"I'm one of five candidates. There's only two slots, so we're down to the wire." The kid grimaced as he looked at Brent and Reece. "So, you think it's okay? Like, you're not just being nice? Dad says so, but he can be lame, and--"
"You'll knock it out of the park," Reece assured him.
"Thanks a lot," Tyree protested, cuffing his son's upper arm.
Eli exhaled loudly. "Okay. Right. Well, I'm going, then."
"Is this a bad time?" Brent asked Tyree. "If you need to drive him..."
"I'm walking," Eli said. "It's only a few blocks, and, you know, nerves."
"You sure?" Reece said, but no one was listening. Tyree was pulling his son into a bear hug.
"Just be yourself, my man. Your mom would be proud."
"I'll text you after," he said, then set off down the street, his headphones in and his feet moving in time with the music.
"Med school," Tyree said, shaking his head as his son disappeared. He ushered Reece and Brent in the rest of the way, then shut the door behind them. "Hard to believe. I mean, this is the same kid I was afraid was going to drop out of school or join a gang just a few years ago. And now he has his heart set on med school. Not to mention the grades to get him into a first-rate pre-med program."
"You've done a good job with him," Reece said. "Teiko would be proud." Elijah's mother had died from complications following a brutal car wreck, and the tragedy had taken a huge toll on the family. On Reece, too. Tyree and Teiko's marriage was one of the few functional marriages he'd ever witnessed, and the death of that sweet, stubborn woman had felt like a kick in the gut to Reece. He could only imagine how much pain Tyree had endured.
"It was touch and go there for a while," Tyree said as they settled at the table, just like they always did to shoot the shit, play cards, or talk about work. "But I think the kid's turning out okay."
"Hell, yeah, he is," Brent added.
"But med school." Tyree whistled, then leaned back, his fingers interlaced behind his head. "That boy better hope he gets a scholarship."
Brent shot Reece a meaningful glance, which Tyree must have noticed because he sat up straighter. "All right," he said. "This obviously isn't a social call. What's this about?" The casual tone was gone, replaced by the no-nonsense voice of a business owner talking to his employees.
"You tell us," Brent said.
"Like that, is it?" He stood up, then crossed to the fridge and pulled out a protein shake. Tyree was a big man, all muscle, and he'd spent the better part of his life in the military. And a good portion of those years in command of other men. He could be damned intimidating when it suited him. Apparently, it suited him now, because Reece was beginning to feel like he was one of Tyree's troops getting dressed down for breaking formation.
"The way I see it, you either came to talk about something personal or about work. If it's personal, then you're going to have to tell me what's on your mind, because I don't have a clue. And if you came to talk about work--well, if that's the case, I might have some idea why you came. But I also know it's none of your damn business."
"Ty--"
The older man pointed a finger at Reece. "None of your damn business," he repeated. "Now I think you boys should go. I've got some things to do before opening The Fix at two."
Reece shot a look at Brent, who lifted a shoulder in a the hell with that kind of way.
"That might be true," Reece began, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his long legs, "if we were just your employees. But seems to me we're more like family. Or are you going to tell me I'm wrong?"
"What I should tell you is that your daddy raised you better than to stick your nose in where it's not welcome. This is my problem, not yours."
"It's our problem if The Fix goes out of business," Reece said.
"And it's our problem if a friend's in trouble," Brent added.
"Dammit, Ty, forget your pride. You don't have to handle every crisis on your own. Tell us what's going on and give us the chance to help you."
"Anyone ever tell you that you're an insolent son-of-a-bitch?"
"All the time." Reece punctuated his grin with a quick lift of his brows. "So?"
"Ah, hell." Tyree put the shake back in the fridge, then pulled out three beers. He glanced at the clock--just creeping up on eleven--and shrugged. "If we're going to do this, we're going to do it right."
He reached for the can opener he kept in a construction-paper and glitter-decorated coffee can that had a place of prominence in the middle of the table. The paper was pink, and the glitter was glued on in some approximation of bunny shapes. Possibly horses. But since Reece knew the artist personally and had a similar piece of artwork on his kitchen counter, his money was on bunnies. Last Christmas, Faith had been all about the bunnies.