“Still not talking?”
She shrugged again before looking over at her brother and mimed eating. They were like day and night in appearance, but they were both Gallaghers. Bran sighed and slid out of the booth. “Fine. I’ll let Lottie know you want a burger and fries. Go play for now.”
Aisling ran off back to the arcade corner, Cillian watching her go. “How’s she doing?”
“She just lost her mother and father to a violent attack and refuses to speak. How do you think she’s doing?”
It was on the tip of his tongue for Cillian to ask how Bran felt, but he knew the question would be met with more than a little hostility. Bran had always been like a cat with its hackles raised when he got angry and defensive. “There’s another body.”
Bran rocked to a halt barely a foot away from the table. He turned around and stared at Cillian, eyes wide, hands clenched into fists. “What?”
The question came out low and disbelieving. Cillian turned on the bench so he could better see Bran. “Some hikers called it in this morning. I got to the scene first and radioed for backup. One body and one survivor.”
“Someone survived?”
Cillian nodded. “She made it to a cabin.”
Bran slowly retook his seat, staring at Cillian, all that prickliness gone. “Should you be telling me this?”
Cillian raised an eyebrow. “Mac said we probably have a rabid bear in the forest again. That’s not a secret anyone is keeping.”
Bran pulled out his phone and checked the screen, frowning slightly. “Mac hasn’t called me.”
“Why would he need to?”
Lottie came by their booth right then, delaying Bran’s answer as she poured him another cup of coffee before wagging her notepad at him. “I saw you getting up, but you know you don’t need to come to the counter to order. What would you like?”
“Aisling wants a burger and fries and another milkshake,” Bran said.
“And for yourself?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You weren’t hungry this morning either when you came in for a late breakfast. You need to eat something, sweetheart.”
Her voice was soft and cajoling, but Cillian knew Bran could be stubborn. He’d always been the one to stand his ground against the bullies at school, coming home with bruised knuckles and black eyes that healed faster than the other kids’ broken noses.
Cillian caught her eye. “I’ll take another basket of fries, Lottie.”
She nodded and put her notepad away. “I’ll go put that in for you.”
She left, and Cillian focused on Bran. “You realize she’s putting together a whole box of food for you to take with you, right?”
Bran slumped in his seat and lifted a hand to rub at his forehead. “I’m not hungry.”
Cillian didn’t fight him on that, knowing it was pretty impossible to force Bran to do anything. Once upon a time, he’d been adept at knowing how to be friends with Bran, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. “I meant it, you know. The whole town is going to miss your mom.”
Bran tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling, anger replaced with a tiredness that Cillian couldn’t fix. “I know.”
His voice was tight, sounding almost as if he were going to cry despite his dry eyes, which refused to look at Cillian. The silence that settled between them wasn’t as antagonistic as it could have been, and Cillian was reluctant to break it, but he was more reluctant to leave things unsaid between them. “Can we talk?”
Bran finally looked at him, face pale from weariness and grief that was impossible to hide. “Why?”
“Because…” His voice trailed off as he struggled to put into words all the tangled-up feelings that had roiled in him since seeing Bran for the first time in years last night. He’d never truly been able tolet Bran go, still wanting him now as he had back then with a smoldering need that burned and burned, like those fires in abandoned mine shafts that eventually burst forth to swallow an entire town. “Because I think we need to.”
Bran didn’t say anything—not then, and not through lunch when their orders were finally brought to the table and Aisling was called to join them. None of them spoke, and the silence stopped being awkward when Cillian shoved the extra basket of fries across the table to Bran, arching an eyebrow at the faintly irritated look the other man gave him. Cillian stared right back at him, daring Bran to say no. He’d always stolen Cillian’s fries when they were younger. Buying an extra basket had been the only surefire way to keep Bran’s fingers from his plate.
When Bran reached for the fries, Cillian considered it a victory.
