Page 127 of Reeves

That is quite different from what he said yesterday, before thepaint fiasco. Then, he needed to get back for that meeting. Now he doesn’t seem in a hurry at all.

We settle onto a bench with a clear view. The silence between us isn't exactly comfortable, but it's not strained either. Just two parents watching their son play at the playground on a regular Sunday morning.

"He loves coming here. He's still not big enough for some of the bigger things, but that doesn't stop him," I say finally.

Reeves's mouth curves slightly. "I like that drive."

I watch him watching Benjy. He instinctively tracks Benjy’s every move. He's alert but relaxed, protective without hovering.

Benjy waves from the top of the slide, and both of us automatically raise our hands to wave back.

The realization punches me. I'm in deep shit. There is no doubt these two are connected, and there's no stopping the momentum.

My hunch is he’s not going anywhere.

And I’m not nearly as in control of this as I thought.

TWENTY-NINE

Reeves

The Open Procession:Strangers fall in from the sidewalks as the second line passes. That is the tradition. The procession belongs to anyone willing to walk it.

I pullinto the dock parking lot and cut the engine, but don't move. The air conditioning dies with the engine, and the July Gulf humidity pushes in immediately.

My shoulder throbs in time with my heartbeat.

Two pain pills roll into my palm. I toss them back with a swallow from the water bottle I grabbed on the way out. The bitter taste barely registers anymore.

Damn, I missed these things last night. Shaking the bottle, I hold it up to look at the remaining pills. I have enough to get me through tomorrow night. Tuesday at best.

Through the windshield, I watch dock workers moving cargo containers with practiced efficiency. The giant cranes swing their loads over the water, precise and controlled. No wasted motion.

Meanwhile, I can't even get out of my fucking truck.

Benjy waving from the top of the slide flashes through myhead. His smile. His perfect little face. His complete trust that I'll be watching.

I grip the steering wheel harder.

A sharp rap on the window jerks me back. Ridge stands outside, arms crossed.

I push the door open and step into a wall of humidity. My shoulder protests as I swing out.

"Brother. Thought you might've skipped town and run back to the Teams without saying goodbye," Ridge says as he goes in for a handshake and wraps his other arm around my shoulders for our standard brotherly greeting.

"Not yet. Friday."

Ridge's eyes narrow slightly. "Heard your truck got towed in Bay St. Louis. What the fuck were you doing there?"

I roll my neck, stalling. "You know those 'NO PARKING' signs at the beach? Yeah, they're legit."

"Keller said you called for a driver, then canceled."

"It made more sense to stay. The tow yard opened early."

"Wait." Ridge grabs my arm, and my instinct kicks in. His palm slips off as I turn to face him. "You're still not answering the question of why your truck was towed in Bay St. Louis."

We stand between two shipping containers, voices echoing off metal walls. A forklift beeps somewhere to our right. The sun bounces off the metal and burns my eyes.