Harris smirked, unconcerned. The two Black men had the undeniable stamp of family about them, similarities in their face and build, both clearly athletes—or former athletes, since Dean had retired a couple years ago and Harris was on his last season. Their comfortable squabbling held the ring of near-brothers. “Come and get it, green bean.”
Dean slammed his big fist on the table. “Veganism is good for the environment and your body!”
Samson walked back to the table at that exact instant, holding another round of drinks. “Guys, simmer down, drinks are here.”
Dean bared his teeth. “He took my phone.”
“He was over-dadding.” Harris rolled his eyes.
“You try having your heart walking around outside your body, Harris.”
Samson placed the tray in front of them. Jas grabbed his Coke. Since he was driving, he hadn’t wanted to drink.
“Harris, give him back his phone. Dean, your mother-in-law came all the way from the Valley to stay the night with Miley so you can have a break, remember? Enjoy the time off,” Samson said.
Harris and Dean both grumbled, but Harris handed back the phone and Dean subsided in his chair. “I didn’t even get to show you her as a bag of potatoes,” he grumbled.
Harris opened his mouth, but Samson cut off whatever teasing remark he had locked and loaded. “Harris, that woman at the bar was checking you out.”
Harris’s attention was immediately diverted. He straightened and puffed out his chest, then casually glanced over his shoulder. “Holy shit, she’s hot. Be right back, guys.”
Dean shook his head as his cousin left. “Was she really checking him out?”
Samson grinned. “She glanced this way a few times while I was getting the drinks. I suppose she could have been checking any of you out.” He shrugged. “If she’s not interested, Harris will come back or find someone who is.”
“Samson’s been running interference between Harris and me since we were in college,” Dean informed Jas.
A pang of . . . something hit Jas, and he had no idea what it was, but it was sharp. Wistfulness, maybe? Over their obviously deep, long-running bonds?
“Sorry we’ve talked your ear off, Jas. Haven’t let you get a word in edgewise.” Dean’s smile was friendly. “Tell us about yourself. What’s your story?”
What was his story? “I’m in security. I work for Rhiannon’s roommate.”
“Security work sounds so cool. Like Jack Ryan.”
“Jack Ryan was CIA,” Samson said.
“Well, who was a famous bodyguard, then?”
“The guy from The Bodyguard?” Samson suggested.
Dean shook his head. “Don’t know that one. Still sounds glamorous.”
“It’s not really. You spend a lot of your time hoping nothing happens.” Only once had something happened to Katrina, and that memory still gave Jas nightmares. “I do mostly cyber-security now. It’s basically a desk job.” His degree was in computers. It had taken a little self-study to get back to them, but he genuinely enjoyed designing digital lockboxes for information.
“Let me have my illusions. My life is pretty boring, all playdates and poop.” Dean took a sip of his beer, and Jas eyed him warily, hoping he wouldn’t go more into detail on that poop thing.
Luckily, or unluckily, depending on how one viewed his next question, Dean didn’t go the poop route. “How’d you get into that line of work?”
Jas gave the bare bones explanation. “I was in the military until I was about twenty-five, and medically discharged. I called up an old family friend to ask if he had any jobs available. He needed someone to head his security.” Family friend was simplifying Hardeep’s complicated relationship with the Singhs. Hardeep’s grandfather had started a farm in NorCal with Jas’s great-grandfather, and then bounced to go back to India. Jas’s grandfather was still salty over that old slight.
Dean raised his eyebrows. “Military, huh? Army?”
“Yes. Rangers.”
Dean gave a low whistle. “That’s, like, elite, right?”
Jas shrugged. He’d thought it was. He’d been really excited to be accepted.
“Were you deployed?”
“Yes,” Jas said, and he couldn’t help how short his tone was. “Iraq.”
“Hey, Dean, have you seen that new movie—”
Dean cut off Samson’s change of topic. “You know, we should put you in touch with the nonprofit Samson and I work for, right, Samson? We help people with Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy, head injuries. Trevor’s looking to expand the organization to include veterans. A lot of service people are diagnosed with CTE, too.”
Jas leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know how I could help.”
“Trevor’s looking to consult with some veterans, get an idea as to needs and resources, especially when it comes to mental health. The symptoms no one can see and often slip through the cracks.”
“I’m afraid I’m not a typical vet.” He hadn’t had to rely on the government’s dubious assistance.
He’d had advantages his brothers and sisters hadn’t, even with his discharge, his injury, and the trial that had pitted him against his own man and left him a snitch in the eyes of many of his colleagues. He’d had a job and money and health care and a place to lick his wounds. “I don’t think I can assist anyone.”
Samson cleared his throat. “Dean—”
“Even so—”
“The girl was checking Dean out, you asshole.” Harris dropped down in his seat, cutting Dean off and entirely distracting him.
“Is that so?” Dean preened, and stroked his beard.
“It’s cool. I told her Dean was married and had an adorable baby. Informed her all about how my precious niece was going to be a sushi roll for Halloween.” Harris wiggled his phone. “Got her number.”
“She’s a tootsie roll, not a sushi—oh shit.” Dean stopped. “A sushi roll would be really fucking adorable.”
Jas sipped his soda and relaxed at the banter resuming. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about vets and mental health, a subject he was ill-equipped to handle when he was actively trying to avoid thinking about the time he’d spent in Iraq.
“Anyway,” Dean said, and raised his glass to toast his cousin. “I’m sure you’ll have a great date. Try not to think too much about the fact that she thought I was hotter than you.”
Samson snorted, and Jas couldn’t help but chuckle as Harris’s smug smile vanished. The football player growled. “Fuck.”
JAS GRABBED HIS coat from the passenger seat of his car and clambered out. His personal vehicle was a hybrid. It barely fit his body, but he mostly drove long distances when he left the house, so he preferred to save some gas.
The evening fall air nipped through his lightweight cotton Henley as he walked up the driveway. A dark figure separated from the wide porch of the big house. Jas stilled until the man fell under one of the lights, and then he relaxed. “Richard. Anything going on?”
The blond-haired man shook his head. He’d maintained his high-and-tight haircut, though he hadn’t been in the military for a while. “No, sir. Quiet night.” He hesitated. “Except there is one thing. I was doing a round and Ms. Smith opened the door to her office and yelled at me.”