Page 44 of Hurt

He didn’t begrudge Roland. The situation was explained to him, and he knew he needed to lecture his brother, but he didn’t have the energy tonight. He might also need to speak to Willow about antagonizing his brother in the future.

And where had Elijah been? Not that he expected the youngster to step in and stop Roland, but could he not have diffused the situation? That was unlike him. Between this and the mistake at the bus station, Elijah was not his usual efficient self.

Another conversation he would have to have.

And for what?

The bitter thought stopped him in his tracks. He had never had such a thought before—anger at having to run the Weaver Syndicate. This is what he was born to do, and not once had he disliked his role. But just now, he couldn’t ignore the surge of hostile thoughts that had just crossed his mind.

He had never felt detached from the Weavers before. They had been all he ever had. Lately, though, he had found himself wanting more. Wanting something besides work.

Wanting Kurt.

Ever since that dream, he couldn’t stop imagining Kurt in his home. Draped across the couch, watching TV or playing his guitar on the front porch. A door slamming when he comes home and boots thunking across the floor as he dragged himself to bed after an exhausting shift. Small, inconsequential things that filled him with such want that it was stifling.

None of these thoughts were particularly helpful. Not when he needed to be preparing for the meeting with the Vegas. Their activity in Weaver territory had stopped for now. No doubt laying low while they knew the Weavers were watching. Jamie’s assault in the plastics factory had been on everyone’s mind, and the Vegas were no doubt gauging the Weaver’' willingness to use such force again.

That, and the envelope they had received from Congressman Thomas’ office.

Grant was unclear as to if the Vega Cabal knew they had it, but they knew it was no longer in their possession. It had to be causing them great distress.

Thinking of the Vegas losing sleep gave Grant endless pleasure.

Cool night air washed over him as he stepped outside the bar. It was well past three in the morning, and the place was empty. Watching a man spit out his own teeth really killed the partying mood.

He was surprised to find Kurt standing in the parking lot. Right at the edge of the road, his head was back, and he was gazing out into the dessert. A full moon blanketed the landscape in undulating light. It might have been a pretty view except for the powerlines following the road.

It was somehow fitting for the bar—something so obstructive ruining what could be beautiful.

The shorter man’s hands were stuffed in his pockets, and his thin T-shirt was clinging to his skin.

Grant made sure to crunch across the rocks as he approached, alerting him to his presence.

Kurt looked over at him and huffed. “Do you ever actually work?”

Grant smiled. “I was here smoothing over Roland’s indiscretions.”

He scowled and glanced over to the side of the parking lot where Roland had beaten the man. The gravel was stained with his blood, an ominously dark spot against the white rock.

“Did Molly lose her shit?”

“Yes,” Grant said with a small laugh. It was difficult to intimidate him, but Molly had sure done it. “Rightfully so.”

“Are you banned?”

“No. It seems Roland held on to one or two rational thoughts. He dragged the man into Weaver territory before beating him.”

Kurt snorted and laughed. The first Grant had heard from him. “Well, hooray for loopholes.”

He returned to staring up at the sky. The moon was too bright to really see any stars, but a few twinkled through the hazy light.

“Why are you out here?”

There was a pause before he answered. “I needed air.”

After a beat, he continued. “It’s pretty cramped in the apartment now.”

It was the first time Kurt had volunteered anything, and Grant tried not to grin like an idiot and ruin the moment.