“No,” I groaned.
“––strength, and I know if I emulate your soaring wings, then––”
“No, no, no,” I snapped. “You did not talk to my mother!”
“Oh my God,” he whimpered. “She’s…she—your mother is the most amazing person I have ever met.”
“Brent––”
“I feel like she opened me up and looked into my soul and told me where I was weak and where I was strong, and she assured me that I can become the very best version of myself and be this amazing advocate for Nick and for what he needs and deserves.”
Christ. “Listen—I’ll see you when I get back, and God help you if you do not sack up and be the go-to guy that Nick needs!” I growled at him. “I need you to be his goddamn guardian! You’re the last link in the chain, Brent. When you say no, it’s no, and that’s it, period, end of story.”
“Yes, Loc,” he said with a sigh. “I can do that.”
“Fine.”
“Is there anything I can do for you now?”
“No, but I might call you at three in the morning.”
“I can’t wait,” he said fondly.
“And stop talking to my mother.”
Silence.
“Oh no.”
“But see, we’re working on my Akashic records, so––”
“Fine. Just don’t talk about me, all right?”
Another silence.
“Brent?”
“That’s awfully egotistical of you, don’t you think? Why would I need to talk to her about you? This is my journey and my growth.”
“Goodbye,” I said and hung up.
It was funny how I’d opened the door for Nick, and now his assistant had come through it, and Croy knew her too. I had never shared her with anyone in my life before Nick Madison, and now I had to wonder when Stig Malloy would be calling her.
Strange days, indeed.
Fourteen
As the early afternoon became dusk and then twilight, the band put away their instruments so they could visit, and people started leaving not long after. For those who arrived late, Nick promised to play more the following day. I was amazed how kind everyone was to him, more thrilled to meet him than anything else. I enjoyed watching him be embraced by his family.
I ended up sitting with a couple of his cousins, drinking beer, watching them whittle as they talked. Eventually it was just me and Desmond, or Dez as he preferred to be called, Landau, who was the son of a close friend of the family, sitting on one end of the porch, drinking more beer, the conversation easy. He was in construction management, and listening to him talk about all the people who came to tell him what to do in the course of a day, who had no clue about what the hell they were doing, had me laughing so hard I had to wipe at my eyes. At one point, he wasn’t entertaining only me but easily a dozen people hanging on his every word. He was charming and down to earth, and as far as I could tell, all the people who knew him were crazy about him.
When he went to pull his phone out of his back pocket to show me the 1967 Mustang Coupe he was restoring, something else fell out with it. I picked it up and examined it before passing it back to him.
“Do you know what that is?”
“I’m guessing deer bone? Cow?”
He nodded. “Deer, yeah, how’d you know?”
I tipped my head at his cap. “That’s camo, and there’s a silhouette of a deer on it.”
“Ah, and here I thought you were a hunter as well.”
“Not of animals,” I assured him. I was, on occasion, a hunter of men when I was in bodyguard mode. “But if you’re telling people that you can tell the difference between cow and deer bones just by looking at them, you’re fulla shit.”
He snorted, bumping me with his shoulder. “No, no, that’s crap.”
“Did you make it?”
“I did,” he replied, turning it so I could see the marking that he’d carved and then burned into the small piece of smooth bone.
“It’s very artful.”
“Do you know what it is?” he asked, his gaze meeting mine.
“Yeah,” I answered, smiling at him as he leaned toward me. “You made a svefnþorn, a sleep thorn.”
He was surprised, and the smile I got was big and wide. “That’s right,” he said, moving closer, his knee bumping mine. “Nobody ever knows that. How the hell do you know that?”
I grinned at him. “My mother. I used to sleep with one of those, or I should say, one of whichever one I could find in my room. There were four altogether, a set, each one different, but they did the same thing.”
He nodded. “Yes. Exactly.”
“Mine weren’t made of bone, though. She carved them out of palo santo. That’s way more her. She doesn’t much go in for animal bone.”
“Vegetarian?”
“Well, she doesn’t eat red meat, but it’s more about bringing whatever happened to that animal into her sacred space.”