Page 83 of The Evening Wolves

A grin splashed across Colt’s face, and he scrambled up from his seat—a slower scramble than usual, with some new twinges and winces, but still a scramble. “I’ve got to tell—” But he stopped, a blush rising in his cheeks.

“I’ll talk to his parents,” Emery said. “You’d better go pack.” He checked the clock. “And call Koby to let him know; they’re leaving in a few hours.”

Colt sprinted off, grinning again.

“Do you see how that boy moves?” Jem asked. “I wish I were sixteen again. Busted ribs what?”

“If you were sixteen again, we’d have to take out a second mortgage to keep you in McDonald’s,” Tean said. “And can you imagine how many bags of chips I’d have to buy?”

“But, on the plus side, I’d be super horny all the time.”

“Gee, what a change.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Tean blushed and put his hand over his mouth. Jem burst out laughing and, in the process, almost choked to death on a piece of pepperoni. It flew from his mouth, and Biscuit immediately scooped it up and ate it.

“Maybe John’s right,” Emery said as he headed for the stairs. “Maybe we should just run away.”

When he got to their bedroom, he was surprised to see the lights on under the door, and the sound of bare feet on the floorboards. He opened the door. John had pulled on a pair of sweats that left very little to the imagination—including the fact that he’d opted out of underwear. They rode low on his hips, exposing a band of pale skin below his faded tan lines and free of the dark ink of his tattoos. As Emery watched, John pulled something from the closet and threw it on the bed.

Emery stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

He took the chair in the corner. John had already made a pile on the bed, and he folded a polo with the Wahredua PD logo on the breast. Farther down in the pile was the heavier navy fabric of John’s dress uniform.

“I told Colt he could go on that service trip.”

The light picked out the fine gold hairs on John’s nape.

“I thought it would be good, you know. To get him out of town for a few days.”

When John shifted his weight, his bare feet made a soft, sticking sound against the boards.

“Well?”

“Sure.”

Emery dropped back into the chair and rubbed his eyes. “What’s going on?”

John kept his attention on the shirt, drawing one hand across the fold, making it crisp and tight. Then he laid the shirt on top of the pile. He’d turned on every light in the room even though the afternoon light coming through the windows was white and sharp. It made it feel like it should have been dark. Like it was night. Night in the haunted house.

“My father stopped by the hospital.”

That was all.

“And?”

“And—” John worked another Wahredua PD shirt off a hanger. “—he helped me understand some things.”

“He did.”

“Yes, Ree. He did.”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that, whatever happens, I’m out of a job.”

Emery opened his mouth to respond, but John’s phone made a familiar chirping noise—the sound of a notification from a social media app.

“I thought you turned those off.”

John laid the shirt on the bed. He folded one side in. He straightened the sleeve.

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