“I was in Europe, remember?”
“They don’t have music in Europe?” the blond snarked. “He and St. John are fucking incredible. Shit, I’d give my left nut for that kind of talent.”
“I thought you gave your left nut for that bass you saved up for in high school.”
“They grow back.” Rafe stirred another packet of sugar into his coffee. “I’m like a gecko. Except with nuts. Seriously, have you listened to their music?”
“Every day now.” Sionn sipped at his coffee, slurping up a bit of bubbling cream he’d not mixed in all the way. “They’re joined at the hip on the couch when we get home. Sometimes, we can even get them to put the guitars away and eat dinner. I’m surprised they’ve survived as long as they have. Neither one of them eat. It’s like putting food out for anorexic felines. You hope they eat, but really, you kind of wonder if it wouldn’t be easier to just jab an IV into them.”
“Still… Sinner’s Gin.” The whistle of admiration from Rafe’s pursed lips caught the ear of another jogger, and the young man winked as he went by. Rafe ignored the obvious come-on and leaned his elbows on the table. “I’d fucking kill to have been in that band.”
“First your left nut and now murder?” He snorted. “Maybe that’s what this fecking whack job wants. A spot in their band. ’Sides, you were in a band. Toured the world even, boyo. You did all right before….”
“Before I coked out?” Rafe hoisted his coffee cup in a mock salute. “It’s okay, man. You can say it. I know I trashed my life. I’ve got the diamond-embossed chips to prove it.”
“Takes a strong man to walk through that door,” Sionn remarked softly. “We’re all proud of you for it, and you know we’re here for you.”
“Yeah, I know,” he murmured. “You and Connor… man, there were times when I wanted to walk the bridge and just end it.”
“But you didn’t.” It was harsh, hearing Rafe say out loud what all of them had feared he’d do after his fall from grace. “You’re still here, Andrade.”
“Yep, still here. And I think I’ve still got your uncle Donal’s boot print on my ass to prove it.” Their coffee was refilled again, the rubber-soled waitress doing her drive-by before either one of them could say yay or nay to more. “Fuck, she’s quick. Talk to me about Damien Mitchell. Hear he’s an asshole.”
“Sometimes,” Sionn admitted. “Mostly he’s… lost. Bristly. If that’s a word. You can tell for a long time, it was just him and Miki. Kane being there… rubs him some, but not bad. Miki… Sinjun’s what Damie calls him… he circles around me. It’s like being stalked by an alley cat. He doesn’t trust me. I don’t think he trusts anyone. Well, Damien and Kane. He trusts them. Damie’s the same way. Wary. They’re both jumpy around people, and I don’t think it’s from the accident or the guys who’ve come after them. It’s just how… they dealt with life.”
“Hell, Mitchell and St. John.” Rafe shook his head. “And you’re fucking the guitarist. Life is not fair.”
“It’s more than that.” He couldn’t explain how he felt about Damien Mitchell. Like Kane, he wanted to herd the man into a room and pack cotton batting around him. Damie would chew his way out, then kick Sionn’s ass, but that was a small price to pay to keep the man safe. He could survive the bruises Damie’s teeth made on his skin. He didn’t think he could learn to live without the man making them.
“Shit, you’re in love with him.” His friend stared at him from across the table. “Honest, surprised the hell out of me that Kane hooked up with St. John. He never went in for the bad boy rocker before.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t hit Kane up for Miki’s autograph or something,” he teased.
“Nah, the guy was going through some shit. He lost… everything. Last thing he needed was some washed-out bassist humping his leg. I’m not family like you. Brigid doesn’t hunt me down if I turn down her dinner summons, but hell, now that Mitchell’s back, I’m going to take her up on them if they’re going to be there.” Rafe’s tone shifted, growing serious. “But, Murphy, let me ask you something. Aren’t you scared he and St. John are going to pick up where they left off?”
“It’s not like that between them.” Sionn grinned when Rafe snorted. “No, it’s not. There’s nothing sexual at all between them.”
“I’ve seen them live, dude. Miki St. John is liquid sex,” Rafe refuted hotly. “And Damien Mitchell will fuck anything that moves.”
“Not now,” he replied softly. “Now, he’s mine and staying that way, Andrade. No matter how this plays out, Damie’s mine. And I’ll fight anything… anyone… who tries to take him from me. Starting with that dick who’s been trying to kill him and ending with the fucking asshole who hired him.”