Page 6 of Hot Chicken (Sunday Brothers #6)

“Because I’m a generous individual who finds joy in giving things to people I love. Obviously.” Hawk’s brown eyes blinked up at me innocently. Too innocently.

“Try again,” I instructed.

“Jack and I found an amazing, whimsical antique at the rummage sale yesterday?—”

Jack made a sound of disagreement, and Hawk shot him a look.

“Fine,” Hawk said, “ I found it. And I had a powerful urge to bring it home. But then, upon… you know, reflection … I realized it wasn’t meant for me. I was just a conduit.” He looked solemn as a choir boy. “It’s meant for you.”

“Uh-huh. Because you see something whimsical and think ‘Knox Sunday,’” I said blandly, folding my arms over my chest. “Who wouldn’t?”

Hawk blushed. “No, see, it turns out it’s kind of a… a lucky charm. A powerful one. Teagan Curran said so, and he’s kind of a medium.”

“A medium what?” I demanded.

“No, a medium, as in…” Hawk sighed. “Never mind. The point is, something told me I needed to bring it to you and Gage.” He pursed his lips and looked pointedly at my cheek. “And that was before I realized you were sleeping on the sofa.”

I could feel my own face going red. “I’m not—I didn’t—” I broke off with a growl. I couldn’t very well explain the situation with Goodman when I didn’t understand it myself.

“Hmmm.” Hawk gave Jack a look. “Sounds like we got here just in time.” He tore the bag open and stood back with a flourish, as though presenting me with the holy grail. “I’ve got exactly what you need right here!”

I wrinkled my nose. “What the fuck is that thing?”

The supposed lucky charm was a gaudy-as-fuck ceramic rooster with a ridiculously puffed chest, one chipped wing, and garish red wattles that looked like a set of screaming red and engorged testicles attached to its weird chicken face.

It might have been funny, except that someone had also given the bird creepy golden eyes, and I swear, it seemed to be watching me.

“ He ,” Hawk corrected, giving the monstrosity a fond pat, “is not a ‘ that thing .’ He’s Sir Pecksworth, the Cock of Good Fortune. Pecky, for short.” He leaned toward me and confided, “He’s magic.” Then, straightening again, he added, “And he’s also a cookie jar. ”

I blinked slowly, then frowned at Hawk in genuine concern. I knew the man enjoyed reading fiction quite a bit and had for years, but this was the first time I’d worried that it might be having a negative effect on his brain.

“Have you been reading outside again, Hawklet? Because one of the first signs of heatstroke?—”

“Hush. I don’t have heatstroke,” Hawk said. “This rooster’s genuinely lucky. Tell him, Jack.”

Jack’s mouth twisted like he was trying not to laugh. “I was already a lucky man, Knox… but I can definitely say that I got very, very, very lucky after that rooster came into my life.” His eyes met Hawk’s, and Hawk blushed. “But Hawk might be a little dehydrated.”

Somehow, this made Hawk blush harder and bite his lip. Jack sucked in a sharp breath, and?—

“Ugh. God. Stop !” I threw out a hand and made a retching noise. “The sex vibes in here are overpowering.”

Hawk gasped. “Oh my God, it’s working already!”

I had no idea what he was talking about, and I didn’t want to know. My head was pounding from lack of caffeine, lack of sleep, and lack of Gage , which meant my patience was at an all-time low.

“Jack, if you’re going to make horny eyes at my tiny baby brother, go do it in your own home, and stop defiling my kitchen with it,” I said. “And take the weird rooster with you.”

“He’s not weird . He’s handsome!” Hawk insisted. “Remember Uncle Drew had one just like this on the kitchen shelf when we were growing up?”

I gave the rooster a closer inspection. It did look sort of familiar. Maybe.

“I remember,” I allowed. “He kept it right next to the Mason jar Porter painted at Scout camp, where Drew kept his marijuana stash. ”

“He painted the jar to say, ‘ Happy Mother’s Day, Drew !’” Hawk explained to Jack. “In glitter.”

“Aw.” Jack’s face melted in a gooey frown. “That’s really?—”

I tightened my arms over my chest. “Irrelevant to absolutely anything?” I interrupted. “Yes. Yes, it is. I do not want your cock, so please take it and?—”

“Whoa! Hey! Who’s offering you cock?” Gage padded into the kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of athletic shorts— my athletic shorts—which hung indecently low on his hips.

His hair was damp from the shower, his tan chest glistened with water droplets, and the second he stepped into the room, our eyes locked.

Despite everything—the blistering heat, yesterday’s weirdness, today’s weirdness—my mouth went dry at the sight of him. Four years on, he still affected me the way he had at the very beginning. Mine , a primitive part of me roared. Mine, mine, mine .

Gage tore his eyes away to greet Hawk and Jack, and I tried desperately not to stare at his naked abs.

“Morning, Gage!” Hawk smiled. “We brought you a housewarming gift. Surprise!”

“Uh. Okay.” Gage frowned, confused. “But we’ve lived here almost four years.”

“Which is why it’s a surprise,” Hawk said without missing a beat. He gestured proudly to the rooster. “This is Sir Pecksworth, the Cock of Good Fortune.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t call it that,” I muttered.

Gage glanced at the ceramic chicken, and to my utter shock, instead of politely trying to hide his horror, his face broke into a genuine smile.

“Aw, what a cutie!” He moved closer, actually admiring the thing. “His eyes are so lifelike.”

“Lifelike?” I sputtered. “Have you seen an actual chicken, Goodman? How can you be convinced that cows are out to kill you but say ‘aw, cute’ when presented with five pounds of homicidal intent covered in lead paint?” I thrust a hand toward the chicken, lost for words. “It’s not cute. It’s… it’s…”

“A Cock of Good Fortune?” Jack supplied, trying not to laugh.

I glared. “No.”

“I don’t know,” Gage said tightly. “I guess I have really questionable taste in what I find cute, don’t I?”

I opened my mouth, then shut it again.

“I knew you’d appreciate him, Gage,” Hawk went on. “I was just explaining to Knox that Pecky is all kinds of lucky?—”

“Eh. Mostly one kind of lucky, to be honest,” Jack murmured.

“—and that I feel like he’s meant for you,” Hawk finished.

“Too bad because Goodman and I don’t want useless dust collectors,” I said firmly.

Gage’s head whipped toward me, and he set his hands on his hips—his nearly naked hips, given the dangerous way those shorts were riding down.

“Oh, we don’t?” Gage tilted his head. “How do you know, Knox? How can either of us know how many dust catchers the other needs when we don’t talk about it?”

I loved Gage’s snark and—although I might pretend otherwise—his penchant for saying silly things. But this wasn’t snark or silliness. There was a thread of worry and possibly hurt beneath his words that was absolutely unacceptable.

“Okay, that’s it. Hawk, Jack, thanks for coming,” I said. “Though I remind you that you weren’t invited, and you really could have texted first. Now, grab your rooster and go. Goodman and I need to?—”

“Oh, hell no.” Gage grabbed the rooster and cradled it to his chest lovingly. “You’re not getting rid of my Cock of Good Fortune, Knox Sunday. Hawk gave him to me . ”

“Well, really, he’s for both—” Hawk began.

Gage cut him off. “If you want to have a discussion about this, Knox, you let me know. But I think he’s delightful and full of character, and I think he should sit on our mantel forever. And if you have a problem with that, you need to fucking express it.”

He picked up the bird, crossed to the fireplace in five quick strides—shooting a glare at the disheveled sofa where I’d spent the night as he passed it—and set it in pride of place among the framed photos clustered atop it.

Then he folded his arms over his chest, which only emphasized his bare torso.

I liked to think I was an intelligent man, generally speaking. Certainly, I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut, even though the fucking rooster was glaring at me over Gage’s naked shoulder.

“Sure,” I agreed. “Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” Gage fumed, casting his eyes to the ceiling. “See? This is exactly my point!”

Hawk shot me big eyes that screamed Fix this, dumbass , but how the fuck was I supposed to do that when I had no idea what was happening?

In four years together, nothing like this had ever happened to Gage and me.

I had no idea where this was coming from.

Hawk cleared his throat. “Well! Would you look at the time? We’d love to stay, but we need to get home right away so we can…” He hesitated and looked meaningfully at Jack.

“Er… deadhead the dahlias,” Jack supplied.

Hawk looked like he really wanted to roll his eyes, but he nodded gamely. “Yes. Yes, it’s a floral emergency. Gotta run.” He grabbed Jack’s hand and towed him toward the back door. “Anyway, enjoy your cock!”

“Stop calling it that!” I yelled just before they shut the door .

Jack muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “It’s more accurate than you think.”

Once they were gone, Gage and I stared at each other across the space. But Gage only held my gaze for a second before turning away to face that stupid fucking ceramic chicken.

“So… you slept out here last night, huh?” he said fake-casually.

“Honestly? I didn’t sleep much at all.” I took a cautious step toward him. “I knew you were upset. Angry, I guess? And I didn’t know why. But I also knew you needed rest, so I didn’t want to push the issue.”

Gage huffed. “Didn’t matter. I didn’t sleep much anyway,” he admitted. He blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, Knox. I was in a shitty mood. I’m still in a shitty mood, apparently.”

I grasped his shoulders from behind. “Baby, will you please talk to me? I want to understand.”