Page 6 of Hard Rain

Whip bit back a smile. “Yeah, so?”

“Ass.”

“Yeah, so?” Whip stepped out of the old wood-sided house and left the front door hanging open behind him.

Pale September sunlight stretched across the damp gravel drive beneath the pine trees.

Warm sunlight spilled across the porch while he scooped up the newspaper with one hand and tossed it back inside without breaking stride.

Axel rolled his eyes, caught the newspaper against his chest before it hit the floor, then shut and locked the door behind them.

“That’s my paper.”

“Yeah, so?” Axel volleyed. “I may want to read the news.”

“You know they make these things called subscriptions.”

“I’m savin’ money.”

“Bullshit,” Whip said, sliding behind the wheel.

Axel smirked, got into the passenger seat, and folded the paper open.

“Actually.”

Axel didn’t look up.

“What?”

“Why haven’t you unpacked yet?”

“Dunno.”

Whip dropped the subject. As long as Axel eventually unpacked, he really didn’t give a shit how long it took him to put his stuff away. He’d have that spare room as long as he wanted it.

They took his Jeep and left the truck parked. He loved his Jeep and honestly preferred driving because Axel was a madman behind the wheel.

Axel drove too fast, braked too late, and took corners like he trusted luck more than physics.

The tires crunched over gravel as they pulled away from the house, leaving Axel’s half-unpacked life sitting behind them.

After several minutes of silence, Whip tossed Axel a quick glance.

His profile stayed turned toward the passenger window. The open newspaper sat forgotten in his hands. Because he knew Axel, Whip knew the paper hadn’t held his attention for more than thirty seconds.

“You thinking of going back?”

“No. I can’t be in that house,” Axel murmured.

Whip squeezed the wheel. The place still sat sharp in his head—warm kitchen lights, rain ticking against the windows, May laughing while Axel burned burgers on the back deck pretending he knew how to grill.

The irritation he’d continually kept in check. An irritation he had no right to feel.

He cleared his throat.

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Sell it.”