He trailed off because he didn’t know where he was goingwith that.
“You don’t have to have the answers, Jag.You justgottabe there to be a sounding board as she finds them.Orstand strong for her if she doesn’t.”
Jag took another drag from his beer.
But he didn’t say anything.
“Now, the thing she’s gonna help you with is figuring outwhy your ass was on Black’s grave and you don’t think you lost what she lost.”
Okay.
No.
They were not going there.
Jag didn’t share that.
He rolled his head on his neck and he felt three things pop.
And Hound heard them.
“Youstretchin’?”
This was a thing.
Jag could get wound up.
He worked out, with the brothers in their weight room, atthe boxing gym Hound got them working in years ago, and he started doing thatyoung.
Or Hound got both him and Dutch into doing that young.
It was smart and not just as a way to teach a couple of kidshow to stay fit.
It worked out other shit too.
But Jag could get tense, and when he got tense, he gottight.
Sometimes it would manifest in some not insignificant painin his neck and shoulders, also his upper back.
So he could go at a bag, a sparring partner, jump rope orhit the streets and run.
But Hound always made sure he was all over doing a goodstretch after.
“It’s all connected, bud,” Hound would say.“You can’t justfocus on your neck and shoulders, yourhammies, bigshit like that.Yougottawork the tensionouttayour hips and abs, triceps, lats, delts, calves.Yougottagetlooseor anything could pop off.”
Yeah.
Hound was always on the pulse.
Always there to listen.
Always there to advise.
Always there to teach.
Always there to look out for his boys.
Always there.
