His hands hung in the way and to be honest I’m too confused to even react.
I clear my throat. “What do you mean?”
He sighs. “It’s not the way I had planned for you two to meet but it looks like I don’t have a choice.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” I echo my original question, hoping that this time his answers will be enlightening rather than confusing.
“He’s been arrested,” He admits, shame lacing in his voice.
“Oh.” I reply, too surprised to come up with a polite response to that.
“Yeah, I have to bail him out.”
I guess a relative being arrested is always better than all the scenarios that had been playing in my mind from the moment that he picked up the call.
He opens the door and steps out but stays at the doorstep holding the door open. He’s actually inviting me to come with him.
Not wanting him to feel like he’s obligated to let me tag along, I say, “Are you sure that you want me to come?”
He looks at me confused. “Why shouldn’t I?”
I look down at my feet. “I don’t know. It seems like a family thing and I don’t want to—”
“You have already met my mum. You are family,” he says, confidence lacing his voice.
Family. Home. Why am I blushing so hard? Stop. Blushing.
Now’s not the time to think about you. His brother is at the police station for crying out loud.
Convinced that he’s genuinely OK with me tagging along and that he’s just not feeling obligated to, which makes my heart swell, I pick up my jacket and join him.
We get to the car in no time and in a few minutes we are already on the main road. A few minutes pass and a side from our earlier exchange, he hasn’t said anything. His eyes are firmly trained on the road.
This Miles is nothing like the one from earlier this evening. He’s worried about his brother.
Deciding to try to keep his mind from thinking, I say, “So your brother, huh?”
I resist the urge to facepalm myself. I was supposed to take his mind off his whole brother thing not bring it up?.
Quick. Change the conversation. I’m about to change it when he says in a monotonous tone. “Yep, my brother.”
“It’s going to be okay,” I console.
“Yeah, it will except him. Once I’m done with him.” His eyes are still trained on the road.
He seems stressed and he’s actually too angry to drive despite him trying to play it cool. For his safety and mine, I propose, “Do you want me to take the wheel?”
He throws me a glance before putting his eyes back on the road. “I’m okay.”
He must have sensed me not being convinced by him because he adds, “I really am ok.” He reaches out and grabs my hand and gently squeezes it.
Its warmth extends from where it’s touching my hand, extends to my upper hand and ends up in my heart. I trust him.
“Okay.”
He doesn’t remove his hand and I don’t complain. I don’t know if it is for moral support, or to convince me that he’s doing okay but I love the feeling. The warmth. The softness.
“What do you wan’t to know?” he asks, this time a little less tensed, which I’m glad for.
“What makes you think that I want to ask you anything?” I ask.
“Because I know you.”
I don’t even bother denying it. The gigantic smile that I had from earlier on creeps up on my face and I’m glad that it’s dark that way he won’t be scared by my joker-like smile.
“Why is he at the station?”
“DUI.”
“Oh.”
“Oh, indeed.” His knuckles turn white and I realize it is because of how hard he is holding the steering wheel.
He sighs once again. “You do have another question,” he states.
Since he doesn’t seem all that excited about answering any questions, I say,” No, it’s okay. You don’t have to.”
“Go on. I’m sorry it’s just that I would have expected him to be a little responsible by now, I guess that’s what I get for being so overprotective of him.”
I can’t get him to look at me for the next words that I need him to hear, so I resolve to uncomfortably holding his shoulder. “It’s not your fault. Things happens.”
“No you don’t get—”
“I don’t need to know your history to no that you didn’t lead him on to the path that he has chosen, Miles.”
In reply all he does is sigh once again for what seems like the eleventh time and my heart aches for him.
“So why isn’t he asking your mum?” I ask genuinely curious. I would have called my mother if she were alive. That’s for sure.
“The whole point of him calling me was so that she wouldn’t know, telling her upfront kind of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?” He asks and laughs humourlessly.
“It’s not your fault,” I repeat for emphasis.
“It is. Had I been a bit hard on him he would have turned out to be a better man.”
I know the words that will come out will hurt but they have to said. He can’t put on this on himself. “You are not your dad. Whatever you did for your little brother was out of love.”
He shakes his head. “That’s the problem, maybe I should have learnt another way of doing it.”
“Your brother is lucky to have you, and so is your mum.”
He doesn’t say anything else and I start thinking that maybe I had overstepped. But I don’t mind overstepping if it means that I don’t have to watch him beat himself up for something that’s not even his fault.
I would know. Not having a family didn’t turn me into a felon of the law. It’s not that I’m judging or anything.
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