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"I have no problem with cops," Eli surprised us both by saying. At our gazes moving in his direction, he took the plate from me and shrugged. "I did something wrong. They arrested me. That's their job."
"Ah, right," Peyton said, brows low. "Except what you did was right. Any who, okay. Let's watch a remake of a classic and tear it apart instead."
Eli and I took our plates and wine toward the living room, Peyton's placement so conveniently meant that Eli and I would have to sit on a somewhat petite couch, ensuring that our legs and arms would brush almost constantly.
"And here we go," Peyton declared, hitting play.
And there we went.
After an awkward fifteen minutes, I began to relax. I was pretty sure the wine had a hand in that since I didn't drink often, and I had been doing nothing but pushing my food around my plate.
Peyton knocked the movie which, to be fair, was absolutely dreadful. We ate. Drinks were refilled. Then Peyton's phone started buzzing, taking her attention for a good ten minutes before she declared. "Um, I'm heading out. Doggy-Daddy, nice seeing you again. Thank you for the awesome wine."
"Peyton," I called as she moved toward the door, in such a rush to leave that she slipped into my shoes which were a whole size too big for her. I knew she heard the warning in my voice. But, as my sister, she chose to ignore it. "You kids have fun now!" she called, wiggling her brows at me as she disappeared.
"She's... subtle," Eli commented as soon as the door clicked closed.
"Yeah, no one would ever accuse Peyton of being dull," I agreed, standing, collecting the plates, and moving toward the kitchen.
I busied myself scraping plates then running water over them.
And I didn't hear him move.
But he did.
Until his front pressed into my back.
His hand slid across my belly, just a subtle pressure.
"That was a dick move last night."
I hadn't expected to discuss it. Let's face it, many - maybe most - men weren't great at communicating at all, let alone initiating conversation. Especially when that conversation was about their fuck up.
"It's fine. I... understand," I comforted him, knowing it must have been hell for him to walk away after so long a spell of celibacy.
"I don't think you do," he countered, resting his chin on my shoulder as his other hand reached out to shut off the faucet.
"I'm a good listener," I offered, wanting to extend an olive branch.
There was so long a pause that I was sure nothing was going to be said, that we were just going to keep standing there somewhat intimately as I tried my best not to think of how things could escalate.
"That night," he started suddenly, voice low, but somehow painfully tortured as well. "When I did the things that got me sent to jail a while later, that wasn't the first time I raged-out like that."
The pause was long enough for me to wonder if I should speak. "Okay."
"My brothers and I, we were raised to be different than most other kids."
"Different how?"
"Our violence was encouraged. Because my parents knew that one day it would be necessary."
Pacifist by nature - self-defense classes aside - I couldn't understand that in the least. "Why would violence be necessary?"
"For the family business," he hedged, and I was pretty sure that whatever the family business was, it was not like the military or something. It was likely something criminal. Which, well, made a lot of sense. "My Pops got his leg-up in the business world by starting loansharking back in the eighties before we were even born. He expected us to follow in his footsteps."
"So you did," I figured.
"We did. Me and Hunt, it never came natural to us. We were both I guess just... softer. Couple years before I went away, he took off, wanting to get away from it all, but seeing no way out. He didn't get to stay away though. Because you don't walk away from this shit. Not in this town. Not with such a fragile balance between the syndicates. If word got out that one of Pops' own sons ran off, it wouldn't look good for him. And while loansharking isn't the easiest organization to run, there are absolutely men willing to step in and take Pops down if they saw enough of a weakness there."
"What happened to him?" I asked when he trailed off, wanting to keep him talking, wanting to understand.
"Shane, one of my other brothers, went up and brought him back. Then he got the only thing he could get if he truly wanted out for good."
"What's that?" I asked, though I was pretty sure I already knew thanks to all the new gang and prison type shows I had gotten into over the past few years.
