Page 2 of Coach (Shady Valley Henchmen #8)

Coach

“How’d it go?” Slash asked as Raff came swaggering in through the front door. He was wrinkled and road-weary, but there was a bright look in his eye.

“Found him,” he said, coming into the kitchen, and making a beeline for the coffee pot.

“Found him and brought him, or found him and he refused to come?” Slash asked as Raff added an ungodly amount of cream and sugar to his coffee.

In answer, Raff nodded his chin toward the front door just a second before it opened and a man walked in.

“Did you tell him to wait outside and count to a hundred or something?” Slash asked with a snort.

“Two, actually,” the man said from the doorway.

He didn’t look like I’d been expecting, given his brother that we’d met a few weeks before.

Saint Courtland had been tall and intimidating, with that certain air about him that you found in men used to being in a position of power.

Slash had that same vibe. So did Cillian Murphy and Konstantin Novikoff. Hell, even Nyx’s ex Czar and his current business partner Erion—they all had it.

And while this guy in the doorway was clearly related to Saint—the same strong facial structure, brooding brows, dark hair, and light green eyes—he didn’t have his older brother’s commanding presence. Though part of that might have been because he was significantly younger than Saint.

When I heard that Saint copped to a crime he didn’t commit to save his brother from prison time, I guess I’d assumed that the brother was close in age to Saint.

He was a solid decade younger.

No wonder Saint wanted to go away for him. He’d have been a kid when he got locked up. And I knew too well what happened to young men locked up with hardened, predatory criminals.

“Guys, meet Syn. Syn, this is Boss Man Slash and Coach.”

“The yoga guy, right?”

“There are worse things to be known as,” I said, shrugging.

Syn was on the thin side and dressed in an oversized hoodie and baggy jeans—despite the warm weather outside. He had a raggedy backpack slung over one arm, the strap reinforced with duct tape.

He had the look of someone who had been through the wringer.

We had a lot of questions about what happened to the younger Courtland brother when his brother went to prison. Did he take over the organization? It would have explained why Rook hadn’t been able to track down any digital footprints of him.

But judging by the man standing in front of us, Syn had not been living large on the riches of his family’s hard work. Clearly, something had gone down.

“I gave him a quick rundown about the club,” Raff explained. He set his mug down to slap at the fresh tattoo on his forearm. “Nothing too in-depth.”

Slash nodded, focusing his attention back on Syn.

“Where’s my brother?”

“Not here,” Slash said.

Syn’s gaze sliced to Raff. “You said he was here.”

“I said he was in town. I didn’t say he was here.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Alright. Relax,” Slash said when Syn started to tense up. “I’ll call your brother. He’ll be here in a couple of minutes.”

Syn’s shoulders slackened as Slash walked away, bringing his phone up to his ear.

“Can we get you coffee? Food? A drink?” I asked.

“A drink,” Syn said, sounding desperate.

“Help yourself,” I said, waving toward the bar I’d built when our alcohol collection grew too large for the old one.

“Where’d you find him?” I asked, my voice low, when Syn was distracted.

“Living in a storage unit.”

“No shit?”

“Nope. Followed the lead Rook got of someone checking the prison records for Saint to a little café that had free Wi-Fi. Waited it out for a week or two. Then he came in, used the Wi-Fi, had a coffee, and headed out. I followed him to the storage place, then waited and waited. Till I realized he wasn’t coming back out.

Went around, found the closed unit with no exterior lock, then lifted it up. ”

“Did it look like he’d been there long?”

“Months, maybe years,” Raff said. “It was a sweet spot, honestly. I took pictures,” he admitted with a smirk.

“How’d you get him to come with you if he was hiding out?”

“Saint.”

“Alright. Your brother is on his way,” Slash said as he made his way back into the room.

“I still don’t understand why you guys came to find me,” Syn said.

“Because it was the only way your brother would even consider joining the club,” Slash told him.

“Why didn’t he come find me then?”

“He’s on parole,” I told him. “And while he didn’t get stuck with a bad officer, he still has to be here to check in.”

To that, Syn gave me a tight nod. Like it took a load off of him to know that, to be sure he hadn’t been forgotten by his big brother.

He was a grown man now, but there was something vulnerable in his eye as he stood there, waiting for a long-awaited reunion with a man who offered up years of his life, so Syn didn’t have to suffer.

Clearly, though, Saint’s sacrifice hadn’t completely saved Syn. Because that was a shell of a person standing there with his backpack still on, swirling a mostly empty glass of whiskey.

As if hearing my thoughts, Syn drained his glass and set it down just seconds before the front door flew open hard enough to knock against the wall.

Then there was Saint Courtland.

Tall, handsome, imposing, looking a mix of panicked and relieved to see his little brother standing there after weeks of not being able to track him down.

It didn’t take a genius to conclude that he’d been worried sick that Syn had been killed for the previous work he’d done in Saint’s organization.

“Syn,” Saint said, the name like a sigh and a prayer at the same time.

He beelined for his brother, pulling him into a hug that seemed to lift the weight off both their shoulders in an instant.

Saint’s head lifted over his brother’s shoulder, glancing between Slash and Raff and mouthing Thank you.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asked when they finally pulled away.

“That’s a long story, and it’s been a long-ass couple of days,” Syn said.

“Know a thing or two about long days.” Saint clapped a hand on his brother’s back. “How about we hit the town? Food, a few drinks, maybe some pool?” He paused to look at Slash. “If that’s alright.”

It couldn’t have been easy for a man used to being in charge to seek approval from someone else. Then again, prison meant a lot of rule-following and ego stripping. Maybe Saint wasn’t the man he’d been the last time his brother saw him either.

“I’m gonna pass, but I’m sure these two would be game. Colter too.”

“Me what?” Colter asked, coming down while still pulling on a shirt.

I didn’t miss the pretty brunette rushing off behind the Courtland brothers, barely pausing to slip into shoes before she was out the door.

“Food, drinks, pool,” Raff said. “If that pretty thing didn’t steal your life force.”

“Just a cup of coffee and a shower away from being good to go.” He nodded toward Syn. “That the brother?”

“Yep,” Raff said.

“He prospecting too?”

“Prospecting?” Syn asked, brows pinched.

“Long story too,” Saint said. “Got plenty of time to get into that. Is that what you’re wearing?” he asked with a glance at his brother’s outfit.

Saint, you had to give it to him, always looked put together. I figured you could make an argument that it was because he was always dressed all in black. So even a tee and jeans looked elevated.

“No?” Syn asked, glancing down at himself.

“Got a change of clothes in the… backpack?” Saint asked, frowning at the worn seams and taped strap.

“No.”

“I can loan you something,” Raff, who was on the thinner side like Syn, said.

Colter, coffee in hand, excused himself for his shower. And Slash clamped a hand on Saint’s shoulder on his way to the door.

Then it was just the two of us.

“You gonna suggest we do some kumbayas or some shit?” he asked.

“Get a feeling you’re both gonna need it once you share what’s been going on the last few years. And in that case, you know where to find me. But for now, I’m gonna go grab some cash for the pub and pool hall.”

Sure, both the Murphys and the Novikoffs accepted cards. But there was an understanding between all of us that cash was the preferred method of payment, given how we all needed to find ways to hide and wash our money.

“Figured a club like this would pry.”

“We all got secrets, man,” I said, shrugging.

“Even you?”

“Especially me,” I said as I walked toward the elevator.

I imagined if everyone knew the real reason I did so much yoga and meditation, they might not find it as woo-woo and wishy-washy as they did.

But I preferred they didn’t know.

So when they didn’t ask, I didn’t volunteer.

Friends, family, brotherhood—it didn’t matter. We were all entitled to privacy.

“Are those chickens?” Syn asked as we all made our way out the front door twenty minutes later, ready to hoof it into town since we all planned to be drinking.

“No, they’re radioactive pigeons,” Raff said, shaking his head. “The girls around here, they like their animals. Got, what, two cats and four or five dogs going on? Plus the chickens.”

“Not exactly what I imagined an outlaw biker club would be like,” Syn admitted.

“You only say that because you haven’t been to one of our parties yet,” Raff declared.

“Or seen their collection of discarded bras,” Saint added with a smirk.

It was a relatively short walk to town, where we grabbed quick burgers at the diner before hitting up the pub, doing rounds and shots until the mood between everyone lightened up and we found a few women to head with us over to the pool hall.

Where I promptly forgot they even existed when a back door to the building opened.

And out walked the fucking prettiest thing I’d ever seen in my life.

She was average height and dressed in a tight black jumpsuit that subtly hugged her gentle curves. The color set off the bright, coppery red of her hair as the ends dangled down in long waves from her ponytail. She had a gentle oval face with generous lips and bright honey-brown eyes.

She had her shoulder stuck through a ladder and a determined look on her face as her head angled up to look toward one of the air vents.

Clearly, she worked there.

But since when?

I was relatively sure I would have noticed her around town before. That kind of pretty couldn’t just blend right in.

“Cooooach,” one of the club girls cooed at me, making me turn to look at her. She was her own kind of pretty too. Brown hair around a sharp, cat-like face, big blue eyes that promised a good time if I would give her the attention she wanted.

“You guys get started without me,” I said. To the side, the girl was starting up the ladder. And something was tugging at me to move closer. “I’m going to grab a coffee first.”

She shot me a pout but was quick to lavish her attentions on Syn instead. That was the way of the club girls. And Syn, after living in a secluded storage unit for God-knows-how-long, ate up the interest of a pretty woman.

I made my way over to the snack bar just for an excuse to be closer to the woman, following that little internal nudge that was telling me to get closer.

I was all of five feet away when some idiot rammed right into the ladder and kept on walking.

I was close enough to hear the woman’s gasp, to watch the way her muscles tensed and her hands flailed. Finding nothing to hold onto to stop the fall, she gripped the sides of the ladder instead, her fingers going white.

I closed the distance in a few quick strides, grabbing the ladder just before it had a chance to fall backward—likely not only injuring the woman on it but also a whole table full of off-duty corrections officers.

“I got you,” I said as the ladder knocked gently back against the wall.

The woman’s breath rushed out of her, and a little shiver racked her whole body before she turned and looked down to see who’d saved her.

Her eyes locked on mine.

The noise around us thinned.

My shoulders unlatched from my ears.

It wasn’t a dizzying rush.

It was the sweet sound of a tuning fork finding the right note.

An unexpected calmness settled in my bones. Yet at the same time, a warm current started just behind my ribs.

Then a spark.

A flame.

The strange desire to reach my hand into it, somehow knowing it wouldn’t burn—just warm, just envelop.

I’d read enough, meditated enough, and believed enough in a higher order to the universe to sense a moment of alignment.

“You saved me.” Her voice was breathless and sweet, and it hummed in my blood like a singing bowl’s soft vibration.

Oh, honey, I think you may have just saved me too.

But before I could say anything at all, another voice joined us.