Page 59 of Shrapnel

“Because you spend a lot of time around broken people?”

Rhett stilled. The sun was in his eyes, making his blue eyes look nearly white. His lashes were lowered against the glare, too long and delicate for such a rough looking guy. He finally turned to Jackson.

“I don’t think people need to be fixed,” Rhett said slowly. “They just need to learn to love their edges.”

Jackson should have laughed. Barked right in the face of Rhett’s foolish naivete.

But he couldn’t.

Maybe it was the earnestness on his face, the utter belief shining in eyes that were not opaque but glossy pools brimming with so much emotion it made Jackson’s mouth go dry.

He tried to swallow past the knot in his throat. “I’m gonna—”

“Are you here to visit Evan?”

Every muscle in Jackson’s body tensed at the name. A complex combination of wanting to run, hit something, and ask him to say it again. The same myriad of emotions that always lingered in the back of Jackson’s mind when Evan was mentioned.

“He keeps track of you.” Rhett went back to whatever he was doing, not noticing the way Jackson’s hands had clenched into fists. He felt the bubbling of anger at the base of his spine. It stuck its ugly head out as if it was just testing the waters—a gentle inquiry to see if it was needed, ready to blanket Jackson in a haze of red and take over.

“Evan only works there because of you. He figures if he stays where you can find him then maybe one day you’ll come back to him.” Rhett was talking casually.

This is why Jackson didn’t do small talk. He didn’t do friendly. And he really didn’t talk about his brother.

His knees popped as he stood, back twinging from where Jamie had kicked him.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he snapped, voice low and gravely.

“Are you afraid you can’t protect him?”

Jackson scoffed. “I can protect him from anything.”

Anything excepthimself.

Jackson grabbed his bag, the paper crumpling under his grip. He strode off across the lot, boots stomping.

“Sorry for butting in,” Rhett said so quietly, Jackson almost missed it.

12

And I’m Salty, Might Make Your Gums Bleed

The Weaver assassins livedin a nice apartment building on the commercial side of town. Clean edges and whitewashed lime rock gave the building a pristine, if unoriginal, appearance. Owen thought the place looked anything but the home of two deadly men. He wondered if their neighbors questioned the young men or if they just minded their own business.

He shuffled through the papers in his hand and tried to remind himself why he thought this was a good idea again.Oh, right, he didn’t.

All of this information could have been emailed to Elijah. Or hell, he could go old school and fax it.

There was literally no reason he should have gotten off work and driven twenty minutes in the opposite direction to come to Jamie and Elijah’s apartment. So why was he here?

Because he woke up to an empty apartment and for reasons he couldn’t fathom, it bothered him. All through his workday he had stewed on it. Owen felt like an idiot. For the first time in his life, he jumped awake before his alarm, took a shower, and attempted to tame his hair before giving up, only to walk out into his bedroom to see…nothing.

Jamie was once again, gone. The blanket and pillow Owen had set out for him were neatly folded and placed on the couch. The paperwork had been collected and set on the table. If it weren’t for the bag of food sitting on his counter, next to his favorite brand of energy drink, he would have thought Jamie had been a dream.

Because of this vexing start to his day, Owen hadn’t gotten any work done. Not that it mattered. The work he did could generally be done in an hour. But still, it was the principle of the thing.

Scratching at the fried fringes of his hair, he stared at the door in front of him. What was he even going to say? That it bothered him to wake up alone? That Jamiehurt his feelings?

Ridiculous.