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There’s something in his voice that sounds almost like…understanding. Hope glows within me, fragile and faint, but warm. “I’m so sorry,” I say again, as though sorries could ever make up for it. “Sorry for everything. For your father, for keeping this from you, for…for sleeping with you.”
“You’re sorry about that?” His head comes up fast.
“No,” I say, a little hesitantly. “No, I don’t regret that, Bricker. But I do regret not making sure you had a look at all the cards I was holding before we did. And I’ll do whatever you need me to do to make things right between us.”
There’s a softening around his eyes. “You’re not the only one with secrets, Max. Don’t beat yourself up about that. The sex was good.”
It stings hearing him sound so casual about it. “The sex meant much more to me than just…sex.”
Bricker gives a small, sad smile. “You really mean that, don’t you?” He looks away for a moment as he considers his next words. “The sex wasn’t just sex for me, either. But I need time, Max. Time to process all of this—and I don’t have that time right now. I just got shot by my own man. I need to put the crew first, figure out what the fuck we’re going to do about Pony.”
“Of course.” I keep the worry out of my voice, but I fear that, given time, Bricker might reject me again. But it doesn’t matter what I fear, because Bricker is right; the crew is the most important thing. He and I will always agree on that.
Just as I think of them, we hear the sound of voices at the door. Van thunders upstairs, followed closely by Tank and Jazz, their eyes wide, mouths letting loose all manner of cursing.
“Well, look who showed up in time to miss all the action,” Bricker says with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. But he gives me a nod of thanks, and a look that suggests our conversation isn’t over yet.
“What the fuckhappened?” Van demands. “Pony’sbeen feeding intel to the Synners? What the fuck?”
“That’s about right,” Bricker says. “And then he tried to shoot me.”
“But—” Tank starts, but I break in.
“It’s a long story, and Bricker needs to get to a doctor.” Bricker nods in agreement, but before I can move to help him off the bed, he holds up a hand to stave me off for a moment.
“Listen up: I want you three to find Pony if you can,” he orders. “And when you do, keep your distance. Don’t put him down unless there’s no other choice. Not yet. I want to talk to Anna-Vittoria about this.She’lldecide his fate. Make sure Giddy and Nico and Honeybee are safe and that they know Pony’s a dead man walking—but I don’t want them involved. Those kids have bled enough for the Family.”
Van nods curtly. “You got it, Cap.”
Tank and Jazz chorus their agreement too, and then I look at Bricker and Bricker looks at me. “Guess I should get to the doc,” he says. “You driving, Max?”
It feels like an olive branch, and I reach out and grab it with relief. “Yeah. Let’s get moving.”
CHAPTER44
BRICKER
Max drivesme to the Esposito Family medic that we use in cases like these, and I get a few stitches and a booster tetanus shot that hurts worse than the bullet did. I stare out the window on the way back, watching the city streets pass by in a blur, lost in thought. My arm only aches a little now where the bullet grazed me, but it’s a stark reminder of how close I came to dying tonight.
If Max hadn’t shown up when he did…
How the hell is it that this guy is always saving my ass like some goddamn hero? It makes it real hard to stay mad at him.
And hearing his side of the story about my father, well. That also makes it hard to stay mad. I wish he’d told me earlier, but the fact that he was ordered not to by the Maestra…
I plan to have a conversation with her about that.
We pull into the driveway of my home and Max turns to look at me, his expression unreadable. It’s the deep hours of the night, when everything is still and silent, so when he talks, it sounds almost unnaturally loud. “I’d like to stay, if that’s okay with you,” he says. “At least until Pony’s been taken in. I want to make sure you’re safe.”
I’m a fucking Capo. I shouldn’t need a babysitter. But that’s just my ego talking, and after everything that’s happened—after Max saving my lifethreetimes now, which is almost embarrassing—I’ll sleep better knowing he’s here.
And maybe we can finish that conversation we started.
“Yeah. Okay.”
We head inside in continued silence. I sink down onto the couch in the living room, suddenly feeling the exhaustion from this endless, fucked up night. Max goes into the kitchen. I hear the sound of glass tinkling and scraping as he sweeps up the mess from Pony’s wild shots in the room, and then a different tone of glass clinking, cabinets opening, closing. He returns to the couch with two tumblers of whiskey and hands me one before sitting down in the armchair adjacent to the couch. I take a long sip, and I feel a little better after.
“How’s the arm?” Max asks after a minute.
