How to Misbehave (Camelot 1)

Tony took two steps and got right in his brother’s face before he even knew he was angry. “What the fuck, Patrick? You gonna go on like this forever, pretending to be a nobody meathead ex-con? You’re smarter than that. You should be running this fucking company.?

?

His brother’s eyes narrowed. “I never wanted to run the company.”

“Well, what did you want? Why aren’t you doing it?”

The questions came out of him with so much force, Tony felt as if he’d toppled over on the inside. As if he couldn’t get his feet back under him and his entire body was aching, shaky and sick. Something in his blood. Something really wrong with him.

Patrick’s face flushed red. “Back off, Tony.”

“You’re always telling me that. ‘Back off, Tony. Leave me be. I can handle my own shit.’ But look at you. You haven’t done anything since you got out of jail. You’re a bum. I can’t count on you to even call the goddamn crew when they don’t come in, or to tell me about it so I can call them myself.”

“Don’t expect me to read your mind. You’re pissed at me because you fucked that girl, and now you want me to take over the site so you don’t have to see her. I never thought you were such a pussy.”

“This isn’t about me,” he said. “It’s about you. It’s about your future.”

“Not today, it isn’t.”

Tony’s mouth clamped shut, his nostrils flaring as he tried to get a handle on the sudden pressure in his sinuses.

“Forget it,” he said. “We need more rock. Why aren’t all the panels in here already?”

“Casey’s idea. If we get them as we need them, we can take a little break between each one.”

“Waste of fucking time.” Tony stalked into the hall, heading toward the curtain and out the side door, where they had more sheetrock on a truck.

“… talk to Rosalie here about arranging private swim lessons …”

Amber was right outside the curtain. He froze. He didn’t want her to see him like this, flayed open with anger.

“You going or not?” his brother said from behind him.

He went.

When she saw him, her eyes widened as if she thought he might pounce on her and hurt her, and that made it worse. He would never hurt her.

Not any more than he already had.

“Hi,” she said.

He paused. But what could he say? If he opened his mouth, it would all spill out.

He nodded at her and kept going, walking fast out the door, slamming into it with both hands and pushing into the sunlight, sucking down the fresh air as if he were dying or drowning.

Jesus.

He kept walking for a minute, unable to give up his momentum. By the time he stopped, he was a hundred feet away from the building at the edge of the kids’ soccer fields.

He looked at the sky, hands behind his head, breathing hard.

Get a grip.

What was he even angry about?

Patrick was being Patrick. He’d been like that since the accident.

He didn’t take responsibility because he didn’t think he deserved to be forgiven—that was what everybody said. Even though Tony and the rest of the family had forgiven him years ago, he wouldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t move forward. He was stuck in the past.