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“I don't know.”
“Planning to chill out here all afternoon, then?”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
“Fair enough.” My brother's gaze catches on a blonde climbing out of a car, tumbling golden curls obscuring her face. He whistles, eyes locked on her ass. “Damn, but the view sure ain't bad out here.”
The girl turns and Conan's expression morphs into one of sheer horror as he realizes who it is. Our seventeen-year-old sister's best friend, who is a whole ten years his junior.
“Fuck.” Conan groans, teeth gritted and fists clenched. “Shit, bugger, fuck.”
“Bugger?” I laugh. “Are you British now?”
“Shut up.”
“Dude, did you seriously just hit on Luella Farrow? She's not even fucking legal.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut. “So help me god, Cole, if you don't stop talking right the fuck now, I'll fucking pulverize you.”
“Go ahead, bro.” I smirk. “I bet Mr. Farrow would love to know how much you like his underage daughter's ass.”
He's got me in a headlock before I can blink, his lightning-fast reactions courtesy of the years he spent in the military.
It's a time of his life that he doesn't talk about, but the evidence of his experience creeps out from time to time. Sometimes, it comes out in moments like this one, when he's messing around with his brothers. Other times, it's in the middle of the night when dreams of war cause him to wake, screaming.
“What in God's good name is going on here?” Mama's voice is hushed to avoid attracting attention, but not lacking in severity.
Conan releases me and the both of us turn and look to find our mother standing a mere foot away with her hands cocked on her hips. The disappointment scarring her face makes me wince.
“Now, I know I didn't raise my boys to behave like roughnecks at a dead man's wake of all places, so I suggest you take a look at yourselves this instant and start behaving like the respectable, upstanding men I thought you were. Understand?”
“Yes, Mama,” we say in sync, not the least bit ashamed of how one scolding from our mother reduces us to a pair of naughty schoolboys. But that's the thing about men, I suppose. It doesn't matter how old you are or how many tours you've served in war zones. There's no greater shame in life than disappointing your mother.
“Good.” She brushes her hands down the front of her blouse, wiping away imaginary lint. “Now, have either of you boys seen Althea? Jolene Sparkes is looking for her and can't find her daughter anywhere.”
“She's probably in the bathroom,” I say casually, though my heart beats faster at the mention of my ex-love's name.
Mama shakes her head. “Not likely. I just came from there myself and Jolene says she hasn’t seen her since the burial.”
“That was an hour ago.”
Mama nods. “Maybe you should look for her, Cole.”
“Why me?”
She reaches for my tie to straighten it. “Because it's her daddy's funeral and I'm willing to bet my pearls that no matter what's happened in the past, you're the one person she needs right now.”
Goddamn my mother for her unsolicited wisdom.
“Mama—“ I start to protest, to contradict her, but she cups my cheek in her warm hand, silencing me.
“Listen to me, baby. You gotta put your pride aside for a small while and do the right thing. Go find the poor girl, comfort her, give her your shoulder to cry on. You can go back to being angry again tomorrow.”
Saying no to my mother is an art I haven't mastered yet. In fact, I'm not sure I ever will. Conan still struggles and he's older than I am. Our father too. For a man of such serious nature, I've never known him to be able to refuse Mama either.
“Tell me you'll find her, Cole,” Mama probes gently and despite every cell of bitterness lingering in my blood toward Thea, I can't help but nod in agreement. “Good boy.” She taps my cheek three times, drops a kiss on Conan's cheek and goes off in search of Dad.
“Shit, man.” My brother grimaces. “Have fun with that.”
