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“We’d better not drive,” Gabe says wisely. I agree.
“Yeah.”
“You call Mila,” he suggests.
I scoff. “Fuck that. You call Maddy.”
“Hell no, she’ll kick my ass.”
“Well, Mila will kick mine,” I answer. “Besides, Zu’s already in bed asleep. Mila can’t leave.”
“Well, Eli’s sleeping too,” Gabe replies. “And the baby. Maddy can’t come.”
“We’re both p-whipped and scared of our wives,” I point out.
“No, we’re smart,” Gabe argues. “I’ll call Brand.”
He pulls out his phone, dials, and soon, he’s talking to Brand Killien, his boyhood best friend and brother-in-law.
“I know it’s late,” he sighs. “I’m sorry, dude. Please tell Nora we’re sorry for bothering you guys.”
He hangs up. “He’ll be here in twenty.”
I nod, because I knew he would, because Brand is the kind of guy is always there when you need him. He always has been, and always will be. Gabe served with him in the Army and they are both decorated soldiers.
They don’t leave another in the field, even if tonight, the ‘field’ is a dive bar.
We wait out in the cool air, breathing deeply, as we wait for Brand to arrive. Soon enough, his big pick-up pulls in the lot, and his eyes are red.
“You guys look like shit,” he says sleepily, and his blond hair is
mussed.
“Gabe tried to kill me,” I tell him as I climb into the front seat. Gabe guffaws from the back.
“Whatever, Tate. It was your idea.”
“You’re both dumbasses,” Brand decides as he pulls out of the parking lot. “And may God have mercy on your souls when your wives see you.”
That honestly shuts us both up. Mila will kill me… mainly because I skipped my evening dose of pain meds just so I could have a drink with Gabe.
The truck is quiet, and then after a while, Brand speaks.
“I’m so sorry about your grandfather, dude. Is there anything I can do?”
“Thank you,” I answer, my forehead resting on the cool window. God, the cold feels good on my face. “No, there’s nothing anyone can do. But thank you for offering.”
“Anytime,” he answers. “Anything. You know that.”
“I do,” I agree. “You’re a good man, Brand.”
I don’t hear his reply because I pass out slumped against the door. The next thing I know, Brand is carefully hefting me out of the truck.
“Careful with his ribs,” Gabe calls from the backseat. He’s splayed on the seat, his arm thrown over his eyes. It gives me satisfaction to know that he’s not in any better condition than I am.
“I can’t feel them right now,” I assure Brand.
“I bet you can’t,” he grins. He walks with me to the back door. “You good from here?”
