LOCKE
Orla’s bed was huge—a super king. But me and Nash, we were big dudes. Tall. Wide. It was a rare night that the three of us didn’t wind up sleeping on top of each other.
It was how I felt the shift on the other side of the bed. How I knew he wasn’t there before I even opened my sleep-heavy eyes to a room that was still pitch dark.
Orla was asleep, face hidden by a pillow, her curvy backside pressed against my groin.Sweet Jesus. It took me a second to process that. Then my gaze fell on Nash, hunched over the edge of the bed, muttering to himself.
Shit.
I took a breath and sat up, but he was gone before I reached him, heading for the door with the stilted gait that let me know that fucker wasn’t awake.
Cursing out loud this time, I disentangled myself from Orla and swung my legs out of bed, quickstepping to catch him before he crashed into the door.
I got in front of him, so he walked into me instead, steadying him, searching for lucidity in his vacant gaze, but I found nothing but blank terror in those wide baby blues.
Fuck, his lashes were long.
Not helping, bro.
Nash was still set on escape, pushing my hands away, reaching for the door.
I dropped my palms on his bare shoulders. “Come back to bed.”
His head jerked up. For a moment, he looked right at me. Then he swung around, fighting me again.
I let him go, opening the door.
Nash drifted out and into the living room, narrowly missing the arm of the couch where Lida had claimed her space for the night.
The dog eyed Nash as she passed him, timeless wisdom in those dark orbs. She yawned out a low whine and hopped down from the sofa, exiting the room to the kitchen.
Nash followed her. Then changed his mind and retraced his steps, trucking all the way to the record crates by the turntable.
He crouched down, his dodgy knee clicking up a storm. “She likes this one.”
I joined him on the floor, watching his fingers flick through the sleeves as deftly as if he’d been wide awake. “Who does?”
“She does.” Nash pulled a Billy Joel vinyl out and pointed at the tracklist. “That one.”
“And So It Goes?”
He didn’t answer. Just rocked back on his heels wildly enough for me to grab him and rescueStormFrontfrom his loosening grip. If there was one thing I’d learned about old-school Rebel Kings, it was that they cherished their records as much as they cherished each other.
“It’s our history.” Rubi knocked his head to my shoulder, damp-eyed and drunk. “Some of our kin, it’s all we have left.”
Knew that feeling too, and missing my mum made me miss my twin. It had been a few days since I’d seen his face. More than a month since I’d felt his big arms around me, the safety of his grumpy gaze.
Love you, Lo.
As I tucked the record away, I knew my brother heard me. “Come on.” I took Nash’s hands. “Let’s go back to Orla.”
He came willingly enough. I steered him to Orla’s bedroom and shut the door behind us.
Nash drifted to the bed and lay down on top of the covers. I grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed and draped it over him, then retreated to the other side.
My head touched the pillow.
“Locke.”
