Page 23 of Shrapnel

Jamie listened until his eyes began drooping and Owen left him on his couch with a blanket and pillow, shutting off the lights and going to his bedroom.

Owen got in bed, but he couldn’t sleep. He was too distracted listening for Jamie’s breaths in the next room.

5

But You Hurt So Loud, I Forget About Myself

The A-frame cabinlooked the same as it always had. Noah wiped the dew off his hands as he slammed the car door shut. Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans, he squinted up at the watery winter sun and shivered.

Desperation brought him here. A desperation he wasn’t proud of, and one he would deny with every fiber of his being.

Ostensibly he was visiting his uncle. It had been a few weeks since he made the drive south to see Kurt and he was long overdue for a visit. At least, that’s what he told Harvey. His shrewd second had seen right through the façade but he didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t say anything. That’s what made him such a good second.

The gun at his hip was heavy as he crunched across the gravel drive to the front porch. Hidden beneath his jacket, he could still feel it. Burdened with the weight of expectations he hadn’t been able to fulfill. Every time he touched the cold metal he could see the outline of his father, details blurred from time, it didn’t matter. He didn’t need to see his eyes to know there was disappointment in them.

Noah was a terrible Elliott.

A year into his tenure and he still had not adjusted to the role. He felt as if he was walking a tightrope. And he had rotten balance.

Elijah helped, of course. But Elijah was a Weaver. There was only so much Noah could ask of him. And that was when they got to see each other, which wasn’t very often. Even when they were both in state, which rarely happened, the Weaver Estate was a two-hour drive from White Sand Mesa.

Last night had been a rare exception. Noah felt strangled by his position and without telling anyone, he slipped out of White Sand Mesa and ended up on Elijah’s doorstep. It had been an amazing night—the kind of casual ease he was never allowed. Most nineteen-year-olds were going on movie dates and beginning to consider their future. Noah had his future decided for him before he was even born, and forget a movie date, he wasn’t even allowed to go out in public without guards.

An assassin and a gang leader go on a date…it sounded like the beginning of a bad joke.

Swallowing past his bitterness, he hopped up the wooden steps and knocked on the door. It had been repainted since the last time he was here—a deep plum that shouldn’t have worked but did.

Grant knew Noah was here. There was no way he didn’t. The Weaver Estate was isolated, but the Weavers weren’t stupid. He triggered at least four alarms on his leisurely drive, and while he didn’t pass any guards or obvious cameras, he knew his license plate had been read and sifted through their system.

As he suspected, Grant opened the door without a hint of surprise on his face. “Noah, it’s nice to see you.”

His amiable tone irritated Noah but he forced himself to smile. He wasn’t here to piss off Grant.

“Morning,” he mumbled, unable to keep the rancor from his tone. He cleared his throat. “Uncle around?”

“No,” Kurt snapped as he walked past the open door toward the kitchen.

Grant just smiled, looking back over his shoulder with doe eyes. The kind of look reserved for adorable puppies and not his cantankerous asshole of an uncle.

Noah stepped into the cottage when Grant waved him in. The place looked the same—open floor plan and warm colors. A woody smell permeated the place, faint as if it was being leeched from the walls and floor. Rustic. Or whatever they call it.

Kurt was in the kitchen with a tool belt slung low on his hips. Noah had to keep from smiling. His uncle looked good. Healthy. Noah would say he had a glow about him but if Kurt heard that he would probably threaten to snap his spine.

“Nice to see you,” Noah grumbled.

Kurt didn’t look back at him. “Is it?”

“Oh God,” he rolled his eyes and looked to Grant. “He’s in one of his moods, isn’t he?”

Grant knew better than to step on that land mine and silently retreated to his cluttered desk to resume whatever he was doing before Noah interrupted his morning.

“I’m not in a mood,” Kurt said in a tone that wasdefinitivelymoody.“Why would I be? My beloved nephew has deigned to step off his golden throne to visit me. Why wouldn’t that fill me with unspeakable joy?”

In a rare show of maturity, Noah did not take the bait. He bit down on his retort and grimaced. “I would come more if I could.”

His uncle must have heard something in his voice because he finally looked up from where he was making a sandwich. “What? The golden palace not all it’s cracked up to be?”

It might be golden but it’s no palace.