Page 46 of The Catalyst

Michael? As in Martin’s little brother? I mean, I knew the one who trained Nigel was Michael Gray, but I had no idea that he would be so…lean. He shares many of the same features as his brother, but Michael’s disposition is kind.

Nigel was right about the difference between the brothers. A few days after his last fight, he mentioned that Martin was also solely raised by the patriarch, and Michael was raised by their mother.

Michael’s expression and lack of cockiness shows how big of a hand nurture has over nature.

A rich boy with a heart. I thought I’d never see the day, but I guess you can’t judge someone by the size of their wallet.

“Be careful, man. You’ll make me look bad.”

“As long as I show up, you look good.”

“Until you stop showing up.” Michael smiles and doesn’t even notice me here, focusing entirely on Nigel and their conversation. I’m not sure if that’s just genuine interest or…something more.

“This is my girlfriend, Beth,” Nigel says, nodding down to me, and Michael’s eyes flash with…hurt. Nigel isn’t watching the emotions, but I am. The moment the wordgirlfriendleaves Nigel’s mouth, Michael looks like Nigel just drove a knife straight into his chest, twisted the blade, and ripped out the beating muscle.

Poor guy.

It’s crystal clear now. Michael thought there was something between them, and Nigel has absolutely no clue that he just broke his friend’s heart.

I thought that Nigel was straight this whole time, but this all begs the question. Is Nigel…bisexual? I’m not one to judge. I had my own experimental period of kissing girls, but it never went past curiosity. I wouldn’t be mad or hold it against him if he took the time to discover what he truly wanted.

Was there something between Nigel and Michael before I came around? Or…is there still something? No, that’s silly. Fidelity is very important to me, and I made myself clear that if he ever screwed around on me, I’d dump him, block his number, and never speak to him again. I’d move away if I had to.

Still, I know I’ll have to ask for my own piece of mind. Later, privately. I wouldn’t want to add embarrassment to Michael’s trauma.

“Oh, hi, Beth. Nice to meet you,” he greets with a mild smile.

I release myself from Nigel and offer Michael a hug, knowing how shitty it feels to deal with rejection. His body jolts with surprise, and I whisper quietly in his ear, “Sorry.” I slowly pull back and see Michael’s confusion before offering him a sad smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Michael. Nigel has told me so much about you. I feel like I already know you.”

I did until this interaction. The same goes for Nigel. Isn’t sexual orientation usually the first thing a couple talks about? Hell, I told him about my experimentation back in Hempstead, but he never once added to it.

I’m getting ahead of myself. Maybe Nigel is utterly oblivious to Michael’s attachment. Maybe Michael wasn’t comfortable with putting himself out there like that. That’s completely understandable.

Recognition flashes in Michael’s eyes as he gazes down at me. He knows I know his secret and that I won’t judge him for it. I’d be a hypocrite if I did.

“She’s a keeper,” Michael says with a kind smile.

“Don’t I know it?” Nigel mutters playfully as I move back to him, but he gives me a look that says he’s going to ask me about that later. If he asks, I’m not going to lie.

“Your brother is a real piece of work, no offense,” I say. I notice the way the tension rises in Michael’s jaw. I can’t tell if it's that he agrees or if he hates to hear people talk badly of his brother.

“I’ve heard that so many times I’ve lost count. Trust me when I say my dad is worse,” Michael shudders in a way that makes my skin crawl.

Someone worse than Martin? Martin is a real scoundrel, but I don’t know if he would actually hurt anyone. Sure, he is physically capable of it, but is he really that dark and twisted? What about their dad? There’s no way someone could be worse than Martin without breaking the law or Nigel’s rules, and the Grays aren’t that stupid, right? They’d have to know the Bastards would be watching.

“How long has your family been in Grove Hill?” I ask curiously.

Nigel’s head snaps around, watching me with confusion.

“My great-grandfather moved here from St. Charles in the early nineteen-hundreds. Why?” Michael’s gaze shifts back and forth between me and Nigel, uncertain.

“Just curious. Me and my mom just moved here a little over a month ago. Everyone else seems to have lived here their whole lives,” I say, trying to defuse their suspicion.

“Pretty much. It’s weirder for people to move here than for someone to move away,” Michael mutters as he scratches the back of his head, nervousness evident in his expression. Then, he sobers. “Is your mom Darcy Mercer?”

I blanche at him for a few moments before I clear my throat. “Um, yeah. That’s my mom.”

“Cool. I thought you looked familiar. She’s been spending a lot of time with my mom. She said she wanted to bring you over to our house for dinner.”

---