Empathy warmed Rubi’s face. If there was one thing these brothers understood, it was loss. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t start this chat thinking it would come to this.”
“Hey, I can have a tough conversation if it’ll help a brother out.”
“That’s why we love you, Folksie.”
Rubi gave me a hug, then decided he was drunk enough to go home, and the gathering in the bar broke up.
Only Saint lingered, venturing close enough to spear me with a stare that made most men squirm. A silent interrogation that went on and on until he eventually spoke. “Rubi’s plan... it’s either the stupidest idea in the world, or it’s golden.”
I leaned on the bar, flexing my hands. “Could be somewhere in the middle.”
“Would you do it? If Decoy thought it would help?”
“I’d do anything to help him,” I said honestly. “But I don’t think I’m anyone’s idea of boyfriend goals.”
Saint hummed, his gaze drifting to the open back door. There was more on his mind, I could tell, but the chances that I’d have to figure it out with telepathy were high, and Saint Malone was a hard man to predict. I’d tried to profile him once, stuck on a silent watch with him for days on end. I hadn’t got very far. All I knew for certain was that he’d nearly died to save Rocco, and for that he’d have my loyalty forever.
At the clubhouse door, Alexei grew impatient and came back for Saint, hustling him out. With the council dispersed and Decoy MIA, a lone prospect manned the bar. I told myself that’s why I stayed. As though I cared if a dozen other brothers threw darts at each other’s heads.
I didn’t. I respected the club and its rules, but my connection to it had nothing to do with bikes and testosterone, and everything to do with the pull in my chest for men who were either dead or still outside. We hadn’t been alone together since that night in the Paphos bar, and I could count on one hand the words we’d exchanged since I’d slid from my hog a year ago to the sight of every emotion I felt painted on his handsome face.
Shock.
Horror.
Hope.
He’d flattened it as fast as I had. And we’d never acknowledged that we’d known each other in another life. But maybe it was time that changed.
Change it now.
The rogue thought shocked me. I was used to obsessing over him, but the prospect of ending the stalemate between us had never seemed real. As if the past we shared was nothing but a dream. Now, though, as I pictured him alone on the back step, my memories of that night became razor sharp. An HD reel of good humour and heat before reality had crashed into us.
Talk to him.
About the fact we’d nearly banged in a Cyprus gay bar? That was a hard no. But if I’d learned nothing else tonight, it was that my favourite enigma could probably use a friend.
I checked in with the prospect, then slipped behind the bar to the back door.
It was still open, revealing the small bay and the recycling bins. The storage unit that housed the beer barrels and other supplies.
The step that Decoy sat on, head in his hands, a beer bottle at his feet.
My T-shirt looked better on him than it ever had on me. Stretched across his strong shoulders. Riding up his back as he slumped forward, revealing the shadowy tattoos at the base of his spine.
It made me wonder where else he had ink. Which made me picture him naked and derailed me from whatever vague reason I’d given myself to come out here. And let me tell you, no one else on this planet had that power over me—the ability to reroute my every thought just by existing.
Only him.
Only SethDecoyGreene.
My hands ached to rub the stress from his taut muscles. The rest of me ached for something else, but I smothered it. Used to missing what we’d never had.
I reached his side and took a seat on the step.
The bottle at his feet was empty. I considered fetching him another one, but this brother didn’t drink much. If he wasn’t with Ivy, he worked. In the year I’d been here, I couldn’t recall a night where he’d had nothing and no one to take care of.
Even now, he had the till key for the bar hooked on a band around his wrist.
