“No,” I said. “You need sleep.”
“Did I brush my teeth?”
I grinned. “Yeah, baby, I brushed them for you when we first came into the room.”
She demanded it—always had. I’d sat her on the counter in the bathroom, swaying with fatigue, half asleep as I brushed her teeth in a gown that I felt had served its purpose. I never wanted to see it again.
The memories of the night, I’d keep on my terms.
“Kiss me then.”
I laughed quietly, making her smile. She faded back asleep before I had even finished kissing her.
Ruby army-crawled up the bed, resting her powerful body next to Scarlett’s. She’d keep her warm until I got into bed, then I’d make her move to the bottom again. Or she’d wander into the children’s room before the sun came up to keep watch on that front.
A tap, almost too low to be heard, came at our door. Ruby’s ears pricked, but she didn’t bother getting up. Whoever our late-night visitor was, she felt comfortable enough to stay put. She was a great judge of character; I trusted her more than most people.
Slipping on a pair of sweatpants, I cracked the door, just enough to see out. Scarlett had the covers up to her chin, but it seemed too personal to let someone else see her so vulnerable.
Tito, looking like a bloodied ghost. He hadn’t bothered washing either.
Lifting my brows, I let them poise the question—is he dead?
“A drink,” he said.
“You deserve the entire bottle, old man,” I said. “Give me a minute.”
He made a gruff noise, waving toward the steps.
Closing the door, I found a shirt, slipped it on, and then whispered in Scarlett’s ear that Tito needed to talk to me; I’d be in the kitchen. I doubted if my words made it past her ear, but I still did it out of habit.
Before meeting Tito in the hallway, I double checked the windows, the doors leading out onto the veranda, and checked the room where the children slept.
After kissing them both, I joined Tito for the silent trip to the kitchen.
As late as it was, or early, I’d assumed the house would be asleep. Just the opposite. Music echoed from the kitchen, some old Aerosmith, RUN-D.M.C video played on Mitch’s laptop. My brothers, all three of them, hovered around him, two out of three bobbing their heads.
“I need a strong drink,” Tito growled to himself, leaving the room for a moment to find the wet bar.
Tito hadn’t expected this many people; neither had I. But I knew the reason. None of us could sleep. Not after what had gone down.
Mitch hadn’t been told specifics, not by me, but he’d always been good at sensing need in other people and would do his best to ease their troubles. He and I did this a lot for each other growing up.
Squeezing Romeo’s shoulder, I said, “What about my wife?” Her name had been mentioned right before I walked in.
Mitch grinned. “She belongs in a music video.”
“She can stay put,” I said.
All the men laughed.
“The only time myfratellogets peace is when his wife is asleep!” Romeo laughed.
“Look at you,” Mitch said, smiling. “Being all poetic at—” His eyes scanned the room, looking for a clock. There was none. “Whatever time it is.”
“If a man cannot be poetic at night—more so in the arms of his warm wife—when can he?” Dario said.
“Then what the hell are we all doing in here?” Mitch said.
