Saint ghosted into the room as I spoke. I knew him well enough to be fairly certain he’d overheard more than that magic number, but he showed no reaction as he passed Alexei and took his seat.
I wondered if that would change if Alexei pushed the conversation. For him or for me. If I’d answer or shut down.
A year ago, I’d have been sure of my response, but I wasn’t the same man now. Apparently I was someone who spat my past in the face of the soul I loved most, then left him to deal with it because I was that fucking selfish.
You knew it would hurt him and you told him anyway.
Alexei didn’t push the conversation. He watched Saint stretch his legs out and toss a pinecone from one hand to the other. “Are you still dreaming of cigarettes, wingman?”
Saint shrugged, not even trying to speak.
I leaned forward, curious. “You still haven’t smoked since the fire?”
He shook his head.
“But you want to now?”
Another shrug.
“What’s changed? You feel more like yourself than before?”
Saint stilled the pinecone. “I never said I wanted to smoke.”
“Then what is it?” Saint was the brother Ialwayspushed. He gave me so little, I had nothing to lose. “Or were Alexei’s words literal?”
“You want me to tell you my dreams, father?”
“If it would help.”
Saint dead-eyed me across the table, his expression one that reminded me he hadn’t asked for my help.
I let it go and fell down the rabbit hole of observing him and Alexei instead. Their sweet and unexpected affection. It was nothing like the fire that smouldered between Cam and Alexei. Or the complex love Cam and Saint shared. It was purer. Calmer. Being around them when no life-or-death situation hung over us was better than therapy, and watching Saint squeeze Alexei’s hand calmed the storm I’d inexplicably woken up with.
Rubi and Nash filed into the chapel. Alexei vacated Cam’s seat to move to the window and gaze out at the compound. The traditional seat of the treasurer was beside Decoy, the club secretary, but Alexei didn’t give a shit about traditions either. He danced to his own tune and Cam allowed it because he loved him.
“You’re not going to die, chaplain. It will hurt for a long time, but you will live, I promise.”
I smelt blood. Felt it pooling on the ground around me, my fingers scrabbling in the dirt. I heard Decoy’s voice as he entered the room, but I couldn’t see him. Couldn’t feel much either, except my fingernails digging into my palms.
When did I clench my fists?
Maybe I needed to start smoking cigarettes again. Give me something to do with my hands when my brain left my body.
Calm the fuck down. It’s a flashback and Alexei’s voice is the trigger. Focus on something else.
I took a breath in the same moment a tiny hand wrapped around my wrist. Lemon and weed smoke invaded my senses. And then another hand, bigger and warmer, brushed the back of my neck.
Mateo.
He claimed his seat, placing a mug of lemon tea in front of me as Saint left the room. On the table beside the tea sat Ivy, Decoy’s four-year-old daughter, already tracing the fairground tattoo on my arm with a glitter pen.
“Ives,” Decoy warned. “Leave Embry alone.”
“It’s okay.” For a moment, I thought the words were mine. Then Mateo spoke again. “He was gonna add pink to that helter-skelter anyway.”
His voice was an anchor. His leg pressed against mine beneath the table, the rope that led to the surface. My eyes had been open the whole time, but his closeness cleared my vision.
Ivy poked me with the nib of her pen. It felt real now and I was back in the room. “You can make the stripes pink if you want.”
