It was moments like this that Alvin almost regretted quitting drinking. He could really go for a measure of whiskey right about now. Anything that could burn the bile churning in his gut.

His motions mirrored his brother's, though he sat more gingerly on the wooden chair before the desk where he'd originally started. He had always been so good at keeping his emotions in check, or at least to himself, over the last couple of years, but one slip and he'd thrown them off whatever careful balance they'd managed to establish. Worse yet, he'd added to Rufus' stress.

"That was my fault. I'll talk to her once she's cooled down." Alvin was not so hypocritical to see that he was also guilty of what he'd accused her of and not so stubborn as to think he shouldn't apologize. Living here with her meant she was sort of stuck with him anyway, she'd have to bend at some point.