Page 6 of Coach
“Can we get you coffee? Food? A drink?” I asked.
“A drink,” Syn said, sounding desperate.
“Help yourself,” I said, waving toward the bar I’d built when our alcohol collection grew too large for the old one.
“Where’d you find him?” I asked, my voice low, when Syn was distracted.
“Living in a storage unit.”
“No shit?”
“Nope. Followed the lead Rook got of someone checking the prison records for Saint to a little café that had free Wi-Fi. Waited it out for a week or two. Then he came in, used the Wi-Fi, had a coffee, and headed out. I followed him to the storage place, then waited and waited. Till I realized he wasn’t coming back out. Went around, found the closed unit with no exterior lock, then lifted it up.”
“Did it look like he’d been there long?”
“Months, maybe years,” Raff said. “It was a sweet spot, honestly. I took pictures,” he admitted with a smirk.
“How’d you get him to come with you if he was hiding out?”
“Saint.”
“Alright. Your brother is on his way,” Slash said as he made his way back into the room.
“I still don’t understand why you guys came to find me,” Syn said.
“Because it was the only way your brother would even consider joining the club,” Slash told him.
“Why didn’t he come find me then?”
“He’s on parole,” I told him. “And while he didn’t get stuck with a bad officer, he still has to be here to check in.”
To that, Syn gave me a tight nod. Like it took a load off of him to know that, to be sure he hadn’t been forgotten by his big brother.
He was a grown man now, but there was something vulnerable in his eye as he stood there, waiting for a long-awaited reunion with a man who offered up years of his life, so Syn didn’t have to suffer.
Clearly, though, Saint’s sacrifice hadn’t completely saved Syn. Because that was a shell of a person standing there with his backpack still on, swirling a mostly empty glass of whiskey.
As if hearing my thoughts, Syn drained his glass and set it down just seconds before the front door flew open hard enough to knock against the wall.
Then there was Saint Courtland.
Tall, handsome, imposing, looking a mix of panicked and relieved to see his little brother standing there after weeks of not being able to track him down. It didn’t take a genius to conclude that he’d been worried sick that Syn had been killed for the previous work he’d done in Saint’s organization.
“Syn,” Saint said, the name like a sigh and a prayer at the same time.
He beelined for his brother, pulling him into a hug that seemed to lift the weight off both their shoulders in an instant.
Saint’s head lifted over his brother’s shoulder, glancing between Slash and Raff and mouthingThank you.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he asked when they finally pulled away.
“That’s a long story, and it’s been a long-ass couple of days,” Syn said.
“Know a thing or two about long days.” Saint clapped a hand on his brother’s back. “How about we hit the town? Food, a few drinks, maybe some pool?” He paused to look at Slash. “If that’s alright.”
It couldn’t have been easy for a man used to being in charge to seek approval from someone else. Then again, prison meant a lot of rule-following and ego stripping. Maybe Saint wasn’t the man he’d been the last time his brother saw him either.
“I’m gonna pass, but I’m sure these two would be game. Colter too.”
