‘Ready?’ Hawke signed, his gloved hands a little more clumsy than usual.
Kicks nodded sharply, then jabbed his thumb toward the road in the direction of Rory’s place. He lived forty minutes outside of River Crest, near the campus, and Kicks wasn’t looking forward to the long ride after with a passenger. But of all the periphery members of Broken Chains, Kicks liked Rory best. He remembered him back when he was a lanky teenager with a chip on his shoulder the size of his older brother, and it didn’t take Smokey’s bragging for everyone to know he was going to grow up and do amazing things.
Kicks almost felt bad keeping Rory in the loop. As much as he didn’t want to let him go—because he was family—he also wanted Rory to be free of this obligation. Guilt weighed heavily on him as he raced over the distance and eventually saw his building as they turned the corner.
‘I’ll grab him,’ Kicks signed over his shoulder as they rolled up to the curb. Hawke nodded and didn’t bother dismounting his bike as Kicks leaned his on the stand, then took the stairs two at a time.
Rory lived on the second floor of an old Victorian-style house that had been turned into housing for grad students. He hadn’t been there before, but Smokey had been irritated that his brother had opted for communal living instead of getting a place on his own.
Of course, Kicks assumed the kid wanted to feel normal—to have something like a normal college experience. He had a feeling Smokey understood that too, but the older brother in him—the man who had spent half his life protecting him—couldn’t let go. Every now and again, when he was least expecting it, he felt a sort of pang for what might have been. If his parents hadn’t tuned out, if his brother hadn’t become an addict, if he’d followed his heart instead of his parents’ expectations for him.
Of course, ultimately it would have meant he never would have met the Chains, and that was damn-near enough. And now it meant he wouldn’t have met Jude, and he found that so unbearable it almost choked the breath out of him.
Pulling himself together, he found Rory’s door and knocked a little rhythm, leaning his shoulder against the side as he waited for footsteps. It didn’t take long, and Rory answered with a small grin. “Hey, guys.”
Kicks cuffed him on the arm like he always did. “Just me. Hawke’s downstairs with the bikes. You set, or you need help with your shit?”
Rory leaned over and grabbed a backpack, slinging it over his shoulder before stepping out. Kicks waited for him to lock the door, then followed down the stairs behind him. “I packed light. I have a massive amount of writing to finish, so I really don’t want to hang out long.”
Kicks bit back the words dancing on his tongue about how Rory should have just fucking stayed out of it then, but they would have come across more bitter than he meant them. In reality, he would have probably been relieved if Rory had let this stay their problem, but he also knew exactly why Rory wanted to get involved.
Knowing what Hydra had done to him, knowing what he’d lived through all these years—Kicks hadn’t gone through the same thing, but he knew what it was like to be helpless, hurt, and terrified for his life. Just the thought of it made the scars on his back ache, and he wondered how many of Rory’s were hiding under his fussy, buttoned-up clothes.
Pushing those thoughts aside, he let Rory take his arm as he headed over to the bike, then he climbed on, giving room to the younger man. “It’s a five-hour drive, so get comfortable. Jax said he’s got a place for us to sleep tonight.”
“Where are we meeting them?” Rory asked over the sound of Kicks revving his engine.
“Their clubhouse,” he said. He felt Rory settle more comfortably with an arm around his waist, so he pushed with his feet and backed away from the curb. Catching Hawke’s gaze, he gave a sharp nod, then started ahead, and tried not to give in to the sinking sensation that chased him all the way out of the city.
17
Jude did his best not to feel intimidated by the biker with the resting murder face, but it was a little difficult to get comfortable in the sitting room while Gunner kept his eyes firmly on Jude. It was almost like he was waiting for some sort of disaster, but he figured it was probably just the way the man always was.
His boyfriend was far easier to get along with, but Logan was the energetic sort and had gotten bored of the lounge in just a handful of minutes. After lunch, he’d taken Maddie outside to dance, and Jude sat uncomfortably until the sound of another bike rolled up the drive.
When he saw his brother climb out from behind Aaron, Jude tried not to let his relief show, but Gunner seemed to feel the same, because his face settled into something a little calmer as the door opened, and the two men walked in. Jude pushed to his feet, and he was painfully aware of Eliah’s gaze on him as he finally stood. He felt a sort of strange almost-guilt for his recovery, and he knew mostly it was the fact that he still struggled with the idea that Eliah would never get any more mobile than he was now.
He only had to wait a few weeks to heal.
“Cuppa?” Jude asked, debating about grabbing his cane. His knee was feeling much better though, and he knew he should be exercising it more.
“Desperate for one. We ran out, and Aaron’s been too busy to make it to the shops,” Eliah said. He shot a fond look at his lover, and Jude felt a sudden ache as he missed Emilio.
The brothers made their way into the kitchen, and Eliah hooked his cane on the end of the counter before easing up onto one of the barstools. Jude was comfortable in there as he filled the kettle, and he could sense Eliah’s gaze boring into him as he pulled mugs from the cupboard.
“Just say it,” he muttered.
Eliah chuckled softly. “You look good here.”
Unable to look over, Jude swallowed thickly as he checked the little pot of sugar, then moved to the fridge for milk. “It’s only been a couple of days.”
Eliah’s sigh had him glancing over his shoulder, and his brother’s eyes were soft. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
He knew, he just wasn’t ready to admit it to anyone other than Emilio. Mostly because while the man assured him this was a safe trip, the last time he’d gone that far, he’d been shot. “Does it get easier?” he finally asked.
Eliah waited until he turned before he answered. “Yes and no. The fear doesn’t ever go away, but learning to cope with it came after a time.”
Jude turned and fiddled with the teabag string before pushing one of the mugs toward his brother. “He wants me to stay.”
Eliah’s brows rose. “And?”
Jude bit the inside of his cheek, and he used the whistle of the kettle to give himself a moment to really think about his answer. Part of it was simple—he wanted to stay. He wanted to see where this thing with Emilio was going—and see all the places it could go in the future. But the threat of not having a future if Hydra had his way was threatening to choke him every time he let himself think about it.
Leaning against the counter, Jude stared down at the tendrils of brown seeping from the tea bag, staining the water. He pulled on the string, then reached for the milk and added a splash. “I’ve been wanting to quit for a while,” he said, though he’d told Eliah this before. “Part of me took your involvement in all this as a sign.” Pausing to take a sip, he watched his brother’s face, afraid he might find guilt there, but all he saw was understanding. “Part of me wonders if I’d ever give a man like Emilio a chance if I hadn’t been forced to spend time with him.”