These days, my brother and I try to meet up at least a few times a week.

Usually it's for breakfast or dinner. Sometimes we head to the bar and shoot some pool, or rent a lane at the bowling alley. I can't say things are perfect between us, but they're definitely the best they've ever been. It feels like I'm with a good friend now, instead of a stranger.

I'm still waiting for that transition from friend to brother, but I'm not even sure what that feels like, and I know it's not something I can blame Trav for. It's not his fault he was the perfect lump of clay Dad could mold in his image and I was just the failed first attempt at a son.

Right now he's in my kitchen cooking pepper and onion omelettes—because he wouldn't be Travis if he wasn't eating something green—while I've got the honored job of popping a couple pieces of wheat toast into the toaster.

"You know what the secret is to a good omelette?" he asks, nudging at the flat mass of eggs and filling.

"Buying it from Gracie's?" I ask with a smile.

Travis grins. "Okay, the second secret," he concedes. "You have to flip with confidence."

He demonstrates this tenet of omelette philosophy by sliding the silicon spatula under the omelette and quickly flipping half of it up to cover the peppers and onions.

"I think I heard that in a porno once," I say, pulling open my fridge as if juice will suddenly appear.

There was no juice yesterday, and unless the Fridge Fairies ran out and got some last night, there's not going to be any today.

"Wow. Are you serious right now? Right in front of my salad?" Travis asks, wiggling the spatula underneath the omelette and plopping it onto a plate.

I snort, half at the meme and half at the fact that so many of my kids are referencing it. Even now, I'm not sure they all know where it comes from.

"Speaking of pornos," I say smoothly, "how are things with you and Shane?"

Honestly the thought of just how much my best friend and my brother fuck—if either of them are to be believed—kinda weirds me out. I'll never admit it, but there's some small, stupid part of me that always hoped Shane and I would turn out as more than friends.

I'm genuinely happy for them, though. They're made for each other, and their relationship has made them both better people by far. Plus, any weirdness I feel over the whole thing is overshadowed by the fact that my brother always blushes like an innocent virgin whenever I ask such direct questions.

"Good, man. Things are good. Actually…"

He brings the plate over to the table, setting it in front of the place where I normally sit. Then he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a black velvet case that can only contain one thing.

"Holy shit," I say, honestly surprised.

Not that I didn't expect Travis and Shane to get married at some point, but they've only been together a few months.

As if he's reading my mind, Travis says, "It's too soon, isn't it?" He rakes a hand through his messy hair. "Yeah, it's too soon. I just thought—"

"Trav," I say gently, interrupting him. I put my hands on his shoulders in a steady grip and force him to look at me. "Do you feel like it's too soon?"

The thing I've realized about my brother is that he was affected by the way Dad treated us, too. I may have grown up feeling like I didn't matter, but Trav was made to feel like he mattered too much—like every move he made was under scrutiny, and if he wasn't perfect, Dad would stop loving him.

Our childhoods were equally fucked up. Just in different ways.

After a sigh and a brief glance to the side, Travis' gaze returns to mine. I can see the moment his resolve hardens, and my lips twitch in a smile.

"You know what? No, I don't feel like it's too soon. Shane is… he's it for me. He's the one. I know that sounds sappy, but—"

"It doesn't," I assure him. "I mean, it does. But there's nothing wrong with being sappy."

If you actually have someone to be sappy with, my bitter mind thinks.

Trav just nods. "I want this, J. More than I've wanted anything in my life."

"Then you should do it." I clap him on the shoulder and give him a smile that he finally returns. "You know he's going to say yes anyway."

My brother starts to half-heartedly refute that, but he's interrupted by my phone ringing. I cross back to the counter and look at the display. The number's one I saved in my contacts last week.

"Shit, it's the school board," I say by way of warning. For both of us, I think.

I answer the call, and a woman's voice greets me.

"Mr. Morrison? This is Lydia with the Hamilton County School Board."

Lydia. She’s one of the women who was actually there at the meeting; who heard my idea and seemed most receptive to it. My heart pounds as hope surges through me. There's no reason for her to call—not unless she's going to tell me my request was approved.

"Yeah, good morning," I reply, trying not to trip over my words.

"I wanted to make this call personally because I believe your idea has a lot of merit."

Relief floods my veins like a calm tide lapping at the shore. She went to bat for me. The cabinet of old guys who have no idea what goes on in a classroom these days tried to say it was a waste of money, but she fought for me.

"I'm sorry to say I was the only one who believed that," she admits, and my heart sinks a little.

But that just means I was right. She fought and she made them see reason. She—

"I wasn't able to get your idea approved, Mr. Morrison, but I really hope that won't deter you from pursuing it. There are…"

I can hear her talking, but I'm only partially listening to what she's saying. I know this song and dance. I have friends who've been denied by the school board, and they're always told the same thing. Apply for grants, use DonorChoose, or apply for personal financing.

It always comes down to personal financing for teachers. Always.

"Thank you," I say once she finishes, trying to sound at least neutral, since I can't manage chipper. "I appreciate you trying."

I hang up after a couple more pleasantries, and I can feel Trav's eyes on me. I know he's going to ask, though he already knows the answer. I decide to just get it out of the way.

"They denied my request," I say, fishing through a drawer for a fork and knife before I grab the toast out of the toaster.

"So what happens now?" he asks, taking his place at the stove to cook his own omelette.

"Now I keep bringing a few kids to the ranch every other Saturday, just like I've been doing for over a year," I say with a shrug, taking a seat at the table.

Travis is quiet for a long moment, and all I can hear is the sizzle of the pan as he pours a new egg mix into it. After a while, he finally says, "You know if money's the problem I can help you, right?"

He phrases it cautiously because he already knows how I'm going to react. I don't like loans or handouts. I hate the idea of owing anyone anything, but especially my own brother.

"I know, Trav," I say, forcing a smile I don't feel. "I'll think about it, okay?"

But as we lapse back into an uncomfortable silence, we both know I won't.

* * *

I almost consider emailing David to cancel our bi-weekly meetup at Gracie's Place. I'm not in the greatest mood, and it definitely showed in my teaching today. I never yell at my kids, no matter how awful they're being, but today I did it twice, and I even sent a kid up to the principal's office just because he was pissing me off.

Not a shining moment in the history of my career as a teacher, definitely, and I know I'm going to have to apologize for it tomorrow. Otherwise, I'll feel guilty for the rest of the year.

Right now, though, all I want to do is wallow in my failure. I don't want to see David and remind myself once every second that I can't have him, no matter how adorable he is. I especially don't want to remind myself that even if I could have him, he'd probably never actually go for somebody like me.

But there's one thing I’ll go for; one person I feel like I can't let down: Riley. She was willing to take a leap of faith and trust me on the tutoring, and so far, she's been doing well with Julie. The two of them have already blasted through World War I and are well on their way to catching up.

So I change my clothes and I head over there, and seeing David sitting at the same table, waiting on me does make me feel a little better. He's not as squirrelly as I thought he'd be after Eric's "mistake," and we settle into easy conversation about Riley.

It's the kind of single-minded focus I need, honestly, to stop thinking about the ranch. Riley's success is something I refuse to fail at, and if I just put my effort where it will actually count, I know I'll be a lot happier.

But as soon as I content myself with that idea, all I can think about is how at ease Riley looked astride Gloria. She was calm and confident and happy, and those are things I don't usually see from her in class. It's the same with the other kids, and it's always been that way. They get something they desperately need from that ride, and it's a lot more than just fresh air.

At some point David must pick up on my conflict, because he asks, "Everything okay? You seem a little distant."

My knee-jerk reaction is to just smile and play it off. Tell him I've had a long day, which isn't a lie, but definitely isn't the whole truth.

There's something in David's green eyes that pulls me in, though. There's a sharpness to his gaze that's normally expressed through his wit, but there's also an underlying element of compassion, and it's those two things that have me wanting to tell him everything.

"I’ve been trying to find a way to get more kids to Shane’s ranch. I think it could be helpful for a lot of teenagers, and about a week ago I approached the school board about making it an official after school program,” I say, taking a sip of my water. “They called this morning. Gave me the 'thanks for playing, please try again' speech and sent me on my way with a recommendation to seek out alternative funding."

David's brow creases when he frowns. "Did they give you any indication of why they turned you down?"

I shake my head. "No, but they brought up concerns when I first made the proposal. Too dangerous, too many costs associated, too much the school board can't regulate. I get where they're coming from on some of those points, especially safety concerns, but it's mostly a lot of bureaucratic bullshit."

Wow. I'm not normally this bitter about these things. My whole life's been a series of learning to do things my own way, then failing a few times until I eventually succeed. But this program isn't about me, and it hurts all the more because of that. It honestly feels like they're rejecting Julie and the other kids.

"Sounds like it," David murmurs. "What were the options for alternative funding?"

"Grants, mostly. Which always sound great in theory, but in practice are for very specific things. Science lab equipment. A smartboard for a math class. I can't imagine finding a single grant that would even cover what I want to do, and there's no way my application would be approved."

"Ah, yeah." He makes a face. "Every time I've researched grants for clients, I've come up empty. Seems like they want really specific things. Is there anything else you can do? Crowdfunding, maybe?”

David cuts the country fried steak he ordered into what I can only describe as “Dad bites.” Perfectly portioned, cut up the way he probably cut them for Riley when she was little.

I shouldn’t find silly things like that cute, but I can’t help it.

“There’s a site called DonorChoose that a lot of teachers use, but it’s for small projects. Classroom libraries, science lab supplies, those sorts of things. There’s no way I could get donors to fund a program like this.”

“What about Kickstarter or GoFundMe or something? I’ve run lots of successful campaigns through those. I could help you put one together.”

He says it so casually, complete unaware he’s tripped the alarm in my head. Bells shriek, lights strobe, and my stomach ties itself into knots. I never have this much trouble turning down Travis’ help, but he’s used to it.

And he’s not David “Dad Cuts” Frazier.

“That’s okay. I appreciate the offer, but I’ll figure out something.”

I feel a little sick as I say it, and suddenly the green bean, turnip, and bacon medley I was looking forward to eating is making me want to get the check early.

“What if I just teach you how to do it and help you optimize your ad copy?” he asks, looking at me with those expressive green eyes. “Completely hands off otherwise.”

I push my vegetables around with my fork, unable to escape his piercing gaze. He wants to help. He wants it so badly, and I can’t figure out why.

As if he’s reading my mind, David answers that very question.

“You’ve done so much for me with Riley, Jake. I just want to return the favor.”

The alarm stops blaring. The lights shut off. That gnawing ache in the pit of my stomach fades to just a mild tickle. This isn’t an offer of help. Not really. It’s just David trying to settle the score between us. I can’t deny him that, can I?

“Yeah, I guess that’d be all right,” I say, managing a smile that grows little by little.

David smiles back, a brilliant flash of slightly crooked teeth. Even that’s adorable.

“I’ll start researching the best platform, then,” he says, seeming genuinely excited about the whole thing.

As we finish our meal, David just keeps swinging back around to that topic, like a kid who’s counting down the seconds until Christmas morning. With every mention, he wears down that rough edge that’s kept me from accepting anyone’s help. By the time we’re done, I find myself looking forward to it, too.