Page 90 of Colt
“Yeah.” He looked at the fire. “The fuckers.”
Then he raised a hand and the group split without a word. Dutch and the others turned north—back to Millfield, back to give the word that it was over, back to Indira and the lockdown that could finally be lifted.
I turned east. Louisville. The meetings, the contracts, the legitimate reason any of us were supposed to be out here. The cover that had to hold a few days longer.
I let the others pull ahead and sat there a moment longer, watching the last of Death’s Head die in the fire. Seven years of lies and silence and ruined things.
Gone.
Chapter 35
?
— Lilac —
Iheard his bike before I saw him. I’d know that engine anywhere. The sound of it coming across the parking lot pulled me to my feet.
A week earlier, Dutch had come back with the others. He’d found me on the stairs and crouched down to meet my eyes. He hadn’t said much.It’s done. He’s safe. You all are. He’ll be home in a few days.Then he’d stood, squeezed my shoulder once, and gone to find Indira.
I’d sat on that step for a long time before I went to check on the boys. They were asleep in one of the back rooms, tangled together under a borrowed quilt, utterly peaceful. Luca had his arm thrown over Knox’s shoulders. Knox had one fist curled under his chin. I stood in the doorway and let my breathing slow.
It’s done. He’s safe.
I’d pulled a chair to the doorway and sat with my back to the wall. Still keeping watch.
Now Colt was home.
I’d built up some image in my head. I didn’t know what exactly. But when Colt came through the side door he was just road-dirty. A week’s worth of miles on him.
He looked tired.
Still.
That was it. He was still in a way he hadn’t been since I’d run into him again here in Millfield. The coiled tension he’dbeen carrying, the watchfulness, the particular quality of a man waiting for something that hasn’t resolved yet. Gone. His hands, his shoulders, the set of his jaw. Everything had settled.
I crossed the room and put my hands on his face. He let me. He closed his eyes and leaned into it slightly, like a man who’d been very cold for a very long time and was only now remembering what warmth felt like.
“The boys are out with Handful,” I told him. “Dirt bikes. They’ll be back in an hour.”
He opened his eyes.
I rememberedthatlook. I dropped my hands and stepped back. “Come on,” I said. “Bath first.”
I ran a bath while he stripped down. He moved slowly—the particular exhaustion of someone who had been holding something together across hundreds of miles and finally didn’t have to anymore. His fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons, and I pushed them aside and did it myself.
He sank into the tub with a sound like a man setting down something heavy. I reached for the shampoo.
My hands shook for a moment.
Somewhere beneath the surface of memory, somewhere my mind couldn’t reach, something stirred. Old knowledge. Not mine to name. The feeling passed like a cloud moving over the sun, and then it was gone.
I breathed. I kept my hands moving.
He noticed. Of course he noticed.
“You okay?”
“Yes.” I pressed my thumbs into the tight muscles at the base of his skull. “I am.”
