Sloe Ride (Sinners, #4)

“What if someone has said something to him, and he’s just not got it?” Rafe asked. “He doesn’t read people well. Worst part about his wiring. He can’t sync up what people mean and say.”


“I thought about that too, but short of shadowing him 24-7, it’s like trying to catch the wind. I’ve got to go by what he’s told me. No one’s approached him—good or bad. I’m looking into everyone he comes into contact with at the college. A couple of them tip my bells.” Kane frowned. “I just don’t want him to think it’s because of something he did. Or could have prevented. Guess a part of me is still scared he’s going to find a tall building and throw himself off the edge.”

“He won’t. He’s better now. More assured. Or at least, knows himself more,” Rafe said. “Your problem—the family’s problem—is that you guys don’t see that. For you, he’s that skinny kid with his hair in his face and big feet he’s always falling over. But look at him now—really look at him, Kane—because he’s learned to walk. Hell, he’s learned to run. Screams right past us, but you’re still looking for that stumbling, gangly kid.”

“Do you like that kid, Rafe?” Kane asked. “Can you live with that kid?”

“K, I liked that kid,” Rafe murmured, taking another slurp of bitter black coffee. “But I fucking love that man.”




THE CITY street overflowed with tourists and locals, a curious blend of cameras, bare knees, white socks, and sandals with an ambling dodge of slackers and hustlers. Kane broke stride long enough to let a gaggle of elderly women pass by him, a group of silver-haired, chattering ducklings riding a wave of delighted confusion.

“Gotta head out. Miki’s got a therapy appointment I want to make sure he gets to.” Kane puffed out his cheeks in an exasperated exhale.

“For his leg?”

“Nah, for that crazy grumpy kitten he’s got living in his head,” Kane replied. “Love him, but shit, some days, it’s like he’s wearing a bodysuit made out of razor blades.”

“But you love him,” he teased. “A fuck of a lot.”

“Yeah.” His expression softened, a smile touching the edges of his mouth. “I just want him to be okay. Inside and out, you know?”

“Where’d you park?” Rafe jogged around a man with a stroller stacked high with a baby and its paraphernalia.

“Underneath. Best part of the badge? Let’s me park anywhere.” Kane laughed at Rafe’s derisive glance. “Hey, you’ve got like six fucking spaces under there. I’m only using one.”

“So long as you don’t fucking scratch the Chevelle.” Rafe stopped, nearly slamming into Kane’s back. “Dude, what the fuck?”

Kane turned, grazing Rafe in the stomach with his elbow. Rafe backpedaled, trying to give himself room to move, but Kane caught him quickly, wrapping Rafe into a hug. Surprised, Rafe inhaled sharply, breathing in a whiff of his friend’s warmth, scented sharp with Old Spice and coffee. Kane squeezed, a brief wrap of arms and comfort. The embrace stretched back to a time when they were losing teeth, and their bones ached from growing too fast. It caught up with long discussions on a rooftop, hidden from the stars by a stretched-out overhang as they struggled to find themselves and past the moment Rafe said good-bye to follow his dreams. They fell into the now, a brotherhood tightened by trouble and love for the same man.

“Love you, Andrade,” Kane muttered into his ear, nearly pushing the air out of Rafe’s lungs. “Don’t forget that, man. Okay?”

Rafe tightened his hold on Kane, rocking his friend slightly. The moment stretched, and then Rafe whispered, “Is this where you say you’re going to kick my fucking ass if I hurt your little brother?”

“Nah.” Kane let go, leaving Rafe with one final squeeze of his hands on Rafe’s forearms. “This is when I tell you I’ll be here for you when my brother drives you crazy or breaks your heart.”

Rafe pushed Kane off, sending him into the depths of the building’s lower-level parking with a brief wave. It was a quick jog to get to the entrance, and he fought the wind coursing up from the Bay’s cold water. Rafe rubbed at his arms, wishing he’d grabbed a jacket before they’d run from his apartment, but beating a strategic retreat was a hell of a lot more important at the time. Turning the corner cut the wind back, the building’s stretch blocking the chilly breeze.

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