Brennan blinked.
Thatwas almost as anxiety-inducing as Connor figuring out his deep, dark secret.
“That’s really awesome, Sarge.” Brennan swallowed the last gulp of his scotch and set the glass on a side table. “I know you’ve done a lot of good work with all that. It shows.”
“Yeah, it does show.” Connor was still spearing him with his icy blue eyes. They suddenly reminded Brennan of Skye and how much he missed seeing her crystalline blue eyes, and he wondered if he’d ever see them again. “I’m gonna give you her number. And you’re gonna give her a call.”
“Oh.” Brennan chuckled easily. “I’m good, Sarge, I don’t need—”
“Yeah, you do, Riley.”
“I don’t.”
“Youdo,” Connor retorted in hisSgt. Deneauvoice.
Brennan looked away and stood up, grabbing his glass. He strolled to the kitchen, and Connor didn’t protest. After refilling the glass with twice as much scotch as his previous drink, Brennan returned to the armchair and focused his attention on the next episode.
“Tell me about Kandahar,” Connor piped up again.
Brennan did a single, slow blink as chaos flashed in his mind’s eye. “It’s the second largest city in Afghanistan. It served as the seat of power for the Pashtun people for about three hundred years. It was a major trading center for crops and livestock. It was founded around 330 BC by Alexander the—”
“You know what I fucking mean, smartass.”
Brennan sipped his drink as he stared at the TV.
“Tell me about Kandahar, Riley,” Connor repeated, challenging him.
Brennan finally looked at him. “I don’t have the same shit you do, Sarge. It was a different war.”
“Yeah, it was fucking worse,” Connor said without missing a beat. “So, tell me about it. Y’know…since you’re so fucking fine about it and all.”
Brennan slowly swirled his drink and hitched one shoulder aloofly. “It was so long ago that I don’t even really remember it.”
“’Cuz you blocked everything out?” Connor’s brows were high on his forehead. “Or because you’re a fucking liar?”
Brennan gritted his teeth and then relaxed his jaw. “You know I’m not a fucking liar.”
“I know, which is why you need to call my therapist.” Connor gave a weighted pause. “Because you’re fucked up enough that you don’t even realize how much you fucking lie about it.”
Brennan honestly hadn’t outrightliedabout any of that or anything else. Except for that one time Connor came right out and asked the anxiety-inducing question.
Are you in love with her?
If Brennan needed therapy aboutanything, it was probablythat.
Brennan shook his head. “No offense, Sarge, but I really don’t have the same shit you do from all that.”
“Yeah, your shit is worse.” Connor continued to absently stroke Liza’s hair and rub her back. “I know your shit is worse because I know what happened there that summer, I know what your fucking job was, and I know what happened to a lot of your crayon-munching brothers. And since I’ve got a really good therapist now, I know you’re really good at keeping your shit buried.”
“Sarge,” Brennan said with an uncomfortable chuckle. “I’m honestly not burying anything.”
Except that he was burying alotof stuff, some of which had nothing to do with what happened in Kandahar that summer. Anxiety melded with adrenaline, and Brennan sipped down his scotch about halfway.
Connor stared at him for a long time. So long that it was basically a staring contest. Brennan intermittently swirled his scotch, maintaining his easy, aloof expression.
After several seconds, Connor briefly narrowed his eyes and then slipped his hands under Liza, hoisting her into a cradle of his arms while he stood. “You’re fucking asking for it, Riley. Especially with this shit going on. It’s going to come to a head eventually, and then you’re gonna be the guy jogging into the Mississippi, praying that it drowns you before anyone can pull your ass out.”
He carried Liza out of the living room and through the bedroom door, leaving Brennan staring at the empty couch. Moments later, Connor appeared in the doorway again. “Five a.m., Riley. I don’t care how hungover you are.”
