to moron! Trey, stop it. You’re embarrassing yourself and you’re humiliating me.”
“I hope it’s going somewhere. I pray to God it’s going somewhere.” Scott was undeterred.
“And where would that be?”
“Hello?” I looked from one staring man to the other staring man. “Is anyone hearing me? ’Cause I’m pretty sure I’m talking, but I’m not getting a whole lot of response from either of you.”
Scott, still ignoring me, leaned his forearms on the table and assumed his most serious, responsible expression. “I love your sister,” he said, “and my ‘intentions’ are to be the kind of man she can love enough to want to marry.” There was a bit of a challenge in the smile he aimed at Trey. “And since you’re the brother who’s kept her sane all this time, I’m happy to answer any other questions you have.”
I thought of saying something witty about the “sane” thing, but the L word was messing with my zingers—not to mention the M word turning my cognitive skills to mush. Scott hadn’t ever told me that he loved me—not directly, anyway. He hadn’t been shy about expressing it in other ways, but hearing it so unexpectedly in a crowded café with my newly reunited brother sitting next to me awoke a cacophony of voices in my mind, each of them speaking from a different fragment of my heart.
“He’s lying,” said my daughterness.
“He’ll hurt you,” said my woundedness.
“He doesn’t know how warped you really are,” said my brokenness.
“You can’t afford to trust him,” said my betrayedness.
“Maybe . . . just maybe . . . ,” said my uncertain hopefulness, the part of me that wanted to cheer—and dance—and cry—and laugh—and beg all the other voices to be wrong.
I was too fragile to address Scott’s declaration at that moment. Too stunned. Too confused. Too terrified. So I stayed mute and hoped the two men whose lives were so entangled with mine wouldn’t notice my withdrawal. Scott reached across the table and squeezed my hand just as Trey reached to do the same. We all froze for a fraction of a second; then Trey withdrew his hand as Scott twined his fingers with mine. An invisible page turned with such finality that it grieved, frightened, and sobered me.
My brother just sat there looking at our hands, biting the inside of his lip like I’d seen him do a thousand times when he was thinking. His eyes met mine, and he smiled in a way that said he knew. He understood.
“Just so you know,” he said to Scott, “she’s stubborn.”
“Trey . . .”
“So is my sister,” Scott said. “I’ve had practice.”
“And she drags her feet like no one I’ve ever known.”
“Trey!” Consternation was quickly overtaking my confusion.
“I’ve noticed.” Scott smiled, bringing my hand to his lips.
“And she has a hang-up about the whole ‘love’ concept—never believes it’s for real.”
“And expects people to change their minds about it once they get to know her?”
“That’s Shelby.”
I slid down in my chair and covered my burning face with my hands. “I am so humiliated.”
“And,” Trey continued, raising a finger to punctuate his statement, “she can build some pretty thick walls around herself to keep people at arm’s length.”
“Any advice?”
“Oh—that’s right. You’ve been up against a couple of those, haven’t you.”
I groaned.
“Well,” Trey continued, ignoring me, “if you run into them again, my advice is to storm the barricades.”
“Storm them?”
“Blast ’em to smithereens.”
“Really.” Scott seemed to be warming to the concept.
“Don’t give her any wiggle room.”
“Thanks, man. That’s good advice.”
“I’m sitting right here, boys,” I said in a weary voice. “Sitting right here.”
The inquisition had apparently ended and Scott seemed relieved, though he had a purposeful look about him—like a warrior readying for an assault. My brain was suddenly exhausted from the surprise, the face-off, the L word, the M word, and the look on Scott’s face. We all let the loaded silence stretch for a while. A few moments later, Trey slapped Scott on the shoulder and settled back in his chair, relaxing for the first time since he’d arrived. Scott smiled and continued to hold my hand, idly toying with my fingers and leaning in to kiss my temple.
“So,” Trey said with enthusiasm, “how ’bout them Bulls?”
And they were off—a little awkwardly at first, what with the rather brutal introduction to the evening—but once they got going, it was like listening to childhood friends. I realized, about ten minutes into their conversation, that I was going to have to do some serious brushing up on my sports if