"Time? You needed—"
Miles interrupted. "Remember when Michael broke his arm trying to impress Lisa Kaufman by doing a backflip off the shed? That was when he was still trying to make us think he liked girls. Dad grounded him for a month."
"It wasn't a month," I argued automatically, grateful for the diversion. "It was two weeks."
"No, that was the time you got caught drinking Jim Miller's dad's whiskey." Matthew eagerly jumped into the time capsule. "The backflip was definitely a month."
"You're both wrong." Marcus followed their lead. "It was three weeks, only because he agreed to repaint the shed."
I grinned. "Whatever the punishment, the look on Lisa's face was worth it."
Miles turned to Alex. "He gets the bright idea to show off by flipping off our dad's tool shed. He lands wrong and snaps his radius clean through. Blood everywhere, bone sticking out—"
"It wasn't sticking out."
Miles continued. "And Lisa Kaufman? She fainted. Full-on, eyes-rolled-back, hit-the-ground fainted."
Alex's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.
Matthew shifted to another story. "That's nothing, tell him about the vending machine."
Marcus groaned. "Oh my god, I forgot about that."
"What vending machine?" Alex looked at me with raised eyebrows.
"Michael versus the school vending machine, sophomore year." Matthew narrated the story with gravitas. "One dollar, one Snickers bar. The machine takes his money and gives him nothing in return."
Miles shook his head. "Most people would just hit the coin return. Not our brother, Michael."
"He challenged the machine to combat," Marcus added with a smile. "Right in the middle of the cafeteria."
I protested the depiction. "I didn't challenge it to combat. I… disagreed with its decision."
Miles provided a translation. "He punched it twice. Then, he tried to rock it forward to get his candy. He nearly crushed himself when it tipped. Dad had to pay for the damages."
"And Michael got—" Miles started.
"Grounded for a month," we all finished in unison.
Alex laughed so hard he nearly choked on a piece of garlic bread, coughing and reaching for his water glass. Mom was immediately at his side, her hand between his shoulder blades.
"Easy now. Matthew, get him more water." Her eyes narrowed as she studied Alex. "You're too thin. You need another helping."
Before he could protest, she'd loaded his plate with another serving of lasagna. "A growing boy needs proper food."
I sighed. "Mom, he's in his thirties."
"And still growing if he eats right." She squeezed Alex's shoulder. "Michael was always the same way—too busy to sit down for a proper meal."
Alex caught my eye across the table, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. I offered a small shrug—Mom's fussing was as inevitable as gravity.
The conversation flowed around us, my brothers slipping back into their comfortable dynamic. Marcus shared news from his partner, James, who was out of town at a work conference. Matthew described his latest EMT rescue. Miles detailed a breakthrough with a challenging patient.
I watched as Alex leaned forward, asking thoughtful questions and laughing at the right moments. He fit into the spaces between my brothers' personalities with surprising ease.
I pushed my food around my plate, my appetite fading. He shouldn't fit so well here. It shouldn't feel so easy. If they all got so attached, what would happen when I lost him? When the thing between us shattered the way everything else did?
Mom's hand on my shoulder startled me from my thoughts.
