Kane leaped up, his front leg giving out slightly for a moment.
“Who’s up for some catch?” Tucker asked, while signaling Marco to stay.
Kane ran across the veranda, vaulted over the steps, and raced across the sunlit grass. There was no limping, no favoring of a limb, simply joy.
“That’s my boy.”
Kane spies the spin of the rubber ball through the brightness. He tracks it with one eye as he races under its flight. It arcs high, then falls earthward.
He rushes to meet it.
As it comes down, he jumps high, twisting his length, muscles stretching. His teeth catch and clamp. He savors this victory, landing in the warm grass. He spins a circle, showing his triumph.
He then rushes back, flipping the ball high.
His packmate catches it just as deftly.
They are one.
Always.
Kane prances away, dancing his jubilance, knowing down deep it can’t be forever. It won’t be always.
But for now...
He faces his man.
One more time, one more time, one more time...
11:44 a.m. EDT
Takoma Park, Maryland
“Sixteen minutes until D-day,” Monk sounded off.
Gray paced the small room off the main chapel. The ceremony was set to begin at noon. He checked his watch, then shook down the sleeve of his black Armani suit. He straightened his tie, clipped with a silver ∑ symbol. He ran a hand over his slicked hair, but a stubborn cowlick defied his efforts.
“Quit fussin’,” Kowalski said. “You’re not gonna get any prettier.”
The two men were his groomsmen, as stiffly dressed as he was. None of them looked comfortable in their suits. They were built for tacticalgear and boots. He scowled down at his polished dress shoes. He rubbed at the toe of one with the heel of the other.
“If you scuff that,” Monk warned, “Kat will murder you in your sleep. She’s already read the riot act to the wedding photographer.”
“Because she’s taking her maid-of-honor duties seriously.”
Monk feigned offense. “Are you slighting my efforts as best man?”
Kowalski grunted. “That bachelor party sucked. You ran out of alcohol.”
“A problem very much due to you,” Monk reminded the large man. “I ordered enough for a small platoon.”
Kowalski rubbed his forearm where he had been stabbed. “It was for medicinal purposes. For the pain. Doctor’s orders.”
Monk scowled. “It’s been two months and—”
They were thankfully interrupted by Painter as he knocked and entered. “The bridal party is all set,” he reported.
“So, Seichan didn’t make a run for it,” Kowalski noted.
