He leans back against the car and thumps the heel of his biker boot back into the metal door. “Dammit, fucker, yeah, I think. What do you want me to say? It’s all a fucking blur in my mind.”
“Sorry.” I shove a hand through my hair and hang back with him while the others walk around the house, talking in tones I can’t make out from here. “You know me. I don’t connect my mouth to my fucking brain.”
He says nothing, folding his inked arms over his chest, staring at the house, but I think I see one side of his mouth tipping up in a half smile. “I know.”
Relaxing marginally, I lean back on the car beside him. “Yeah. I own it, see?”
He dips his head. “Congrats on the new baby, fucker.”
Pleased, I grin like the goofy dad I’ve apparently turned out to be. “You heard? Thanks, man.”
“Listen… I’m sorry, too.”
I turn a sharp look on him. “What? Whatever for?”
“Ruining your happiness with this fucking shit.”
“Yeah, don’t do it again. Because it was on purpose and all.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Wait, you fucking serious right now? I owe you everything, man. Everything. And you’re sorry for—what, needing our help for once?”
He lifts one hand to give me the finger, and I do the same for him.
He shoots me a crooked smile, but it slips as he goes back to watching the house.
“You know that was a perfect opportunity for a good bonding moment,” I mutter. “We could have hugged and shit.”
“Your brother is rubbing off on you,” Zane growls. “Bad influence. I should never have given him a chance.”
“But you did. To all of us. And we’re grateful. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
Color rises to his cheeks, and he scowls, but says nothing more.
At least I know he heard me, even if he believes he hasn’t done anything so special for us, or the Damage Boyz. Motherfucker saved us all, and now we’re gonna save his ass whether he wants it or not.
From whatever monsters are after him, made up or real.
“Come on.” I smack his arm as I straighten. “Let’s go have a look at this red-brick house of yours.”
“It ain’t mine,” he hisses, but follows me anyway, because that’s who he is: running at his nightmares head-on without a weapon, keeping his fears behind his teeth, keeping his head up.
And I’ll be damned before I see him broken.
Chapter Eleven
Audrey
“So it was the right house?” I’m brushing my hair while Ash is feeding Scott his baby food, way too silent—though Scott more than makes up for it with his constant babbling. “Ash?”
; Scott manages to grab the plastic spoon that’s loaded with freshly made potato-and-meat mash and throw it against the wall, leaving a yellow splatter.
“Jesus F—” Ash rubs his face on his relatively clean forearm and sighs. “Jesus Fudge? Is this what my swearing is gonna be reduced to?”
I snicker, and his mouth twitches. “Jesus Fudge sounds cute.”
“Swearing isn’t supposed to sound cute, Auds.”
But he looks so cute, and hot, while feeding our son, with yellow stains on his white T-shirt and his muscular arms.