Page 92 of Succumbed

“Linc’s with Lex.”

“I see.”

I glance over, smirking at the look on his face. “I get it. I’d rather be with her, too.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re a bristly bastard these days, you know that?”

He grunts in response, settling into the passenger seat of my Jeep Wrangler. I eye him as I back out of the garage. He’s tense, as he has been for months now. Ever since things ramped up for Solum and Lex became a fixture in our lives, Declan has been a ball of nerves. We have a week before we’ll be in Paris, and it’s high time he gets his shit together.

“Relax, Dec. It’s just me.”

“I’m relaxed.”

“Right. You’re so relaxed you’re about to tap a fucking hole in my door.”

Dec glances down at his fingers as though unaware he started drumming a beat when he sat down. “Sorry.”

I flick on my blinker. “I don’t care that you’re tapping. I care about why.”

“Dunno, Shane. Seems like you have a theory, though.”

“Yeah, that’s not how this is gonna go.”

He scoffs again, and I feel the urge to smack him upside the head.

“I miss my friend,” I say in lieu of corporal punishment. “Linc misses his brother.”

“I’m not the one who disappears most nights or every morning.”

Sighing, I pull into the parking lot of a dive bar near our lab. “Don’t get me wrong, Dec, you’ve been physically present. But that’s about it.”

“We’re all busy, Shane.” He climbs out of the car.

“You tired of this?” I follow, closing my door.

Meeting him behind the vehicle, he finally looks at me. “Tired of what?”

“Me and Linc, living in your house. Being around. The three of us being a unit.”

His eyes widen. “Fuck, no. First of all, it’s our house. Second, why would you think that?”

I walk us both toward the bar entrance. “You’ve been pushing Lex away so hard, you’ve pushed us away, too. Hard not to assume you want us all gone.”

“That’s the opposite of what I want, Shane. Seriously, the absolute last thing.”

“What do you want?”

We slide into a worn booth, ordering a couple of beers when the server stops by. The place is dark and quiet, a few regulars at the long bar and a handful playing pool in the back. The surrounding booths are empty, cracked pleather seats shiny with wear.

“It’s complicated,” Dec says.

“I’m a smart guy. Try me.”

He stares at his hands, lips pursed.

“You know,” I drawl, “I’ve joked about how you consider ‘help’ a four-letter word, but you seem to need a reminder that getting help isn’t a weakness, Dec. There’s strength in knowing your limitations and having the wherewithal to get support when you need it.”

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