Page 73 of The Wrong Monster

I don’t turn, recognizing my brother’s voice.

“I thought you weren’t stopping by today? They have me on as the lead supervisor, so…”

I zone out as Timur rambles on about his day-to-day job. He steps up behind me on the ridge with a bright yellow hard hat on and his chest puffed out with pride. It’s like this whole project were his idea, and not just another task added to his portfolio.

He’s smiling. Why is he always smiling? It’s infuriating.

“Manager has coffee,” he says, holding up a paper cup. “It’s shitty, but it’s hot.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You haven’t even tried it.”

“I don’t need to.”

He extends the cup anyway, and I stare at it, wishing that for once in our lives we could just speak openly.

Finally, I take it. The coffee is, in fact, shitty.

Timur grins, then hides the grin behind the paper rim of his own cup. “Told you.”

I take another sip and look back over at the site.

“You came all the way up here to bring me bad coffee? Don’t you have a site to inspect?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

His smile fades slightly. “I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

I look at him, wanting to explode. How I’m doing? I’m trying to manage this dual business while fielding an open criminal investigation into one of my most important men and fending off the younger and clumsier version of me who clearly wants my territory.

“I’ve been better.”

“I know.” For once, he doesn’t sound chipper. But I can’t help thinking, as he stares down at the site with pursed lips, rocking on his heels, that he doesn’t know. He can’t.

I keep my expression neutral. “I’m fine.”

Timur doesn’t buy it, but apparently decides that means he can continue talking.

“Nat has four different schools she’s looking at,” he says, taking a drink of his coffee as he turns the conversation abruptly. “Four. For a three-year-old. One has better academics, one has a better outdoor program, and the other one has this incredible art curriculum; apparently, it’s important at that age. The fourth is just something ‘normal,’ I guess, but we both know she’s not going there. You should see the teacher-to-student ratio.”

I stare out over the construction site, but he doesn’t take the hint and keeps talking.

“Nat thinks the commute matters, but I think she’s overthinking it. I mean, Harper’s three. She needs crayons and nap time, not an advanced educational philosophy.”

“Must be nice.” The words come out colder than I intend. Timur stops, and I do everything I can not to look at my little brother.

He finally seems to notice the expression I’ve been wearing for the last week.

“Right.” He looks down at his coffee. “I’m not reading the room.”

“No.”

He gives a humorless laugh, then clamps his mouth shut. For a moment, I think he’ll let it go. He doesn’t.

“You know, Vasily, you didn’t have to take over.”