envelope, and I don’t have to see the front of it to know what it is.
“You didn’t grab this while you were in Boston?”
He turns my MIT degree toward me, and I jerk my chin. “I didn’t walk.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Wasn’t important.”
“To you,” he states.
“He wasn’t there.”
“This says it all,” he shakes the certificate. “So, I’m guessing you didn’t leave a forwarding address?”
“No point.”
“He paid for it and wanted to see it. I’m willing to bet that when he did, it was one of the proudest moments of his life.”
The sentiment hits so hard that my throat burns. Whether the gift is a manipulation to placate me or not, I know Tyler’s words are truer than my own. My brother has never shied away from his pride in me, no matter what company is present. Not ever. He knew Tyler would be the one to hand my degree to me, and this was his way of displaying that pride as both brother . . . and father.
“He ordered this over a year ago,” Tyler cuts in, his words striking deep. “Even with my connections, it took me months to find capable enough hands to design it—and more than one set—because this is the only one of its kind. We made fucking sure of it.”
Emotion threatens as he continues.
“Dom, you may think our club is his greatest accomplishment—”
“You can go now,” I say, draining the rest of my cold coffee, my heart pounding harder with his assurances. He ignores me as usual, forever playing big brother, even though he’s only got me beat in age by months.
“It may not seem like it at times, but you’re the only one that helps him make sense of his life when he can’t. He’s been where you are. Just as frustrated, just as eager to dole out punishment and forced to wait . . . and do you know why?”
For us.
For us to grow up, man up, to understand the importance of what we’re doing. For us to align at the right fucking time. For the here and now.
“You’ve made your point,” I manage to get out without emotion in my tone.
“All right, man,” Tyler rounds my chair to get a better look, eyes brimming with satisfaction. “Just . . . to finally see it, it’s fucking unreal.”
“A million-dollar laptop,” I utter, turning back to the screen, equally awestruck.
Tyler scoffs. “The downpayment.”
“Fucking serious?”
He grips my shoulder. “I questioned whether or not to let you have your new toy this late, but orders are orders, and he wanted you to have it as soon as it got here.” Taking in my appearance, he shakes his head with a grin. “You need some fucking sleep, but I can see by that smile you’re trying so hard to hide that there’s no chance of that happening. I’ll cover your shift at the garage tomorrow.”
“I’ll owe you,” I tell him, running my fingers over the most sophisticated equipment on the planet—the possibilities endless. Tobias might not be greenlighting my plans, but he just gave me the perfect fucking tool to carry them out when the time comes.
It’s a promise.
A promise of future permission, and it’s enough for now.
“You’re his greatest investment,” Tyler sneaks in as my eyes start to burn. I can’t help, nor do I give a fuck about what emotion he hears when I finally speak. “It’s fucking perfect. Thanks, man, really.”
He tosses a new burner phone on my desk before walking toward my door. “Don’t thank me.”
Stalking down the hall toward Sean’s bedroom, I’m stopped outside when I hear his low chuckle and, a second later, realize he’s not alone when a soft reply is whispered.
Cecelia.
Figures. They’ve been inseparable since they made up poolside a week ago. “That must have been some dream, Pup.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You were moaning. What was my girl doing?”
A pause.
“I don’t remember.”