Page 94 of The Wild Charge

Fox straightened, and laid a hand on his shoulder – after which they both froze, because he’d never done that before. He shook off the surprise at himself and said, “I know you’re scared about that. And I know none of this is ideal–”

Walsh took a swing at him. One that Fox easily dodged – and then watched Walsh stagger and catch himself against the rail, breathing in harsh, loud pants that steamed in the cooling air.

All of Fox’s amusement drained away. After Phillip, Walsh was the most responsible of all of them. The one with the stern looks, and the long-suffering eye rolls; the one who thought things through, and never indulged in impulsive, stupid reactions. The sane one – thesoberone…usually.

Fox couldn’t ever recall seeing him this intoxicated, and it struck him as terribly sad, suddenly. Painfully.

“King,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Walsh’s hands flexed on the rail a moment, and then he turned and leaned back against it, some of his composure restored. “Do you understand how bad this is?” He sounded defeated. “Do you really?”

“I do.”

Walsh’s brows lifted.

“I’m going to fix it. We – we’re going to fix it. Me and the boys.”

Walsh sighed. “That’s the problem, though – you and the boys. We haven’t been handling things as a club. Ghost has just been sending you three emotionally stunted idiots out after every lead. It’s not working.”

“We have some leads,” Fox defended.

“Do you? Or do you have Robot Number One so fucked up over Robot Number Two’s existential crisis that they’re useless?”

He frowned. “They’re not robots, asshole.”

A beat passed – then Walsh snorted. Shook his head. “Nice to see you take an interest in someone.”

“I take interests.”

Another snort. Walsh scrubbed his face with both hands. “Fuck me, I’m drunk.”

“Yeah. You are.”

They regarded one another a long moment.

“They really aren’t going to hit us tonight,” Fox said.

“I know. But.”

“Yeah.”

“I meant it before. I’m going to fix this. You aren’t the only one with skin in the game, King – you’re not the only one worried about the people he loves.”

A single brow lifted. “Love, huh?”

“I am capable of that emotion, you know.”

“Uh-huh.” Walsh moved toward the door. “Love your way into dinner, then.”

A bit of the weight across his shoulders lessened, Fox said, “What are we having?”

“To quote my old lady: spinach artichoke dip pasta. There’s chicken in it, apparently.”

“Damn. Can she teach my old lady to cook?”

“Cook yourself, shithead.”

“Fair.”

---