“Exactly what he did to Dad. What wouldyoudo?”
“I’d pull his heart out and shove it down his goddamn throat.”
“That’s my boy,” his mom said as tears slid down her cheeks.
“I know how much you miss him.”
She patted Rebel’s hand. “We both do.”
She poured them coffee. They sat at the kitchen table and took comfort in their shared loss. Kurt’s death had ripped open an old wound that had never healed.
An hour later, Rebel drove away feeling like his heart had been shredded all over again. The agony in his mom’s eyes had been all the motivation he needed.
He pulled up Dakota’s number, made the call.
“Hey, brother, how you doing?” Dakota asked.
“Not good,” Rebel replied.
“Come on by,” Dakota said.
“It’s the weekend. Family time.”
“You’re family. Get your ass over here.”
Ten minutes later, Rebel rang Dakota and Providence’s doorbell. Sammy Luck answered, Dakota standing behind her.
She grinned. “Uncle Joaquin, I’m having my birthday party today.”
Ah, shit.
“Dakota, I can come back—” Rebel said.
“Nooo, you have to come in.” Sammy pulled him into the house.
After removing his shoes, he lifted her into his arms. “You are gettingsobig.” He gave her a hug, set her down. “Happy birthday, Sammy. How old are you?”
“Seven.”
“Going on seventeen,” Providence said as she hugged Rebel. Then, she stepped back and studied him. “What’s going on?”
Graham came tearing around the corner. “Uncle Wawa.”
Rebel couldn’t help but laugh as he picked up the toddler. “How you doing, bud?”
“I’m good. Can you play with me?”
“Gray, Uncle Joaquin can’t—” Dakota began.
“It’s okay,” Rebel pushed back.
As the group made their way toward the family room, Providence asked, “Coffee or something stronger?”
“Coffee works,” Rebel said.
“Definitely coffee,” Dakota replied. “I need to be sober when twelve girls and their parents show up in two hours.”
In the family room, Graham showed him a toddler puzzle. “Can you help me?”
