Page 85 of The Fast Lane

“Who are you?” the kid asked.

But if I were a betting woman, and hey, we were in Vegas, I would bet it all that this kid was Theo’s brother.

THIRTY-SIX

Note to self:

Sometimes closure is just the beginning.

“Um, do you want something to drink? Or pizza? There’s leftover pizza from dinner.” The kid, whose name was Travis, swallowed and cranked his head to the side like he was cracking it, his nervousness practically another person in the room.

The resemblance between them was so strong, it was impossible to ignore. But neither of them said a word about it. Instead, after getting over the initial shock, Travis invited us inside.

We sat in a tastefully decorated formal living room with strong southwestern vibes. A trio of cowboy hats were arranged on the wall as “art.” A collection of belt buckles filled a small curio cabinet. There was not one but two Longhorn skulls. It was all very southwest-décor-magazine perfect.

Theo and I sat on a leather couch. His grip on my hand was one second away from bone-crushing but I didn’t let on.

The kid, Travis, stood awkwardly on the other side of the coffee table, fidgeting with the string to his hoodie, which read Rawlings HS Swim Team across it. His eyes—I couldn’t get over how they matched Theo’s—wandered the room, avoiding the giant elephant, er, brother, he didn’t know he had in the room.

“I think we’re fine,” I said.

“Oh. Okay. Good.” He perched on the edge of a chair, looking as though he planned to make a run for it any minute. “So.”

Theo frowned. “You probably shouldn’t invite strangers into your house, kid.”

“Something tells me you aren’t really a stranger,” Travis said.

Somewhere in the house a clock was tick-tick-ticking. Travis stuffed his hands in his hoodie pocket; Theo set our joined hands on his thigh.

“Is your father here?” Theo finally asked.

The kid opened his mouth, then closed it. “No. He’s not home from work yet.”

I saw Theo’s shoulders go rigid. With my thumb, I began to make small circles on his hand as he’d done for me.

Theo and Travis stared at each other. Not in anger, more in curiosity.

“How old are you?” Travis blurted out.

“Thirty. How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“In high school, huh?”

Travis nodded. “My senior year.”

“Swim team?”

“Yeah. And baseball.”

Theo perked up. “I played baseball.”

“Oh, yeah, what position?”

“Second base.”

Travis’s eyes widened. “Me too.” He pointed between Theo and me. “Are you two together?”