Page 169 of Hurt

“Grant.”

30

EPILOGUE

It came as no surprise that Roland’s house was as boring as he was.

Kurt put the Bronco in park and leaned forward to look up at the modern home. There was not a single form of personalization. It was as if someone had copy and pasted a modern home off Pinterest. The only sign of life was Roland’s car parked out front. Even Willow had yet to get her grubby hands on the exterior of the home.

He debated purchasing them the ugliest garden gnome he could find. One that looked exactly like Roland.

Turning off the car, he pocketed the keys and hopped out. The early morning air was frigid and almost crispy in the way it sliced through his throat and clung to his lungs. The sky was gray and low, the sun not having had time to burn them away yet.

Tugging his hoodie closer around him, he stuffed his frozen hands into his pockets. The Bronco didn’t have any heat. Grant had offered to buy him a new car dozens of times, but Kurt had staunchly refused. It was the principle of the thing.

Knocking on the door with the toe of his boot, he shivered and bounced on the balls of his toe.

The door opened, and Elijah smiled at him. “Good morning.”

His smile wasn’t as genuine as it used to be. There was a falter in it—a hesitation that hadn’t been there before. Kurt chalked it up to the trauma of seeing him fall to his almost death. That, or he’s desperately trying to pretend that he wasn’t seeing Noah naked on the regular.

Dealers choice.

Kurt brushed past him into the house and stamped his feet on the rug. He smiled vindictively as some dirt fell to the pristine wood floors.

“You’re here early,” Kurt pointed out.

Elijah shrugged. “We have a meeting with the new leader of Southern Rockies. After the…uh…”

He couldn’t seem to find a decent way to summarize recent events.

“Clusterfuck,” Kurt provided.

“Uh, right. The Weavers withdrew permission to work in our territories. That was a big blow to the Southern Rockies, and the new leader has been trying to work something out. Roland and Grant are hesitant.”

Kurt nodded, but he didn’t really care. As far as he was concerned, the Weavers business belonged with the Weavers. Kurt wanted nothing to do with gangs and their associated bullshit ever again.

“How’s Noah?”

Elijah’s eyes widened and his cheeks blazed the color of a ripe cherry tomato. Kurt was perfectly aware how his bratty nephew was. But if he didn’t ask, he wouldn’t get to see this performance.

Knocking Weavers off their pedestals was his new favorite pastime.

“He’s fine. His people are adjusting to him, and White Sand Mesa is in good financial standing.”

“I asked about Noah. Not White Sand Mesa.”

Elijah looked at everything in the room but Kurt. “Uh. I forgot to offer you a drink, would you like something? I think Willow keeps that coffee you li—”

“Are you wearing a condom?”

Elijah jerked like Kurt had hit him. His mouth hung agape, and he looked like he might actually cry. There was a small squeaking noise coming from the man in an octave Kurt didn’t think was physically possible for a human to make.

“Kurt,”

Funs over.

He turned to see Roland descending the stairs with his usual expression plastered to his face. The one that was reminiscent of a little boy pretending the sour candy he had begged for was something he could handle. The skin around his eyes was pinched, and there was a slight downturn to his lips.