Page 111 of Donovan's Men

“Aren’t we supposed to, you know, cook for you?”

“That’s what I thought.” Hamish breezed into the kitchen. “I can do it.”

“Everyone get the fuck out.” I might’ve growled that.

Two dumbfounded men stared at me.

“I cook breakfast. It’s what I do. Ask Cole.” I pointed at each of them. “He’s learned not to argue.”

Hamish’s eyes went wide.

“We’ll just leave you to it.” Tyson saluted, grabbed Hamish’s arm, and dragged the poor man out of the kitchen.

“We will?” Hamish’s whisper was way too loud and carried into the kitchen.

“Yeah, you will. I think Julie’s on the breakfast show this hour.” I snagged the carton of eggs.

“On it.” Tyson dragged Hamish over to the couch and pushed him down. Then he grabbed the remote and, before Hamish could utter a word, had the correct station selected and was jacking up the volume.

Ah, a man who knew his way around a remote. A man after my own heart. A man I was coming to care for deeply.

I listened to the hosts ramble on about a boat show going on soon, and then the newscaster went through the day’s headlines. Nothing I hadn’t heard before—possible transit strike, a missing snowboarder who’d gone out of bounds on Grouse Mountain and had been located, and the city council of one of the suburbs up in arms over some new bylaw proposal.

Yep, I loved my city. Rarely a shooting or stabbing or even many vehicular deaths. Some tragic deaths went unreported, though. But I wouldn’t think about the unhoused, drug addicts, or those feeling the need to take their own lives.

Fuck, Lisa, why?Twenty years on, and I still hadn’t truly accepted it. She’d spelled her reasons out in the suicide note she’d left for me—but that didn’t get to the burning question of why she hadn’t come to me first. Yes, I’d just been twelve. Yes, she’d been sixteen and unlikely to understand the trauma she was about to inflict upon her younger beloved brother. Still…

“Hey, Donovan, Julie’s on,” Tyson hollered.

Damn, I’d almost missed it. I moved the pans with both the eggs and bacon to cold burners and headed into the living room.

Julie radiated beauty and goodness. Her emerald-green eyes shone bright and wide as she recounted her adventures in Hollywood. She gripped her statue tightly as she described how much she loved playing Lyric onVigilante Justice. Circumspect about Cole’s recovery, she said only that filming would resume when he felt better and—little shit—she mentioned me and my recovery.

Hamish cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder. I waved him off. He held my gaze for one moment longer before turning back to the screen.

A photo of Julie and me flashed.

Tyson whistled.

Fucking hell.

“Donovan’s the best fight coach I’ve ever worked with. You know I used to be a competitive gymnast before an injury ended my career.”

The host nodded solemnly.

“Well, getting cast inVJwas absolutely perfect. Donovan lets me use those skills—so I don’t feel like I wasted fifteen years of my life.”

“He sounds like an important man in your life.”

“Oh, he is. Someone I consider a great friend. And I think he’s got someone in his life right now.” She glanced at the camera. “And I wishthemall the best.”

Tyson glanced over this time.

Heat crept into my cheeks, and I was damn glad my skin color hid the worst of it. I waved off the interview and headed back to the kitchen, relieved to find neither scrambled eggs nor bacon burned. I put each back on the stove and resumed toasting whole wheat bread.

Hamish entered the kitchen. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Wash and slice tomatoes?” Normally, I could manage everything, but taking the time to watch the interview had put me behind schedule.