Page 4 of Day Death (Brutes of Bristlebrook Trilogy)

Lucky

L ucky, ride with Jasper. We’re consolidating vehicles,” Dom orders distractedly.

I wave him off, shifting around to keep Beau in view as he finishes up with the med supplies. My heart is still pounding, and I can’t make it stop.

Too close, too close, too goddamned close.

Guiltily, I grip my cell. I know it’s bad to even think it, when Beau’s still moving like every breath hurts... butI’m glad my folks are safe.

Now I just need everyone to stay that way.

We can figure all this out, I know it. We just need to stay together.

Beau quickly takes his final inventory, then packs away the rest of the medical supplies into his bag. When he looks up, I hurriedly push off his truck, shoving my sweaty, shaking hands in my pockets. Casual.

You know, like I wasn’t just watching him like an anxious mother duck.

And I’m not the only one.

Thomas has been sitting next to Beau for five minutes, nonchalantly sharpening the hunting knife Jayk gave him... sharpening it like Jayk doesn’t always keep his blades primed and ready for a good stabbing.

Jayk has aerials covered. He’s up in the back of his truck, retying the same tarp over his supplies for the third time, sneaking worried scowls down at the doc.

And Dom isn’t even trying to hide how he’s hovering.

He might be shouting orders, but he hasn’t taken his eye off Beau.

The kinksters are scurrying around, stripping the club of supplies and finishing loading up their cars. We should probably help them. There are more than a few people as bad or worse than Beau right now, but the guys don’t seem willing to let him out of their sight—and neither am I.

No matter how hard it is to watch him like this. All dull and sad and grief lost.

I mean... it’s definitely not as hard as watching him stare down a gun barrel like he’s about to deep-throat death.

Still not great, though.

Beau’s gaze swings from me to Jayk, to Dom, to Thomas... and he blows out a low, irritated breath.

He gets up, slinging the medical bag over his shoulder. “Can we beat feet already?”

The concerned line between Dom’s eyes deepens. “Two minutes.” He flicks his gaze to me. “You. With Jasper. Bring up the rear.”

I blink away from my anxious Beau-watch, Dom’s orders finally registering.

Ride.

In a car.

With Jasper .

In the rear .

Ooh, yeah. That’s not a good idea.

Clearing my throat, I offer Dom a shaky, winning smile. “So about that, I’m gonna have to pass.” I toss a thumb over my shoulder at my baby, sleek and tight and gotta-go red. Zero to sixty in two point nine seconds. She’s polished up and gleaming under the harsh fluorescents like she’s blowing me kisses. I shrug. “Can’t leave my girl behind, you know? And she isn’t into three-ways.”

The immediate visual of Jasper, me, and that bike is filthy enough to make me pray for myself. For the sake of my immortal soul or whatever, I really need to stay away from him.

Okay.

I mean.

Not away away.

Just somewhere outside touching distance. Like back in his therapist chair—the one that looks too much like a casting couch. It’s far enough for me not to do something stupid, but close enough that I can still watch the shape of his mouth when he talks.

At some point, he became my favorite form of masochism.

As if summoned by the thought, Jasper walks over to Beau, handing him a first aid kit and murmuring something under his breath. He’s sleek and stupidly hot in all black. His shirt is open by more buttons than is good for my health, and the blacksnake coiled at his hip is enough to whip every fantasy I have into action.

His demonstration tonight was a real problem for me.

The masochist he worked over, Katie, was a weeping, shaking mess by the time he was done. Every stroke was vicious. Every welt he left was glowing and elegant. When he was done, Katie’s domme collected her for aftercare with an awe I felt in my bones.

No one was taking care of me , though.

In the crowd, I was just as messy—and I’ve got to say, the customer service on these shows sucks. No aftercare at all for the slutty, secret voyeur left shaking behind a gibbet cage, trying not to be seen.

Well, not unless you count watching Jasper drain his icy water in one long suck. Or how he patted the sweat from his forehead with the prettiest handkerchief I’ve ever seen. Or romantically rubbing myself out to the image of him in the toilet stalls.

Can’t say I felt a whole lot better about myself after that one, though.

I need to scrub the whole thing from my brain. I should replace it with something wholesome for a change. Maybe something sobering.

Like his wedding ring.

Or, you know, the world currently burning down around us. That’s a boner-killer for sure.

Slinging my new rifle back over my shoulder, I clear my throat and look back at Dom. “Yep. Definitely taking the Ducati.”

“Damn it, Lucky, no. Your bike is dangerous, and it chugs gas like a frat boy. We conserve fuel. Ride with Jasper,” Dom says impatiently, and he’s forgotten about me before he’s finished talking. He narrows his eyes on Phill across the lot, where he’s furtively tucking a pistol into the front of his jeans.

“For fuck’s sake.” Dom’s voice lifts into a shout as he walks off. “Take that gun out of your pants, asshole, you’re going to shoot your dick off.”

Jasper pauses beside Beau, his cool gaze flicking between me and Dom.

Thomas gets up off the ground, snorting as he sheaths the knife. “You just got voluntold, baby boy.” He claps me on the shoulder as he passes me. “But hey, maybe you’ll get a free session out of it.” Eyes twinkling, his voice lowers. “Not the kind you want, though, I bet.”

“Hey, you’re funny,” I say, and he grins—then ducks away before I can slug him.

He turns as he backs away. “At least Douglas owns deodorant. I’ve been enlisted into King’s musty crapbox for the next four hours.”

Jayk jumps down from the bed of his truck, scowling at Thomas. “You don’t shut up, I’m tying you to the back instead. We can see how good you run to base.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, but he climbs into the passenger side of Jayk’s truck, sparing one final, sobered look at Beau.

Beau seems to catch it.

His own truck door slams pointedly, and I flinch a little.

It must be terrible, knowing everyone you love is dead.

Damn it. It’s so hard to face him like this. He’s too raw. Too real. It happens sometimes out on an op, when things go south and nothing’s looking up. Most guys in a group like that, they joke and bullshit each other. You have to keep it light, because fear is infectious... and scared people do dangerous things.

Still, it happens. When things get bad enough, people are always going to crack. You’ve just got to make sure you’ve got a team around who’ll help you glue up the fractures.

Trying to glue myself together first, I head over to Beau’s door—but as I brush past Jasper, he touches my elbow.

“Dominic told you to ride with me?” he asks, silken and unreadable.

His fingers sink fire into my blood.

Yeah, so this is so not outside touching distance.

“Ah— Yeah. I just need to grab my bag,” I tell him, my heart jumping in riotous, jittery ways. I meet his dark, intent eyes for half a second, then look back at Beau, sitting in his truck and staring at nothing. “Just... give me two seconds, okay?”

Adjusting my rifle strap over my shoulder, I knock on his window without waiting for a reply from Jasper.

Beau’s jaw flexes, but he finally winds it down so I can lean inside. It smells like cinnamon and apple pie, and my stomach pangs.

Beau’s mama made the best pies.

“What, Lucky?” he asks tiredly, and I work up a grin for him.

He needs it.

Just gotta do my thing. Keep it casual. Friendly. Light.

“Hey buddy!” I drop an easy shrug, checking my nails. “Not doing much. Just popping in, you know. Killing time.” Nope. Not that. “I mean, spending time. Alive. Being alive. Waiting?”

Be the glue.

Beau blinks, then turns to me, very slowly, and I awkwardly rub the back of my neck.

But I can’t help but laugh.

“I’m just saying hi!” I drum on the door. “Aaand maybe checking for sharp objects.” His brow crinkles incredulouslyas I really do sneak in a scan of the cabin. “Coiled rope ... Season Eight of Game of Thrones ...”

His brow crinkles. “Are you joking... about suicide?”

Oh. Right.

Be lighter than that.

“Too soon?”

He stares at me and I wince. Yeah. Too soon.

I scramble to think of something less bleak, but all I’ve got are some dusty knock-knock jokes and one about a priest that might be even worse.

Damn . . . I’m shitty glue.

He rubs a hand over his jaw, and I see the moment he breaks. A wild, disbelieving snort escapes him. “You’re really fucked up, you know that?”

“Dude, I wasn’t the one bobbing for bullets!” I run a hand through my hair, caught somewhere between panic and relief.

He’s here again. Maybe just for now, but... he’s here.

“Bobbing for—” Beau chokes on a horrified laugh. He shoves me out of the window, then leans out of it to gesture at Jasper. “Would you get this asshole some sensitivity training on the way to base? I reckon he’s missed a session or twelve.”

“I’m retired,” Jasper says, and a hint of wry deprecation slips into his voice. “And I’m not sure anyone could teach this submissive reverence.”

It runs illicitly close to my earlier thoughts, watching him with his whip.

I roll my shoulders nervously. “Switch,” I correct him, though it sounds weak even to me. “You couldn’t teach this... this switch reverence.”

One impossibly dark brow lifts.

He doesn’t even speak, just lifts that one knowing, pitying brow, and I die a thousand deaths.

He knows .

How willingly I’d crawl to him. The way I’d let him flay me to the bone for a smile. I don’t even have to say it. With that one arrogant eyebrow, I’m sure of it.

He knows .

A slight curve touches his grim lips. “Go get your things, Lucien.”

I.. . am in so much trouble.

Beau slowly looks between us, then pointedly ducks back into his truck. I linger, my hand on the window frame like a lifeline. I look at Beau, panicked.

He gives me half a smile, not quite meeting my eyes. “I’m okay, Lucky. Go on now.”

He’s okay? Jasper knows .

Which, okay, objectively speaking, isn’t as bad as his stuff.

Better reel that one in.

Sobering a little, I watch his face, like I might be able to see the cracks in him just by looking. “Are you? Are you really?”

Beau tenses. “I’m here for these people. I’m here for you.” His face firms, and he finally meets my eyes.

I immediately wish he didn’t.

Finally, he adds softly, “We’re dealing with the same thing, after all.”

I frown. It takes a second to realize what he means.

My parents.

A different kind of panic ices my veins. “Oh no. No, I mean. They weren’t there. They’re fine. Somewhere between LA and Vegas, probably. Not that— I’m sorry it happened to you, though. No one should have to live through that.”

My pulse flutters recklessly at my throat, even though I know it’s fine.

Beau gives me a long, measured look, sadness touching his eyes. “No. They shouldn’t.”

The grief in him churns my stomach, and I back away.

Fast.

My foot hits a rock, and I stumble. When I reach out to right myself, Jasper grips my forearm, holding me steady. His dark, dark eyes are still on my face.

There’s an edginess in me when I stand up, and I can’t quite bring myself to stop gripping his arm. But he doesn’t move. Only his hair lifts in the low, restless breeze. A whisper around his face.

“Let’s head out!” Dom shouts, stalking up to Beau’s truck and letting himself into the driver’s side.

Forcing a deep breath, I let Jasper go, then stride over to my bike. I don’t look at him again. I don’t leave much with my girl, so it’s a quick trip.

I brush my hand over her with a quick, surprisingly fierce burst of regret.

Dom’s right. She doesn’t make sense for a job like this. She was built for highways and playtime, not road blockades and a potential land war. But she was my first big purchase after I moved out. One of my best friends between deployments.

It doesn’t feel right to lose her, too.

Slowly, an ugly Volvo pulls in beside me. I think it’s meant to be silver, but I’ve seen dirty dishwater that gets me harder.

Jasper’s sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Okay, no,” I say, disgusted.

Jasper eyes my bike, then me. His eyes lift up. “Just get in the car, Lucien.”

Getting to my feet, I double-check my rifle and my magazines are secure, then pocket my baby’s key. “ That is not a car. That’s a cry for help.”

“It isn’t like I’m out street racing for loose drugs.” His fingers tap impatiently on the steering wheel at a perfect ten and two. “It’s a respectable car.”

I start circling the wheeled yawn and shake my head. “Nope. You’re just heading out for some groceries. Maybe you can take your grandmother to bingo on the way back.”

Tentatively, I try to open the car door, only to realize it’s locked.

You have to be . . .

Through the glass, I give Jasper a long, pitying look. He might know I’m a slut for him, but now I know he’s a boring old prude.

Pursing his lips, Jasper unlocks the door, and I slide in—hesitating only slightly when I see the back seat piled high with neatly packed suitcases and two expensive-looking artworks. I rest my rifle between my legs.

Jasper looks over his shoulder, adjusting his mirrors, and I shove my tongue into my cheek at the slow, fastidious care. He gives me a slicing, sideways look.

“Safety and reliability are admirable qualities,” he says silkily, pulling out. Low, cool jazz begins to play from the speakers, and I shake my head.

“No, no, it’s great. I can’t wait to ride ten miles under the speed limit.” I drop my seat back and stretch out. “I need a nap.”

Ahead of us, Beau’s truck disappears into the trees, heading out toward base. Car after car leaves after them. Jayk and Thomas in Jayk’s monster wheeler sit somewhere in the middle, then finally, there’s just us and a dozen empty cars sitting in the lot like gravestones.

Then Jasper drives away from Darkside too.

An edginess starts to creep in as I watch my Ducati wink out of the rearview mirror. The usual battle jitters, only this time we don’t have a full briefing and a plan. This time, we have an emergency broadcast and a single phone message.

Unable to stop myself, I check my phone again, but I only see the same messages from my parents sitting there from yesterday. I tap out another text and send it, even though I can see there’s no signal.

Message failed to deliver

I swallow. Maybe it will go through when everything’s back up.

Shoving my phone away again, I glance at Jasper. His eyes are on the road, focused and calm, but there’s a grim set to his mouth that makes me think he didn’t miss a thing.

The long, barren streets stretch on and on ahead of us, our convoy of cars the only thing breaking the eerie stillness. Darkside is tucked out of the way—the only people who show up are people arriving for a reason. It’ll be twenty minutes before we even hit a town. An hour or more before we get close to base.

Jasper’s car smells like rich leather and sharp cleaning products, and he maneuvers it with easy confidence. He’s so close like this. Close enough to breathe in. Close enough to touch. Between the wicked glimpses of his chest and slight flex of his thighs, I’m almost convinced that the Volvo is sexy.

Thirty miles an hour with Jasper isn’t slow enough.

Reaching down, Jasper unhitches the blacksnake from his hip and hands it to me. “Put this away? The bag is in the glove compartment.”

The cruel leather slips through my palms, and my pulse skyrockets.

“Say please,” I tsk.

I don’t even sound breathless. Nailed it.

His quick, arch look makes me smirk, and I raise my brows expectantly. The challenge of it thrills through me. We don’t talk like this, not ever. It’s always been him on his couch and me on mine, outside a few brief, stilted interactions at social events.

How does the sadist handle being scolded?

Jasper scans my face for a cool moment before he turns back to the road, still calm. Still responsible.

Disappointment takes the air out of some of my excitement.

Then, without taking his eyes from the road, he leans over slowly, right into my personal space, opening the glove compartment. My breath stalls in my chest. He’s burning hot, just inches away. His lashes are a secret veil and there’s a malicious divot in his top lip that I need to suck.

Jasper pulls out a black satin bag.

He tilts his head toward me, just slightly. Confidingly. “Stop being a brat, Lucien, and do as you’re told.”

He drops the bag on my lap—so neatly over my fucking erection that a startled, humiliated blush scalds my cheeks—and his eyes flash to mine.

They’re the deep, impossible brown of long-buried oak.

And they’re full of quiet mockery.

“ Please ,” he murmurs, with pointed, devastating politeness.

He withdraws back into his seat, and my breath shudders out of me in a shaky laugh.

Okay then.

Sadist, one.

Lucky, really fucking close to a big “O.”

Jasper turns a casual corner, totally composed. Swallowing, I lift the bag with one hand, holding on to the whip with the other.

“Keep it in a loose coil, don’t bend it. I’ll hang it when...” He frowns, his lips pursing briefly. “When I can, I suppose.”

My body is still tingling, so I decide to let that one go. None of us knows where we’ll be even in the next few hours.

“I know what to do with a whip, Jasper,” I manage to tease as I check the coils, then slip it into the bag.

He tenses, then gives me a long, searching look. When he turns back to the road, his hands grip tighter on the steering wheel.

“Indeed.”

I should leave it there. I know I should. But seeing him like this is delicious. Too rare and fascinating to stop. He’s not running through debriefs of ops, or reproaching me for making light of the rank bump I didn’t get for “not acting in a manner appropriate for the commission of duty”—which we both knew was code for being too flippant.

“It matters to you, Lucien,” Jasper scolded me after I spent fifteen minutes complaining about it, so much more bothered than I should have been.

“Well, sure. It’d be nice. I don’t know why they care if I’m not scowling enough, though. I can do the job. I just don’t need to act like the weight of the world is crushing me to do it.”

“You’re doing it again, right now. This coping mechanism is a problem.”

“It’s not a ? —”

“Lucien, what is the harm in showing how much you care? Do you feel it will hurt more when you’re disappointed? If everything’s a joke, then at least you’re in on it—is that it?” Those dark, serious eyes. “For someone so willing to play the fool, you’re so afraid to truly feel like one. But being serious about something, wanting something and going after it... that isn’t foolish, Lucien. It’s not embarrassing, win or lose. It’s brave.”

I don’t know why I’m thinking about that—and thinking about it now .

My psychologist would never dream of being flippant. Wise, ancient, knowing. He was born pensive and thoughtful. He’s forever serious.

Exceptfor when he’s on stage, whipping subbies into bliss.

Except for right now.

Why is he playing with me now? Is this a game I even want to play? It’s one thing to watch him. To joke with him. Even to wake up with cum on my thighs and his eyes in my head. It’s a whole other thing to be within touching distance of him, married him. I can’t be serious about Jasper. I just can’t.

This is a game I can only lose.

“You probably shouldn’t call me a brat,” I say quietly. “It’s unprofessional.”

His face darkens.

“I’m retired. I’m not your therapist any longer,” he reminds me tightly. Then he shoots me an edged look. “And I know a brat when I see one, Lucien.”

Oh shit.

I tear my gaze away from him, strangely panicked. No, not strangely. I know why. This is dangerous—and in a way that could really end up hurting me. Because when he says things like that, like retired , it feels like something’s getting stripped away. Like the walls between us are being pulled down, brick by brick, and I need every single brick to stay intact so I don’t do something stupid.

Towns start to slowly unwind past us as we near civilization. The roads are junked up with people frantically packing, and cars heading to the same place. Everyone needs to get to base.

But as much as I know I should be thinking about that , about dying worlds and dying people. I just can’t. It’s not a real problem yet. There’s nothing I can do.

And Jasper’s right here, tugging at all my thoughts.

Damn it, why did he retire?

He’s thirty-eight. I know he has family money, but everyone knows he’s one of the best in his field. He worked for this, and he’s so damn good at it.

And why is he moving ?

This car is loaded up. He wasn’t going for a weekend, or even a few weeks.

He’s leaving town.

I heard him and Soomin talking about Bristlebrook before, once, at a fundraiser for injured vets. Some old lodge out in the middle of nowhere they visit in the summers. Probably full of ancient, musty sheets and dust mites.

It doesn’t make sense.

Jasper is an indoor cat, anyone can see that. What the hell is he running from?

And why does it have to be so far away from me ?

The stupid Volvo is suddenly too small. I need my bike and open, solitary air all around me. I can’t be closed in here with him, not with blacksnakes that could lay me open. Not with his pitiless hands tugging at the wheel. Not with him retiring and moving away and stirring up all this panic I shouldn’t have.

Not with him calling me brat .

But it’s not like we can stop. Despite how unsafe I’m suddenly feeling, we’re in a convoy of civilians who need to get to safety. I just need to calm down. This flirting is getting out of hand. I need...

My gaze darts to his left hand, searching for his wedding ring.

That ring always breaks me. Soothes me. It’s his brand. His collar. The thing that always saves me from myself. Because he’s not mine . He belongs to Soomin. Lovely, elegant Soomin with her thriving corporate events business and perfect sense of style.

I’ve talked to her exactly twice, and that was enough to know that she’s a good person who cares about him a whole lot.

And maybe, privately, I can still wonder whether they really are a perfect fit, when they always have a foot of space between them whenever they’re together. When their smiles for each other are polite and affectionate, but in a way that I might smile at an old friend I hadn’t seen in a while. Maybe I can wonder.

But that’s it.

I don’t know them. Not really. Every single relationship I’ve ever seen is so different from the next one. I sure as hell can’t know what they’re like when doors are closed. He chose her. That’s all that matters.

So, I just need to see the ring—just a teensy, tiny, cuff-like reminder that I am completely fucking delusional—and I’ll be able to pull my shit together.

Probably.

Hopefully.

Only when I look . . . it’s not there.

Jasper’s long, slender fingers are white-knuckled over the steering wheel—and all of them are stripped naked.

I sit forward, rattled.

He needs that ring.

“Jasper, your ring,” I say before I can stop myself. “You didn’t leave it at the club, did you?”

Maybe he doesn’t wear it during a scene. Whips can rub on rings, I’ve seen it before.

Except . . . Jasper is right-handed.

Jasper’s jaw flexes.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, clipped.

Don’t worry ?

“No, really, we should go back. You can’t lose that,” I stammer, shocked.

How can he just dismiss that? It’s his wedding ring . He can’t just forget about it, not now.

Oh, God. Horror creeps into me, filling me with black, guilty little bites as I remember our conversation earlier. After everything with Beau, I wasn’t thinking, but... Soomin.

He really can’t lose his ring now.

Not if she’s . . . dead.

“Lucien, I mean it. Leave it alone,” Jasper says, with such chilly, lethal warning that I flinch back into my seat.

The satin sheen of his shirt makes his skin glow, turning him otherworldly. But his face is forbidding—all sharp cheekbones and a mouth set harshly enough to cut.

Of course he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Guilt swamps me. What the fuck is wrong with me? Here I am checking him out, flirting, when his wife just died. She died hours ago.

I stare at his profile, seeing his composure differently now. He’s studied it, I’m sure of it. How to stay cool and expressionless, how not to react. Beau is an open wound of pain and grief, Thomas is cracking jokes and fretting, Jayk is basically giving out free hugs compared to how he usually is, and even Dom was splintering over Beau.

But Jasper has it together.

He caught Beau. Helped Dom. He was there, stepping up. Always, in the background, he’s working us through our shit.

My jokes mean jack shit.

Jasper is the glue.

No matter what he has going on himself, he makes sure we’re sticking together.

I see his throat work as he swallows hard, his entire body strung tight. On him, grief is silent. Deep and internal. And in the deep night, lit only by the red glow of taillights ahead of us, his pain is beautiful.

My heart stumbles in my chest. God, he haunts me.

Every night when I go to bed. Every spare minute when my thoughts slip away. I need to make it stop. This can’t work. Those bricks are still there, right? The wall between us? He’s my.. . okay. Okay, well. He’s not my psychologist. He’s right about that—retired and all. So that’s one brick gone.

But he is married.

Or... I mean. I look over at his hand, lingering on his bare ring finger.

He was married.

If Soomin is dead, that kind of makes him single now, right?

As soon as the nightmarishly fucked-up thought hits me, I rub both hands over my face, cringing back into my—admittedly comfortable—seat.

Jesus fuck, Lucky. Even for you, that’s bad.

“Lucien?” Jasper asks sharply.

Yeah. Like I’m voicing that one— “Hey Jaz, pretty great your wife died, huh? Wanna cuddle and stuff?”

“Nope. We’re good. Just going to hell. Can’t wait. Should be toasty,” I groan.

“I didn’t know you were religious.”

“I think I need to start,” I mutter.

He gives me a curious look that I’m too ashamed to acknowledge. He might have something to his sessions. Maybe I do use flippancy as a coping mechanism.

But everyone needs to cope, right? Surely there are worse ways.

Just ask Beau.

Yep. Definitely straight to hell.

Okay, okay. So, it’s a problem. But how is anyone meant to deal with all of this? I look outside, at the roiling, ashy sky and the cars screaming past in the opposite direction. Flash after flash of terrified faces.

How do you even begin to think about what this could mean?

“We’re almost there,” Jasper murmurs, and I realize I’ve been staring out the window for too long.

So much of the world looks exactly the same as it did seven hours ago when I drove in here. Only the people look different.

And that sky.

My skin starts to itch, and I tug out my phone again, staring at the messages I’ve already memorized.

MOMMIKINS: You’re BACK?! You get your ass over here NOW, baby! I miss that gorgeous face

POPSICLE: Ur mom is dranK

POPSICLE: dAnk

POPSICLE: DRUNK

POPSICLE: Phone sux. Wnt to call?

MOMMIKINS: HE’S drunk I’M fine.

MOMMIKINS: NO! WAIT! don’t come here! let’s do vegas! cha-CHING!

MOMMIKINS: i want to see someone pop a ping pong out of their hoo-ha!

POPSICLE: I only had 2 dinks

POPSICLE: DRINKS

MOMMIKINS sent video

MOMMIKINS: i could do that. U think they do classes?

POPSICLE: dnt watch that

POPSICLE: jesus

POPSICLE: i need another dink

ME: Wait! For real this time? I could get down with vegas. Sign me up!

ME: And stop crushing mom’s dreams, papa bear - she can ping any pong she wants to

MOMMIKINS: thx, sweetie

POPSICLE: u get to take her to classes then

MOMMIKINS: vegaasssssss! road tripppp! let’s go tonight!!

And then yesterday:

ME: So I’m assuming you guys are mainlining water and Tylenol this morning—you want me to book the hotel?

MOMMIKINS: book what?

POPSICLE: tlk soon. Head hrts

I stare at those for a long minute before I scroll down. The last messages are from today. And they only go one way.

ME: You guys left already, right?

Message failed to deliver

Call failed

ME: Drive to me. I’ll be at base. Just keep going, don’t stop for anything but gas.

Message failed to deliver

It’s fine.

They didn’t need me to book anything, because they already took off. My parents are reckless. Impulsive. They might not have traveled much, but they’re adventurers at heart. Knowing them, they probably hitchhiked half the way then got distracted by a glassblowers’ convention in the middle of the desert. Every time I talk to them, they have a new story.

This... this is just going to be a good one.

They’re fine.

Jasper is eyeing me, his gaze flicking between my phone and my face, when the convoy starts to slow. Not-too-distant pops of blistering noise puncture the air in short bursts.

Gunfire.

Someone’s shooting. More pops go off, faster and faster, and adrenaline-hot anticipation begins to fill my stomach.

All right, then. Maybe several someones.

I grab my rifle.

Jasper pulls the car to a halt, and I shove open the car door. In front of us, the town of Franklin is on fire, the sloping road blockaded by an abandoned car and a fallen utility pole that sparks with live wires.

And in the town center, there’s a vicious firefight in front of a massive pharmacy.

I squint, but from down here, I can’t get a good angle. Moving fast, I climb up onto the hood of the Volvo, staring down at the town.