And it cost them ten years.”
Micah’s fists closed.
He stared at the concrete floor between his boots.
“You’re right,” he said quietly.
“You’re completely right, and I will be sorry for it every day I have left.”
They stood there a while in the smell of motor oil and cold metal, and Ezra found that his anger at his youngest brother kept sliding, against his will, into something more like recognition.