Page 46 of Five Brothers

“Pregaming all day, baby!” Trace claps the air above his head.

They’re having a party tomorrow. Iron’s last night. Halloween.

I look toward the door, trying to see if he’s with them.

And then he’s there. Charging in, jeans and black T-shirt, dark hair covering his temples, and his sun-kissed skin glowing with water that I know isn’t sweat. He jumps through the spray of lawn sprinklers everywhere he works to cool down. I smile to myself, picturing it.

He heads for the kitchen, glancing at me and then away. He’s been acting like he doesn’t notice me, but that’s only after he looks to make sure I’m here.

I watch him stroll through the kitchen, toward the back.

“You stay out of there!” Mariette yells at him.

I arch up on my tiptoes, watching him shrug at her in the kitchen. “Just one.”

“A whole one!” Trace yells through the warming window.

“Iron Jaeger!” she growls.

“You’ll miss me!” He grins at Mariette and dives into the walk-in.

I hesitate, proud of myself for staying out of that house this week.

But he’s alone, and he’s rarely alone, and I need to know when my car will be ready, and I’m not asking Macon. I don’t want to bug him.

I roll through the kitchen, past the grills, and sneak into the cooler, seeing him scan shelves for the key lime cheesecake that’s not on the menu.

He doesn’t look my way, but he knows I’m here.

He offered a ride along the beach a few nights ago, and I kind of regret turning him down.

But I knew what would happen when we got there. It’s safer now. In two days, he’ll be gone for three-plus years.

I’ll miss him.

Somehow their table out there never seemed like it was missing someone without Macon there, but I’m going to hate only seeing three at that table for dinner very soon.

I step closer to him. The cool air feels good.

“Why doesn’t … Mariette own this place?” I ask him.

He pulls out a pink box, searching behind it. “She pretty much does. We don’t interfere with how she wants to run it.”

“But you take a cut.”

I slide in front of him, blocking his view. My chest touches his, and he looks down at me, heat filling the space between us.

“What’s your point?” he asks.

“I just think it’s interesting that she does the work of a business owner but isn’t the business owner,” I tease. “And then she has to share her profits with people who don’t work here. Do you have that kind of arrangement with a lot of businesses in the Bay?”

It’s not their style to take from their own people. I’m only half-serious with my underhanded accusations. I just want to spend a minute with him.

But there’s a reason the Jaegers insist on maintaining control of this restaurant and the bar next door. The rest make sense. An auto shop. A storage facility. A run-down drive-in up the coast a few miles, and lots of land where they collect rent from people parked on it.

But this place is Mariette’s. In every way but the one that counts. Why?

“What aren’t you telling me?” I ask him.

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