Music exploded out of the Burmester sound system, thanks to the Sirius dial, and before he could turn the stuff off, DJ Khaled’s “Hold You Down” came on.
“Wait,” he said. “No, leave it on.”
Getting out, he hopped around to her side again, opened the door, and offered her his hand. “Dance with me.”
“What?”
“Dance with me, my queen.”
Sweeping her out of her seat, he led her to the front of the Porsche, into the headlights, pulling her close. Together they moved, bodies shifting, fingers intertwining, the beat transforming the parking place and the wide-open amusement park into a private dance hall.
“Forever…” he murmured against her. “I’ll hold you down…”
Trez curled his head onto her shoulder so that his much larger body was all around her, encompassing her, protecting and loving her.
Together, they danced in and out of the headlights.
Up in the security tower, iAm watched his brother take Selena back out of the car and bring her around to the front grille. There was no knowing what song was playing, and it wasn’t like it mattered. Just watching the two of them come together and move as one, shifting to the music, holding each other close, was enough.
iAm found himself having to brush at both of his eyes to clear them.
It was too damned hard to look at.
Turning away, he paced around the tight space and thought of how much Trez would hate being so high up in the air, nothing but the wide-angle view and the drop to the ground to focus on. The male had always hated heights, to the point where it had been a miracle to get him to agree to a place on the eighteenth floor of the Commodore.
He was staring at the roller-coaster when, a few minutes later, his phone let off a wiggle in the pocket of his leather jacket. He took the thing out.
Time to go, was all the text said.
Almost immediately a second one came in from his brother. Thank you so much.
Trez never spelled out words in text. So he must have really meant it.
iAm hesitated with his response. Then he sent: Glad to help. Will c u home.
He went to put the thing back into his jacket when he hesitated. Thn ima go to check on thgs.
It was a text he’d sent a million times over the last couple of years. And in fact, he meant it. He was going to go see about the restaurant and the clubs—how they were functioning, if anyone needed anything.
That was exactly what he needed to do next. And exactly what would keep him from going to that damn cabin.
Time to head out.
With no one else around to play witness, he was free to dematerialize down to where he’d parked the BMW X5 that he and his brother had been sharing. A moment later, the Porsche was released through the side gate and he followed the leader at a discreet distance across the two-acre empty parking lot—as did Manny, in a conventional ambulance.
The entire way back to the Brotherhood compound, iAm had that picture of his brother and Selena in his mind, the pair of them dancing in the headlights like a pair of teenagers.
Too bad they were in a John Green novel.
How many more nights did they have, he wondered.
Shit, he felt morbid thinking like that, but there was a clock running here. With every hour that passed, it was more likely instead of less that Selena was going to collapse again.
And then what the fuck was he going to do with his brother?
Jesus Christ, Trez was going to be unmanageable.
With happy thoughts like that running through his head, he lost track of time, and before he was aware of having covered any distance at all, they were mounting the mhis-covered rise up to the mansion, Manny having broken off to head in the back way with the ambulance.
Hopefully, Selena was never going to know the precautions they were taking on her behalf.
It would have been a buzz kill. How could it not be.
iAm was careful to keep his distance as the last turn before the mansion approached, giving Trez time to get her inside. When he finally did pull into the courtyard, he went around the fountain and parked next to Rhage’s GTO.
Which wasn’t going to be out there much longer. The Brother always moved it into the garage during the winter months.
Manny’s Porsche was at the base of the stairs, its top up, its key no doubt making its way back to the doctor so he could bring it to the training center’s underground lot, too.
iAm shut the BMW off. Got out and locked it even though he didn’t need to.
And stalled out.
Staring up at the sky, he watched the breath leaving his mouth drift off and disappear. That image of Trez and Selena dancing was like a dog with its fangs in his gray matter, the memory refusing to budge—and not, he was ashamed to admit, because he was thinking of everything his brother was in danger of losing or because he was stressing about how to peel the sad bastard off the pavement when things came to a bad conclusion.
Instead, he was wondering …
Shit, he was wondering what that felt like. To hold a female close to your body. Have her scent in your nose and your hands on her shoulders, her waist, her hips. He wanted to know what it was like to turn her face up to yours and—
Okay, he needed to pull back from all that.
Because none of it was happening for him. Not now. Not in a half hour if he went to that cabin. Not in a week or a month or a year from now—
As if on cue, a cold breeze came barreling by. Like the universe wanted to underscore all the cold and lonely he had going on.
The sound of the vestibule’s outside door opening snapped him to attention. He liked Manny, but he didn’t need the guy coming out to play musical cars and finding him—
It wasn’t the good doctor.
Trez was coming out of the house. Jogging down the stone steps. Heading across the courtyard.
Shit.
iAm put his hand on his phone in case he needed to call … whoever the fuck. “Hey, is she all—”
He didn’t get the “right” out.
His brother wrapped him up in a bear hug. “Thank you so much for tonight.”
At first, iAm didn’t know how to respond. He and his brother weren’t huggers.
“I was so glad you were there. It meant everything to me.”
iAm had to clear his throat. “I, ah…”
Trez just squeezed harder.
Cautiously, iAm put his arms around Trez. The movement felt all weird, but when he finally embraced the guy in return, he felt his brother shudder.
I’m sorry, man, he said in his head. I don’t want any of this for you.
The cold wind continued to blow, and after a long moment, they stepped back.
Trez had ditched his jacket and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “I got your text. I feel bad that I’ve just dumped everything on you.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not.”
“Trez, you need to be with her and take care of your female. That’s the most important thing. The rest of it is just conversation.”
Those dark eyes focused on something above iAm’s left shoulder. Or maybe whatever it was was above his ear.
“I seriously do not know why you’re out here wasting time with me,” iAm muttered.
“I want more for you than this.”
“I happen to like my job at Sal’s just fine.”
His brother’s stare locked on his. “That is not what I’m talking about, and you know it.”
iAm joined the club with the fist-in-the-pocket routine. “Enough with the talk. Go to your female.”
Trez was a hardheaded son of a bitch, capable of tremendous acts of hell-no. But iAm, as usual, got through to him.
The male turned around, but made it only halfway to the mansion’s entrance before he stopped and looked over his shoulder.
“Don’t waste all your life on me, okay.” Trez shook his head. “I’m not worth it, and you’re worth more than that.”
iAm rolled his eyes. “Stop thinking. Start walking again.”
“Ask yourself what’s going to be left for you after I’m gone. If you’re honest, I don’t think you’re going to like the answer any more than I do. And spare me the everything’s-gonna-be-fines. Neither one of us is that naive.”
“Why are you distracting yourself with this. Seriously, Trez.”
“It’s not a distraction. It’s the kind of shit that eats you alive when you love someone.”
On that note, Trez kept going, heading up the stone steps and disappearing through the vestibule’s door.
iAm closed his eyes and sagged against the SUV. He didn’t need that little monologue of his brother’s in his head right now. He really didn’t.
FIFTY-ONE
Selena’s hands were stiff.
Standing at the counter in the Brotherhood’s kitchen, she tried to open a can of Coke and found that her fingers refused to grip the tab right. Instead of pulling the metal lip free, they skipped over the top.
As all kinds of warnings went off in her head, she reined in the panic, and reminded herself that she’d spent three hours in the cold without any gloves on.
Making a couple of loose fists, she blew into them; then shook her arms. Cracked her knuckles. Tried not to start looking for other problems elsewhere in her body.
People who had her disease could still get minor-league frostbite.
She faced off at the can again, her heart pounding as she watched from a great distance while she approached the pop-top once more. She viewed her hands and fingers with dispassion, as if they were attached to someone else’s wrists, moved by somebody else’s brain.