“Because family isn’t just blood,” King adds. “It’s the people who are there to help you when there’s nothing in it for them.”
“People who forgive you no matter what,” Harris says to King.
“The people who know what respect and loyalty really are,” Bronx finishes.
The men all grumble their satisfaction with the spoken words. I couldn’t agree more as well. But they forgot another trait that I’ve seen shared so frequently in my time with them—love. These men love their brothers hard, and they aren’t afraid to show it.
Harris sucks in a deep breath beside me, and the newfound warmth in the room dissipates with a whoosh. “There’s somethin’ else, Ryan.”
King turns his head, avoiding looking at the two of us. My skin sears, the attention of the room on Harris and I.
“I got an admission to make.” Harris fidgets with the rings on his fingers. The sight settles me a little, seeing him display a habit I thought was only mine. “I got cancer.”
My newfound peace slips a hat on and walks out the door, suitcase in hand. “How bad?”
“Terminal.”
I nod tightly, pressing my lips tight. I can’t look at him. It hurts, I won’t deny it, but at the same time the sense of loss I expected to slam into me like a hurricane is absent. I feel . . . nothing.
“I’m really sorry to hear that.” My gaze is fixed on my hands as I worry a cuticle until it bleeds.
“You okay?” King asks.
I look up to see who he’s talking to: myself, or Harris. He gives both of us equal attention. Harris, however, fixes solely on me.
Bronx squeezes my hand, and I drag in a sobering breath. “I’m okay. Upset, but okay.” All five men look at me with a mixture of surprise and confusion. I sigh and pull Bronx’s hand closer across the table to play with his fingers as I address Harris. “I know I’m not crying, wailing, or breaking down about it, and I know that’s strange. Please don’t think I don’t care, because I do. It’s just that you’ve been gone for the last twelve years of my life. I’ve had time to mourn you already. I guess I’m more sad that I’ll lose both of my fathers now, biological and not, if that makes any sense?”
“I understand,” Harris says. He takes a deep breath, looking as though a weight’s been lifted. “We’ll make what time’s left good, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, reaching over to pat his foot.
Bronx squeezes my hand, and I turn to give him a smile in response. I can only hope that one day I find the right way to convey to him what it’s meant to have Bronx here for me through this. Telling him I couldn’t have done it without him just doesn’t seem enough.
“We’re all here for you both,” King says. “You need anything, you tell us.”
“Appreciated,” Harris says with a nod.
“And I appreciate it,” I add. “I can’t thank you enough, King, for what you’ve done—for what your men have sacrificed to get us to this point.”
“We didn’t do it for you,” he says with a friendly smile.
“Yeah, but you did it because of me.”
“True.” King slaps his hand down on the table and stands. “If it’s all good with you assholes, I’d like to talk about the logistics later. Right now,” he says, rounding the table and opening the door, “we have a few toasts to make in honor of some good men that were lost today.”
“Here, here,” Sawyer agrees, standing.
My heart swells for these men, for their old-school code of honor and camaraderie—such simple morals, but ones that are so easily lost in today’s world of every man being out for himself. Most people you meet are content to twist a knife in your back in the name of pegging themselves higher and reaping the sole benefits, but these guys know what it is to treat their brothers as family. I guess when death is so much a part of your world it’s only natural that you appreciate the small joys found in life.
Why constrict yourself with laws laid down by people who have no concept of honor among thieves, when you can live in a community as sharing and protecting of their own as this? I may have lost my parents to a fire, been reunited with and just as quickly told I’ll lose my only remaining blood relative, but this right here is a real family. I can say with an honest hand to my heart, that when Harris has left me a second and final time, I won’t be alone. I’ll have the people I will fight to protect with my life. The ones who make such a sacrifice enough.
EPILOGUE
Ryan
three months later
“Who knew there was so much paperwork involved in runnin’ this shit?”
I look across the office in our new home to where Bronx sits on the floor in only his gym shorts, his legs splayed as he sorts through the papers between them. His shoulders bunch and roll with the movement of his arms, and it’s magic to watch. I’m oblivious to the fact he’s still talking when a sharp “Ryan!” snaps me around.
I look up to his face to find the grin I’ve come to know as being imminent trouble. “I know I’m sexy as hell, beautiful, but we need to get this organized if you’re goin’ to make visitation with Hank.”
It took several weeks of bartering, but I managed to get Hank to add me to his list of approved visitors. He heard through the prison grapevine what happened before I had a chance to get in touch, and understandably he’s reluctant to see me. But I have to go. I need him to know what really happened, not what the gossipmongers have decided did.
I look at the mess across the desk and floor, and back to Bronx. “Baby, this stuff’s been disorganized for years. I think another hour wont hurt.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Only an hour?”
Yeah—he has a point. After the initial ‘honeymoon’ phase where we fucked anywhere and everywhere, we’ve kind of perfected the art of making it last while we take the time to get to know each other’s bodies better.
“You’re right—let’s finish this first. It’ll be quicker.”
He goes back to sorting the profiles on the dealers into alphabetical order, chuckling as he stacks the papers. All the profiles have to be updated and entered into the computer—a task for a week when I feel motivated enough.
Enough.
A word that’s so intrinsic to how we met, the hurdles we overcame to take a chance on one another, and the drive we have now to succeed in our new roles. I surprised Bronx last week with a painting I’d had one of the prospects at the Devil’s Breed do for me. The kid’s an absolute wizard with a brush, and he brought my idea to life perfectly. It’s a canvas that now hangs in our hallway, made up of different styled letters, painted in vibrant yet understated hues, which spell out ‘enough’.
Bronx stared at it for a solid ten minutes before he leaned over and wrapped his huge arm around my neck and pulled me into his side. He didn’t have to say anything—I knew I’d hit the nail on the head when he sucked in a huge breath and slowly sighed. Some of the best things we’ve said to each other have been without words.
And as I catch him staring at me again with that hunger in his eyes, I muse that it’s not a skill I want us to lose anytime soon.
“Focus, grasshopper,” I tease.
“Can’t. I’ve got a distraction that’s making my body do funny things.” He points down at his tenting erection with a silly look on his face. “Oh my God. What is it? What do I do with it?”
I throw the closest thing to me—a hard-backed notepad—at him and get up to leave the room for a breather when our house-alarm trips. All previous thoughts are shelved as I take a step back and pull my gun from the top drawer of the desk. Bronx is on his feet and heading down the hallway at speed by the time I get the clip in and the safety off.