Sloe Ride (28 page)

Kane blushed. It was an odd thing, watching the slow rise of red pink his friend’s face, and Rafe didn’t bother to contain his smile. The sheepish expression on Kane’s face slid into a light scowl, and Rafe yelped when Kane’s foot struck his shin.

Rubbing at the spot, Rafe muttered, “Dick.”

“Asshole,” Kane grumbled softly. The teasing slipped away, growing somber as he added sugar to his coffee. “Kind of some of both. Can’t help but… worry about him, Rafe. He carries a lot of shit inside of him. From being wired weird to well…
then
. You expect me
not
to worry when he hooks up with the likes of you?”

“What do you think’s going to happen? Because he’s hooking up with me?”

“Not
if
, then. But
because
?” Kane’s seat groaned, his shoulders straining the chair back when he pressed against it. “I don’t know if… shit, Rafe. Not that I don’t love you, man, but Q’s… well, he’s Q. You know how he is… how he was. There’s a lot of baggage there. You ready to be taking that on?”

Rafe nearly choked on his tongue, patting at his own chest as the coffee seared his throat. “You think
Quinn’s
got baggage? What the fuck you think I’ve got? A carry-on? I fucking
killed
a guy, screwed—”

“You didn’t kill that guy.” Kane stabbed at the air, nearly poking the end of Rafe’s nose. “He died. Yeah, it’s shitty, but you didn’t kill him. You’ve got to get over carrying that, Andrade, or you’re going to fall right back into that fucking pill bottle you were living in. And then what use are you going to be to Quinn?”

The coffee turned sour in Rafe’s mouth, but he swallowed it anyway. Around them the bar continued to hum its own brew of a song, the clack of pool balls mingled with the glasses’ clinking as they were moved around on the bar.

Despite the years-old smoking ban, the place still smelled of old cigarettes and burned tar, a stink probably seeped into the bar’s wooden floors and the yellowed grout holding together its boiler-room brick walls. A glance at the men oozing over their bar stool seats, and Rafe paused, seeing himself in their bloated, careless bodies. They stank of desperation and longing, eyes fixed on a space in front of them, more than likely ruminating over past regrets and stolen moments they kept alive in some fogged-over corner of their brains.

It was a far cry from where he sat now, his body run hot with pleasurable pain from Quinn’s sharp teeth. He’d woken to an empty bed and for a second, panicked with the fear he’d somehow dreamed up his long-legged, black-haired Irish. Then came the sinking feeling, the slight tremble in his lower gut. Quinn’d gone the way of the blond man lying limp and dead against a vomit-drenched hotel carpet.

No, not the life he wanted to lead—not by a long shot—and sure as fuck not one he wanted inflicted on his lover.

“I’m doing my fucking damnedest not to fall back into any bottle, K.” There was no excusing it away. He
needed
drugs. At some point in his past, some critical pinpoint second, he’d turned a corner and found himself drowning in quicksand. He’d never
stop
drowning now. “I can’t say I won’t. That’s the worst part about this shit inside of me now.”

“Of all the people… seriously, Rafe…
you
becoming some junkie? Never would have laid money on that.” There were stacks of creamer cups next to Kane’s cup, and he played with one of the empties, smearing a drop on the table. “But what I would lay money on is that you’ll stay clean. If only for Quinn. You won’t do jack shit for yourself, but for Q, I think you’ll stay straight… ’cause you’d sooner die than break him.”

“I love him, Kane.” The pounding of his thoughts dulled down enough for Rafe to face his childhood friend head on. “I don’t know if you believe that. Shit, I don’t know if
Quinn
believes that, but it’s true. Last couple of days? I’m kind of scared for him because of all the shit that’s gone down this week around him.”

“Not just you, Andrade.” Kane turned the heavy mug around in his hands. “I’m scared he’s going to fall back down that black hole he’s got inside of him—straight down into the still waters where he’ll drown.”

“He’s not that kid anymore, K.” Rafe shook his head. “That was a fifteen-year-old kid who was lost in his own head. Think about it, dude. There was so much damned shit going for him… and Christ, look at the brain God decided to stuff into that kid’s head.”

“You were a part of all of that, you know? Not that him standing on the edge of that building was on you, but he was tangled hard around you leaving.” His friend stared into his coffee, as if the oily brew could reveal the answers to the universe. “Didn’t really take it seriously, but now here I am sitting across of you talking about you and Quinn being a thing.”

“Don’t know how much I was a part of Quinn’s… shit, I don’t even know what to call it. Doesn’t matter.” Rafe exhaled the memory of Quinn’s young, icy-white face and bloodless responses. Looking back, that moment—that brief, soul-frightening moment—was when Rafe realized how deep Quinn’d reached down into his soul and became a part of him.

A part Rafe’d run away from.

And he definitely was done with running.

“I think he missed me. Was he in love with me? Maybe not really. Maybe not then. Me hitting the road was just a small ripple in his world. He was a boy, going to fucking college, and you
know
people spit on that kid, or he worked himself into a spin trying to figure the world out so it would fit into his head. Quinn
thinks
differently than you and me.”

“So fucking different,” Kane agreed.

“You ever think that for him, it’s
his
normal. We’re all the fucked-up ones. He’s making concessions for us. And he doesn’t got the clues.” Rafe made a face. “What’s worse is our chaos isn’t his chaos. And if there’s one thing Quinn Morgan hates, it’s when he figures something out, then it goes and changes.

“Think about it, K. He was drowning in change, and he’s not good about change. Hell, he’s still not good at it. People are dying around him, and he doesn’t want to see it. Q likes routine. Even as much as he veers off in his own little chaos, it makes sense to him. It’s routine for him.”

“Like a fucking Escher painting, maybe,” Kane snorted.

“Yeah, he’s a bit Goblin King-ish,” he conceded. “But it’s
his
chaos. And he understands it. But with Q, the shit we get all hung up on, it’s like adding two and two for him. Because that’s how his brain works. Cuts right through the noise and shit we have to wade through and gets right to where he needs to be.”

“This thing with his student… big fucking change. How’s he doing with that?” Kane took a sip of his coffee, making a face at its bitterness, but he kept drinking it. “Simon, I figured he’d be shaken but okay, but the girl? That one… I worry Q’s going to lose himself over it.”

“Okay,” Rafe murmured. “He had a nightmare. That’s a problem for him, you know? His mind picks things up and replays it all for him, over and over. I think it’s less now than before. Shit, he used to beat himself up over things he thought he’d fucked up. Doesn’t seem to go over things until it twists him around, but yeah, she—her murder—gutted him.”

“Blames himself?” Kane paused as the bartender came back over with a pot of fresh coffee. He waited until his cup was refilled, then packed the greasy sludge with sugar. The dollop of cream he followed up with barely tinged the black, eaten up by the pitchy liquid. “Yeah, Q would. He will. Probably until the day he dies.”

“I just don’t want him to relive this shit. And
that’s
what I’m thinking about. How the hell do I help him with that? Because I’m all in here, Kane. Fucking all in. You might not believe me—”

“I believe you, Andrade.” Shaking his head, Kane continued, “I know you. First time in your life… our lives… I’ve seen you this focused. Even with the music, you were always reaching… wandering about. But right now, Quinn’s got you wrapped up tight and moving forward. Not just… around.”

“Him and that Simon guy? Tight? Close? What happened there, really?” he pressed. “Quinn gave me some song and dance about how they drifted apart a bit. Hell, he wasn’t even sure they were ever even together.”

“Kappelhoff… Simon… never fucking liked him.” More cream followed the first dribble, but Kane’s coffee refused to give up its stygian ways. “Guy never took Quinn home to meet his family. Not fucking once.”

“Did he get to any of the dinners?”

“A couple of times. I think the longest he stayed was about an hour.”

Kane grimaced, and Rafe figured his sour expression was less about the shitty coffee and more about Kappelhoff.

“He dropped Q off a couple of times. Picked him up once by driving up and honking the horn.”

Rafe jerked his head up, and Kane nodded knowingly.

“Thought Da was going to lose his shit. He didn’t say anything, but you know how he feels about that. You come to the house, you get out of the car and ring the bell. No matter what. Last time Simon came by the house. I think Quinn was…. Pretty sure that was Quinn’s last straw.”

“I’m sorry he’d dead, but shit, Quinn deserves better than that.” Rafe sighed. “I’d want that no matter what. Any leads on who killed the guy? Anything?”

“Not a damned thing.” Kane tapped the edge of his mug, scanning the bar’s occupants again as if he could find Simon’s murderer among them. “Same with Quinn’s student. Everything on them was wiped down. Hell, Q’s rental’s being gone over with a fine-toothed comb just in case, but it’s too clean. We pulled nothing up from the hood. Hoping we can find something on the campuses’ cameras. The parking structure’s ones were taken out with something heavy, bashed in like a raw egg. So whoever’s doing this, guy’s strong.”

“But why Quinn? See, that’s what doesn’t make sense. Unless there’s something you’re not talking about. Threatening notes? All of that shit.”

Kane barked a short laugh. “God, I wish.
That
would at least be helpful. Quinn’s got nothing. Not a damned clue. No past student threats. No one on staff he argued with. Doesn’t make one damned bit of sense.”

“What if someone has said something to him, and he’s just not got it?” Rafe asked. “He doesn’t read people well. Worst part about his wiring. He can’t sync up what people mean and say.”

“I thought about that too, but short of shadowing him 24-7, it’s like trying to catch the wind. I’ve got to go by what he’s told me. No one’s approached him—good or bad. I’m looking into everyone he comes into contact with at the college. A couple of them tip my bells.” Kane frowned. “I just don’t want him to think it’s because of something he did. Or could have prevented. Guess a part of me is still scared he’s going to find a tall building and throw himself off the edge.”

“He won’t. He’s better now. More assured. Or at least, knows himself more,” Rafe said. “Your problem—the family’s problem—is that you guys don’t see that. For you, he’s that skinny kid with his hair in his face and big feet he’s always falling over. But look at him now—really look at him, Kane—because he’s learned to walk. Hell, he’s learned to run. Screams right past us, but you’re still looking for that stumbling, gangly kid.”

“Do you like that kid, Rafe?” Kane asked. “Can you live with that kid?”

“K, I liked that kid,” Rafe murmured, taking another slurp of bitter black coffee. “But I fucking
love
that man.”

T
HE
CITY
street overflowed with tourists and locals, a curious blend of cameras, bare knees, white socks, and sandals with an ambling dodge of slackers and hustlers. Kane broke stride long enough to let a gaggle of elderly women pass by him, a group of silver-haired, chattering ducklings riding a wave of delighted confusion.

“Gotta head out. Miki’s got a therapy appointment I want to make sure he gets to.” Kane puffed out his cheeks in an exasperated exhale.

“For his leg?”

“Nah, for that crazy grumpy kitten he’s got living in his head,” Kane replied. “Love him, but shit, some days, it’s like he’s wearing a bodysuit made out of razor blades.”

“But you love him,” he teased. “A fuck of a lot.”

“Yeah.” His expression softened, a smile touching the edges of his mouth. “I just want
him
to be okay. Inside and out, you know?”

“Where’d you park?” Rafe jogged around a man with a stroller stacked high with a baby and its paraphernalia.

“Underneath. Best part of the badge? Let’s me park anywhere.” Kane laughed at Rafe’s derisive glance. “Hey, you’ve got like six fucking spaces under there. I’m only using one.”

“So long as you don’t fucking scratch the Chevelle.” Rafe stopped, nearly slamming into Kane’s back. “Dude, what the fuck?”

Kane turned, grazing Rafe in the stomach with his elbow. Rafe backpedaled, trying to give himself room to move, but Kane caught him quickly, wrapping Rafe into a hug. Surprised, Rafe inhaled sharply, breathing in a whiff of his friend’s warmth, scented sharp with Old Spice and coffee. Kane squeezed, a brief wrap of arms and comfort. The embrace stretched back to a time when they were losing teeth, and their bones ached from growing too fast. It caught up with long discussions on a rooftop, hidden from the stars by a stretched-out overhang as they struggled to find themselves and past the moment Rafe said good-bye to follow his dreams. They fell into the now, a brotherhood tightened by trouble and love for the same man.

“Love you, Andrade,” Kane muttered into his ear, nearly pushing the air out of Rafe’s lungs. “Don’t forget that, man. Okay?”

Rafe tightened his hold on Kane, rocking his friend slightly. The moment stretched, and then Rafe whispered, “Is this where you say you’re going to kick my fucking ass if I hurt your little brother?”

“Nah.” Kane let go, leaving Rafe with one final squeeze of his hands on Rafe’s forearms. “This is when I tell you I’ll be here for you when my brother drives you crazy or breaks your heart.”

Rafe pushed Kane off, sending him into the depths of the building’s lower-level parking with a brief wave. It was a quick jog to get to the entrance, and he fought the wind coursing up from the Bay’s cold water. Rafe rubbed at his arms, wishing he’d grabbed a jacket before they’d run from his apartment, but beating a strategic retreat was a hell of a lot more important at the time. Turning the corner cut the wind back, the building’s stretch blocking the chilly breeze.