"Yeah she would."
He lets out a tired laugh. Shakes his head.
"You remember when I pulled you out of that Humvee."
"Every day."
"You remember what you said to me when you could talk again."
"I said don't tell my mother."
"You said you owed me one. You remember that."
"Yeah."
"I'm collecting. Not the way you think. I'm collecting that if you lay a hand on my sister this weekend you do it like she's the most important person in the world and not a thing you earned."
"Marcus."
"Because she is the most important person in the world. And the last man who didn't know that lost a tooth and a job and a car window."
"Noted."
"I'm serious, Gray."
"I know you are."
He lets out a breath that shakes a little on the way out. He's been carrying her all the way from Vancouver. He's tired in a way that isn't sleep.
"Four days."
"Four days."
"And you call me every twelve hours."
"I'll call you every twelve hours."
"And if she tells you to stop you stop in the middle of the sentence."
"Marcus."
"Say it back to me."
"If she tells me to stop I stop in the middle of the sentence."
He nods once. Looks back at the trees.
"Alright."
"Alright."
We stand there. A long second. Two brothers on a porch with a whole conversation still sitting under the one we had.
"Gray."
"Yeah."
"You like her."
