Page 48 of Maybe (Mis-shapes #1)

ISAAC

“ Slash?” was my first word as I steered a punch-drunk Ezra back towards the Tube station. We didn’t get far before Ezra bent forward, with his hands on his knees.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

I tightened my grip on his arm. “Let’s stop here a second. Take some deep breaths. Give me your guitar case.”

I’d been down an alley with Ezra before. This time, however, I led him, and we were sober. This one ended in the reserved parking area around the back of the solicitor’s offices. He sagged against a brick wall, face ashen, and closed his eyes.

“Slash,” I repeated. “Your son has Slash as a middle name.”

“Yeah.” Ezra sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Opening up his coat, he wafted cool air down his shirt. “That you have no idea why is one of the cutest things about you.” He checked his phone. “We’ve got to collect Jonty—we’ll be late.”

“Shh. We’ve got plenty of time, you told me so yourself. Take a few more deep breaths.”

For once, Ezra cooperated. Gradually, some colour returned to his cheeks. When he gave me the nod, we started walking again. “Tell me I didn’t just dream that, Iz.”

“Nope.” Struggling to keep a grin off my face, I kept up with Ezra’s long strides. “It really happened. Young Slash is always going to be able to find the cash for his first month’s rent deposit.”

Money would never bring back Ezra’s happy childhood, but it would grease the wheels of his son’s.

We crossed a busy road, quiet for a moment as we concentrated on the traffic.

Every now and again, Ezra took a few deep breaths, lifting his face up to the overcast sky.

I was still smiling. My mother’s benevolence wasn’t Ezra’s last surprise of the afternoon.

Though I wasn’t certain how he’d handle the next one, a quiet promise hung in the air.

The Tube station came into sight. The usual crush of late afternoon commuters already blocked the entrance, but even the impending scrum couldn’t damage my mood. I checked the time. “Um… I’m going in a different direction. Different Tube line.”

“What? Are you not coming to pick up Jonty with me later?”

“Um…no.” I sucked in a breath, on the cusp of tiptoeing over some very delicate eggshells. “I have an appointment with an estate agent in half an hour, to view a property over in Shooters Hill.”

“That’s random. I don’t think I’ve ever been there.”

Ezra sounded calm, only mildly interested even. I wasn’t fooled for a second. Ah well. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Not really. I’m going to buy a house there for the three of us.”

Ezra’s lips thinned. “Babe. Haven’t we been over this?”

“Yes. We have. But I’m not taking no for an answer.” Tugging on his wrist, I pulled him to the side, away from the middle of the rush. As his arms folded across his chest, I stared him down, determined not to flinch under his steely black-eyed gaze. No easy task.

“I’m doing this, Ez,” I stated. “Big brothers need help sometimes too, you know? As do boyfriends. And you’ve got a boyfriend who’s going to be with you forever. Which means that what’s mine is yours, Ez.”

“It doesn’t always work like that, Isaac.”

“It does this time. You need to move forwards. You remember telling me we sold our childhood as a job lot? That we don’t live there anymore? It’s time you started believing it, not letting it hold you and Jonty back.”

“Who said anything about being held back?”

“I’ve been looking around,” I pressed on. “Shooters Hill is a good area. It has nice parks. Low crime. And it’s not so far from your old place that Jonty would need to change schools. Nor too far from Carly’s.”

Ezra eyed me curiously, pulling on his lip.

People pushed past us along the pavement, indifferent to this monumental moment in both our lives.

We’d both come a long way since my father died; this final step was all on Ezra.

It was a simple choice, really—on paper, at least. Hold on to the past or let go.

Learn to fly. Fly away. Together.

Ezra glanced up at the Tube station, then back down at me. A complicated, proud man. If he came along with me now, everything would change. His home, his carefully built life, Jonty’s life—all traded for something unknown. And if he didn’t? Well, that was a decision, too.

I closed my eyes, nauseous.

“This place you’re looking at?” Ezra’s voice, husky and raw. “Does it have a charging point for the mid-range electric car?”

I didn’t open my eyes. “Probably.”

Ezra exhaled through his nostrils; I felt the rush of cool air on my skin. “No. You’re not going, Iz. To meet the estate agent.”

For fuck’s sake. Was there no limit to my brother’s stubbornness? Ezra grabbed my arm, almost dragging me to the Tube station. “What do you mean, no?”

His swift pace continued unabated. I felt like a kid being pulled along by his dad. “Ez! Bloody answer me!”

When his hand fumbled for mine, I was on the brink of punching him.

“I mean,” he said, his lip curling in a familiar knowing smirk, “that you won’t be house hunting alone.

” He tossed me that superior smile of his, the one that melted my knees, even when he was being bloody irritating.

“The three of us need to check places out, don’t we? If we’re all going to be living there.”

“You… you mean…”

Not breaking his stride, he leaned down and kissed the top of my head. Right outside the Tube station entrance to the accompaniment of a belch from the bloke who was apparently slightly less of a lush than my mother.

“Yeah,” he said. “That is, if you’re happy to give up that posh flat and slum it on the wrong side of the river with us.”

We plunged through the crush of people. If Ez hadn’t been clutching my hand, I might have been swallowed under them.

At this point, my kneecaps were less substantial than baby Paxon’s.

We were going to be all right. Me and Ezra and Jonty.

That distant, unknowable future—tiptoeing through the strands of my family, navigating my mother’s addiction, the sick fear in my belly whenever I contemplated my career—cleared up.

It was an inauspicious time and place to reach a level of happiness I’d thought was only meant for stories, but happiness was here, breathing beside me, folding every wish I’d ever whispered into this single, shining moment.

We squeezed into a carriage stuffed tight with bodies, hot breath, and the pulse of a city that never stopped moving.

Somebody’s rucksack dug into my rib cage; sweat and stale perfume wafted under my nose.

We clattered through the underbelly of London, Ezra clinging to a pole, and me clinging to Ezra.

My forehead banged against his chest as I breathed him in.

“I love you so much, Ez,” I whispered. “It’s embarrassing. ”

A huff of laughter rumbled in his chest. Soft lips pressed into my forehead. “No, it’s not. Because I love you that much, too,” he whispered back. “Brother, uncle, lover.”