Page 18 of Passion’s Song

“Did you bring extra fortune cookies?”

“Don’t I always bring extra fortune cookies?”

“What’s with the attitude? Did you also get an extra bug up your ass?”

Damien didn’t bother answering that. He held the door open while Kurt backed into the house. As he watched the motorized chair roll ahead of him, Damien fought off the wave of anger that tried to overtake him whenever he was reminded of Kurt’s condition.

His throat tightened with emotion as he remembered that call he’d received from one of Kurt’s old buddies from the neighborhood, telling Damien that his brother had been shot while walking to the corner store. Shot, just as his dad—a former officer with the NOPD—had been back when Damien was in middle school. His father had been gunned down on the streets of the Ninth Ward while off duty.

He and Kurt had buried their mother only a year before Kurt’s shooting, after an aneurysm burst in her head on her way from church. The thought of losing Kurt, too—of being completely alone—had brought Damien to his knees, right in the middle of his office in Houston.

Doctors said Kurt’s survival could only be described as a miracle. The three bullets that struck him had missed his vital organs by millimeters. But he would be in that chair for the rest of his life.

Those streets had taken his father from him. His mother had fallen dead on the sidewalk. And his brother had been robbed of his ability to walk. Damien was sure he would never be able to forgive or get over the toll that neighborhood had taken on his family.

But a few months ago Damien ran across the listing for the vacant lot on the northern tip of the area, and he’d gotten the idea to change things for the better. Instead of being bitter, he would usher in a new era, revitalize the neighborhood, bring in a new crop of residents and businesses that would make it a safer place to live. That was the legacy the Alexanders would leave in the Lower Ninth Ward.

“So,” Kurt said as he dished them both plates of fragrant Chinese food. “Should I bring up the bachelor thing, or will you?”

Damien groaned. “Don’t,” he said. “I figured if there was anywhere that I could get away from it, it would be here.”

“You figured wrong,” Kurt said with a laugh. “You know the only reason you were chosen is because you’re more well-known than I am, right? If they knew of this Alexander brother, your ugly mug wouldn’t be splashed across those pages.”

“Your ego is as healthy as ever.”

“I’m just saying.” His brother laughed again. It was good to hear laughter in this house.

They dug into the food as if they didn’t eat the same thing week after week. A few minutes passed before Damien said, “I was down on St. Claude yesterday.”

Kurt’s eyes widened with interests. “You? You haven’t been down that way since Mama’s funeral.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” Damien argued, although there was a good chance his brother was right. “Have I told you about the youth program April Knight works with? It’s called A Fresh Start.”

“Yeah, I know about it. They’re building some kind of community coffee shop. I saw it online.”

“It opened already,” Damien said. “I went out there to visit it and, you know, just to see how things are going.”

“Hmm,” Kurt said.

“What’s the ‘hmm’ about?”

Kurt shook his head.

Damien could sense that all-knowing Obi-Wan Kenobi vibe resonating from him. He set his fork down and lifted his hand. “What, Kurt? Just spit it out.”

“Nothing. It’s just that I’m assuming you saw April while you were there?”

Damien’s brow furrowed at the suggestion in Kurt’s tone. “Yeah, so?”

“Oh, come on,” his brother said. “You still playing that denial game where April is concerned?”

“Don’t start this again.” Damien stood and walked over to the shelf so he could scoop more lo mein onto his plate. “April and I have always been just friends. You know that.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Because I’m friends with April?”

“Because you’re blind when it comes to April,” Kurt countered.