Page 191 of Five Brothers

I swallow. “You’re still here?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it, glancing toward the pantry as Krisjen sifts through cans and boxes.

“I’m going in a few,” he says.

I cut the last piece of meat, the pulse in my neck throbbing. He was hoping to find her alone. She doesn’t work today, so he stayed behind to get laid.

“I thought you were heading to the marina,” he says.

“I am.”

Krisjen strolls out, carrying a few cans and setting them on the counter. “Hey,” she singsongs to Army.

He looks at her.

I look at him.

He looks at me.

She dives back into the pantry, and I swallow my last bite.

“She’s coming with me today,” I say without thinking. “Ames will like something pretty to look at.”

I rise, taking my plate to the sink, and then pick up the drink. I don’t want her home without me, and I don’t have time to ponder why. I’ll think about it later.

I head over to him. “Did you eat?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

I hand him the smoothie. “Finish this. She’s sneaking kale in there or some shit and thinks I don’t notice.”

He takes it, the whisper of a smile crossing his lips.

He should fight me for her attention. He has every right, butI’m glad he almost never pushes back. There was a time that lasted far longer than it should when I just needed one person who did what I told them to do. One person I knew would get it done.

Army is the longest relationship I’ve ever had. And I know I owe him.

I’ll give her back tomorrow. Just one more night.

I pull on my T-shirt, grab my keys, and walk into the garage, yanking the canvas off my motorcycle.

Two hours later, we’re cruising up to the marina.

She pulls off her helmet and throws her head back, her hair flying over her shoulders like a blanket. With a huge-ass smile on her face, she giggles. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

I don’t react, but inside, I’m smiling more than I want to admit. She’s so innocent. In a way that’s sweet, pure, and endearing, and for some reason, a little annoying, too. I wish anything made me as happy as she is reenacting a shampoo commercial.

I take her helmet, hang it on the handlebar, and unzip my leather jacket. “We probably have enough spare parts to make another bike,” I say. “If you want to learn how to drive.”

“No,” she replies right away, walking around the motorcycle to me. “I like riding with you.”

I clench my jaw, trying to shield the way I suddenly can’t breathe. She stands at my side, wearing a short, tight white dress, held up with one strap over her left shoulder, the other bare, and her lips painted pink.

She clutches the inside of my upper arm and looks at me. I ache everywhere.

I lead her down the dock, fishing boats rocking and yachts anchored in the distance. Light dims as a cloud passes in front of the sun, and I see Garrett Ames step off the deck of his fifty-seven-footmotor yacht, walking toward us as he slips his cell phone into his breast pocket.

“I honestly expected the other one,” he says. “Army, was it?”

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