The waitress returned with a glass and set it in front of Michael before rushing off again.

Nick had no idea where she was going so fast. The restaurant was deserted. It was barely four. Maybe she’d picked up on the tension.

“Tyler blames me,” Michael said. “I don’t fight him, because I get it. I blame me, too.” His eyes narrowed. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let him beat the crap out of you guys. Seriously, Nick. What’s going on with Tyler? Why did you want to know about Emily?”

Nick clasped his hands under the table and shook his head. He couldn’t talk about Tyler without talking about all of it. “Quinn asked me,” he offered. “I didn’t know all the details.”

“Oh, right. Quinn. Your girlfriend.”

Nick couldn’t figure out the note in his voice. Talking didn’t seem safe now. He took a sip of his soda.

Had Michael heard what Tyler said? Maybe Chris had said something? Hunter?

Michael leaned in. “I wish you’d talk to me, Nick.” He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. “I’m not going to judge you.”

Nick’s eyes snapped to his. His heart pulsed against his rib cage. “What does that mean?”

“It means you don’t have to go through this alone.”

He knew. He had to know. How did he know? Nick rubbed his hands over his face, worried his dinner might make a reappearance if he couldn’t calm down. The restaurant simultaneously felt too cold and too hot.

The waitress came by the table to remove their plates, then left a tiny folder with the check.

Michael didn’t reach for it. “Look,” he said quietly, “I’m not going to say I know what it’s like to be in your position.”

“Lucky you.”

“You have a choice, Nick, about—”

“You think there’s a choice here?” Nick almost couldn’t speak through the sudden rage in his throat. “You think I would choose this?”

“Calm down. I’m trying to talk to you.”

Nick could barely keep his voice level. He’d been ready for anger and disappointment, but he hadn’t expected closed-mindedness. He shoved out of the booth. “Fuck you, Michael. I don’t want to talk to you.”

Michael grabbed his wrist. His voice was low and equally angry. “Damn it, Nick, grow up. There’s a time limit here. If Quinn is pregnant, you need to get your shit together and talk to someone.”

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Nick turned around, his eyes wide. “You think Quinn is pregnant ?”

Michael stared back at him. “She’s not?”

“No. She’s not.” Nick sat back down.

Michael blew out a long breath. “Thank god. That—I just—wow.”

“Crisis averted, right?” Nick could barely keep the bitterness out of his voice. Of course Michael hadn’t guessed right.