“We don’t share, Rev. None of us share. That’s not how this brotherhood works.”
I set my beer aside. “Maybe I’m tryna change that.”
He doesn’t look at me—his eyes go to my beer, narrow, harden, and look away. Back to Myka. “You really askin’?”
“Damn straight. You want it to be a two-way street, ask me anything.”
Aluminum crinkles in his fist. His eyes fix on Myka, his mammoth chest expanding with a slow breath. “Reminds me of someone.” A hard swallow. “Someone I lost. Long time ago.”
I wait.
Nothing else is forthcoming.
“Kane—”
He shakes his head. “Some things don’t heal, brother.” He tosses back the last of his water. “I’m takin’ off. Be gone a few days. Inez knows.”
“Kane.” I grab his shoulder, grip hard, turn him around before he vanishes out the door. “We’re here for you. Ask. Anything.”
He nods, swallowing again. “‘Preciate it, Rev. Just need some time, is all.”
I tilt my head at Myka. “You vanish without sayin’ bye, she’ll be pissed.”
His jaw pulses, lips thinning. A jerky nod. And then I watch him force whatever it is he’s feeling down, down, down. His eyes brighten, take on life, warmth, that humor I know all of us equate with all that is Kane. He moves over to Myka where she’s sitting in the corner of her couch, leans over her shoulder, brushes her cheek with his lips, murmuring to her.
I watch her brush his cheek back, twisting, lifting, her arm going around his shoulders, or as much of them as she can reach. Says something back. There’s no jealousy in me—the way she is with him is the way I saw her with her brothers. She pats his shoulder, gives him a warm, tender smile, wiggles fingers at him as a wave, watching him pass by me.
“Be safe, brother,” I mutter as he passes.
He smacks my shoulder as he passes. “Will do.” He pauses halfway out the door, filling the doorway with his massive body, head turned slightly to the side, addressing me. “Don’t take her for granted, Rev. Not asinglefucking second. Hear me?” His voice is low but intense, almost shaking.
“Yeah, Kane. I hear you.”
Whatever, whoever he lost, it marked him. Scarred him, deep.
He nods, and I hear his boots on the concrete. A motorcycle engine roars, the snarl of a hog. I watch through the doorway—the bike is vintage, the front forks angled away, wide handlebars, a jump seat behind his. Black leather saddle bags with tasseled fringe and silver accents. He’s helmetless, black ballcap turned backward, wraparound mirrored sunglasses, with a shemagh tied around his neck. The shemagh is a tan-and-black checkered scarf worn in many Arabic countries, and if you served there, you quickly learned the value of it as protection from sun, wind, and sand; especially among the spec ops community, we all adopted its use. You can wrap it around your face and head, leaving only the eyes, or you can tug it up over your nose like a regular bandana. With his dirty, ripped, faded jeans and army-issue drab-green T-shirt, cowboy boots, dog tags, tactical gloves, and his build, he wears it like the badass he is, and you know just by looking at him where he got it and how.
He roars off, into the sun.
I watch him out of sight, sending a wish or a prayer out into the ether that he finds whatever the hell it is he’s looking for, out there.
* * *
The guys are gone,Chance the last to leave, riding with Lash in one of the G-Wagens. I’ve got one, too, the keys in my pocket.
My hesitation rises like bile. Do I stay? Do I assume she wants me here? Her first night in her new apartment…
Of course, she senses it, closing the door as Chance and Lash drive off. She comes to me, pressing up against me, crystal blue eyes bottomless wells, eager, tender, soft.
“Hi, you.” Her voice is a whisper, huffing warm and sweet on my lips.
“Hey.” I drag my keys from my pocket.
She frowns at them. “You, um…going somewhere?”
I shrug. “I…” I groan. “Not sure.”
Her frown deepens. “Rev honey, where would you go?”
