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The sound of gravel crunching under tires and the beep of a horn are an unwelcome intrusion into the warmth of the Airstream, ones Michael is tempted to ignore, though his truck being right outside makes it a little difficult to pretend not to be here. Despite that, the hum under his skin—not the usual chaos but the softer thrill of calm and connection he’s only ever gotten from music and Alex—doesn’t retreat. Alex stayed, and that fact pushes back any other concern.
Isobel’s voice rings out, and he’s about to make a comment about nosy sisters who at least bring fuel. But then Alex curses and scrambles away, and Michael’s heart and throat constrict for an instant of remembered panic in reaction. The instant passes mostly in his need to reassure Alex.
“Whoa, relax, man. It’s just Isobel.”
“Wait - does she know about us?” Alex doesn’t look any less concerned, and that tight feeling that’s been missing the last few days comes back.
“Would it be so bad if she did?”
The only reason he hasn’t told her is habit and Max’s thrusting this whole Liz thing on them, but Michael hates secrets and doesn’t want this to always be one. He hasn’t deliberately hidden it from them so much as, well, the timing has been a little off.
In the heartbeat after his question, Michael has a flash of the morning—he and Alex going out to meet Iz together, the three of them having bagels, like he’s done with her and Noah and the pieces of his world finally mingling.
Alex’s emphatic “Yeah,” comes fast enough to blow the flash to pieces, the desert wind pulled in through the vents catching the shredded remnants of the image and blowing them away. The sickening twist in his gut is a familiar enough feeling by now that he takes it almost in stride, nodding and reaching for his jeans. Something of it must show on his face, though, because there’s a note that might almost sound like regret in Alex’s voice when he says his name.
Michael can’t meet his eyes, pissed at himself for the giddy feeling when he awoke to Alex’s touch, for the momentary dream of having something of his own to show he’s not just the screw-up of the three of them, for the glimpse of a life out of the shadows and off the edges, for the flicker of hope that he could stop hiding at least one thing.
“Nah, don’t worry about it…”
Jeans on, he’s out the door without looking back, heading toward his sister with and as one more secret to have and to hold, to bury along with all the others he keeps for and from everyone else he loves, until the inevitable moment when it all falls apart.