Jeez, the man could sound strict. Now, I understood how his stern countenance but kind smile must have drawn War.
Framed pictures on a side table near the TV drew my gaze. I leaped to my feet, crossed over, and picked one up. It was of War probably around fourteen or fifteen, his hair shorter and standing on end. He was in his hockey gear, his helmet in his hand. Even unsmiling and solemn, there was something about him…or it could be because I was in love with him, but it made my heart compress and want to hug him—
“I was thirteen,” he said quietly, and I glanced to where he stood near the window, staring outside, hands in his pockets. “First game I played.”
“Did you lose?”
“No. We won.”
Frowning, I set the photo down and joined him. I searched his face, but couldn’t pick up anything. “Are you okay?”
He nodded.
A little relieved, I rubbed my cheek against his biceps, my gaze settling on the old oak tree. “I’m glad you accepted Caleb’s invitation.”
“I grew up here,” he said then. “Sometimes it feels like a lifetime ago.”
“At least you had Caleb. I like him.”
His gaze finally settled on me, and a little smile formed, but his eyes remained somber. He led me back to the couch. I sat, he didn’t.
War slid his hands into his pockets, his gaze on the TV. “I hadn’t thought so when I was first dumped on him. I probably made him question his sanity, but he never caved or tossed me back into the system.”
Oh, man. Those few words revealed so much. Others didn’t want him.
But I was grateful he’d opened up a little. “It’s nice here,” I said. “Warm and homey.”
“He won’t let me buy him another place, says what would he need a big house for? He likes it here, has his friends close.”
I could understand that. Caleb might not have a lot of money, but he was content. My mother had so much of it, and she wasn’t.
Outside, a car screeched to a halt, brakes squeaking. I frowned. War’s gaze shot to the window.
“He’s happy, and it’s the most important thing, isn’t it?” I asked.
He attention back on me, he nodded, expression cool now.
What had him on edge?
Before I could ask, the front door flew open, and a lanky guy, a little shorter than War, strolled inside. Overgrown dark hair escaped a short ponytail and fell into flashing brown eyes that took us in with one sweep.
“Justin,” War said.
He cut War a flat stare and stalked off without a word. A door shut somewhere in the house. He had to be Caleb’s son. The guy resembled him a lot in both build and coloring. But wow, rude much? The glaring animosity in his expression dropped the warmth of the place a notch.
War’s mouth tightened. “Come.”
He led me out of the living room, down a corridor, and opened a door into a dining room slash kitchen, separated by a breakfast counter. The tantalizing smell of something spicy and rich with oregano saturated the air.
Caleb, busy in the kitchen, glanced back and smiled. “Almost ready. Please sit.” He waved to the dining room.
War held out a chair adjacent to the head of the six-seater dining table laid out for four, then rounded the breakfast nook and helped bring over the meal.
Caleb uncovered the dishes, revealing a deep bowl with herb sprinkled spaghetti and another earthenware pot with meat sauce. War set the salad on the table before taking his seat next to me.
“Go ahead.” Caleb waved for us to start, setting paper napkins on the table.
I took a bit of the pasta and sauce, but War waited. After Caleb dished, then he helped himself. While everyone dug in, the fourth setting remained empty. So, not waiting for Justin, then?
