“And you’re one of my best fucking friends—”
“I say it because I love you, Rafe. Like a brother. Doesn’t mean I don’t know how you are.”
“Truth is, I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. Meetings—fucking NA meetings and Sionn make up my entire life, so having coffee with Quinn is a damned treat. I didn’t want you guys around because, let’s face it, I’ve got shit all over my hands.” This time Rafe was the one shaking Connor’s protests off. “Hear me out. You guys are cops. Even Sionn in his own fucked-up superhero kind of way. I killed a guy, Con. I might not have taken a gun to his head, but I got him killed. How the hell was I supposed to look you guys in the eye when I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror?”
Felix’s Fish and Chips probably wasn’t the best place to have a breakdown, but in true Andrade fashion, Rafe’s mind always chose the most public of places to crack. The buzz of voices around them faded to a slow hum, turning into a white noise below Connor’s steady breaths.
“Today was the first day I felt like playing. Like really playing. I went out of my damned house and booked studio time because I need to move forward. Quinn kind of made me see that. I sat next to Q, and he babbled off into his own little Q world, and it was so damned nice. Like it was normal. Sweet. He made me feel good, Con. Better than I’d felt in a damned long time.”
“That’s good, then, summat,” Connor said softly as he pulled Rafe into a rib-crushing hug. “Fucking good, then.”
It was awkward. The angle between them made the embrace difficult, but Rafe wouldn’t have changed a damned thing about it. Connor’s enormous strength enveloped him in a familiar warmth, and he caught himself sniffling as he hugged back.
“Hey, get a room,” a young man sniped as he strolled by, and Connor pulled himself back, nearly getting to his feet. The teenager backpedaled, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Joke, dude. Just a joke. Sheesh.”
“Fucking beat it.”
Rafe could feel Connor’s growl across the bench.
“Settle down, Simba.” Rafe laughed, patting his friend’s stomach.
“Shit like that pisses me off,” Con grumbled, but he sat, reaching for a piece of fish from the basket. “People should be able to fucking hug or love who they want without some asshole getting their nose into it.”
“Even if it’s me and Q?” Rafe teased, withholding the vinegar from Connor’s grasping hand.
“Tell you what, Andrade—you hook up with my baby brother, and you’re on your own with it. No interference from me,” Connor promised. “Quinn’s a big boy, but don’t sow what you can’t reap. You want to take on a Morgan? Make sure you’ve got the balls for it, or don’t come to the table.”
“Not like he’d have me,” he snorted, giving up the malt.
It was the scariest thing Rafe’d ever done—admitting he wanted Quinn Morgan in a way other than a quiet chat over steaming coffee or nudged up against him at Brigid’s table. The want of Quinn hit Rafe hard in the chest, and he struggled to breathe, fighting to pull air into himself and listen to Connor go on about a relationship Rafe never thought he’d ever contemplate.
Having Quinn as a lover was never something within reach. Hell, he’d sooner thought to be a rock star than stealing more than akiss from Connor’s sweet-mouthed younger brother. But there he was, fingers sore from playing an old bass and sipping Orange Bang while thinking about Quinn’s lanky body and pretty face.
“Oh, he’d probably have you. Maybe. You’ll just have a fight bringing him in, ’cause he’s clueless most of the time—” Connor’s phone burbled with an alarming shriek, and he dropped his fish. The grin he’d had plastered on his face froze off, and Connor hastily wiped his free hand on his jeans as he answered the call.
“What’s up?” Rafe leaned forward, drink and fries forgotten. “Con, what the fuck is going on?”
“Be right there, Da.” Connor hung up, then tossed a handful of napkins at Rafe. “Here, let’s clean this shit up. We’ve got to get going. Someone just tried to kill Quinn. And Da says it’s not the first fucking time of it. Seems like I’ve got to go and rattle some sense into baby brother’s brain before Da cracks his skull open.”
“BOMB SQUAD’S taking their fucking time,” Connor growled, pacing off the same ten feet he’d already stalked over at least twenty times before.
“I’m pretty sure the bomb part of the day is over.” Quinn rested his elbows on the step behind the one he sat on. Raia’s townhouse was three doors down from his and relatively undamaged. The same couldn’t be said about his. “And it’s only been ten minutes since they got here. Don’t we want them to take their time looking for more explosives?”