Page 31 of Falcon’s Forever

A few of the men laugh quietly. Digger winces at the movement and Knox tells him to stop pulling faces, it tugs the cut. Carrot doesn't laugh. He's still staring at the bumper.

"Should've been on that run," he mutters, mostly to himself.

"No," I tell him, sharper than I mean to. "You shouldn't."

He looks up at that, surprised I heard him, and doesn't argue. Good instinct. He'll need it.

I walk closer. "What happened."

Rook answers. "Supply time got bumped up. Warehouse manager had a delivery coming in at four thirty, Sterling messaged the group."

I pull out my phone and turn it on with a feeling I already know what’s going to be there. There's the message I never saw, because I was somewhere with no signal.

Sterling:

SUPPLY MEET MOVED TO 3:30. Falcon confirm.

Underneath it is another message.

Sterling:

Zip covering.

I close my eyes for a second. "What happened when you got there."

"Everything was normal for about ten minutes," Zip says. "Then the SUV rolled in. Two men got out, said they were looking for an address. Nobody bought it."

Rook picks it up. "Digger was loading the truck. One of them walked toward the warehouse instead of leaving."

"He shoved me," Digger says, before anyone else can finish the story for him. "Asked whether I always take orders from criminals. I told him only the charming ones."

Harrier snorts.

"Jesus Christ," I mutter.

"He swung," Rook says. "Second guy pulled a piece; I took him down before he could use it. First guy cracked Digger with something and ran for the SUV."

I look at Digger, and some of the anger drains out of me fast enough to catch me off guard.

“You weren’t wrong for standing your ground,” I tell him. “You were wrong for escalating without knowing the board.”

Digger nods slowly. “Yeah.”

“You’re a prospect,” I continue. “You don’t start a fight with men you don’t know outside a warehouse.”

“Got it,” he says, lowering his gaze.

I square myself in front of him and force the next words out. “I’m sorry.”

Digger’s eyes widen. “Falcon, you didn’t hit me.”

“No,” I agree. “But I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.”

The garage falls silent. Prospects don’t hear officers admit that often, and maybe they should.

Zip pushes away from the workbench and folds his arms. “Yeah, this is on you.”

His voice remains level, which is worse than if he’d shouted at me.