His brother glanced up from where he’d crouched down to collect the bent nails they’d put on the ground while they finished up, his shoulders broad and his body built for the hard physicality of rugby. “Yeah,” he said simply, his eyes holding memories shared only by him and Sailor and their mother.
Their younger brothers, Jake and Danny, had never—and would never—experience the icy fear of being thrown out of their home, their clothes thrust into trash bags. Sailor was the youngest of their original family, remembered the least, but he didn’t have to remember all the details to remember the emotions.
The bone-numbing fear and raw confusion.
His five-year-old hand clenched tight around Gabe’s as their mother battled the repo men to make sure they wouldn’t take her boys’ things.
Sailor was so fucking glad that Jake and Danny would never be in the same position. Nor would their mother. Unlike the man who was biologically Sailor and Gabriel’s father, Joseph Esera would cut off his own arm before turning his back on his family.
“We also got lucky with Mom,” Gabe pointed out as he rose to his feet, the bent nails in hand. “She never once gave up. Even after that bastard stole all the money she’d worked so hard to save. Even after he forced her to go to welfare when that was her worst fucking nightmare.”
Gabriel’s anger was a brutal wall. It had always been that way. He’d been the older son, the one who understood the most, the one who’d grown up too fast in the wake of their father’s abandonment. The one who remembered each and every detail of the nightmare.
And the one who’d protected Sailor from the worst of the impact.
“I got lucky with both of you,” Sailor said quietly.
Gabriel’s gray eyes held open affection as he punched Sailor in the shoulder. “We did it together, shrimp.”
Sailor had often wished he had the same eyes as his brother. Because then he’d have their mother’s eyes. Instead, he’d been born with the eyes of the asshole who’d fathered him. But that asshole had no place in this yard full of memories of love.
Shoving Brian Bishop aside with long practice, Sailor packed up his tools. “You ever had a woman just decide you’re not for her and run away? Actually run away.”
Gabriel made a valiant effort of looking solemn. “You must’ve stunk real bad.”
“Fuck you,” Sailor said without heat, though he was wondering if it had been that after all. His redhead had seemed to like him, dirt and sweat and all, zero hesitation in her touch or her kiss, but maybe she’d changed her mind after he’d made the mistake of breaking skin contact.
Idiot.
“Who was she?” Gabriel asked after he’d gotten rid of the bent nails.
“Trouble.”
His brother chuckled. “You taking Ms. Trouble to that big party on Saturday?”
“Did you not hear that she ran away?” Sailor had intended to let down his hair at the party being thrown by a friend of a friend, but now he’d probably spend the whole night brooding over his redhead.
“Gabe! Sail! Dad asked if you want a beer.” Their youngest brother ran over with two cold bottles in hand.
At fourteen, the baby of their family was still more cheerful child than moody teenager—which was a good thing, because Danny hadn’t yet got his growth spurt and was one of the shortest in his class, boys and girls included. That he was also one of the most popular was courtesy of not only his speed on the rugby field but also that same sunny personality.
Ruffling his brother’s hair, the texture a little rougher than Sailor’s own but the color the same inky black, Sailor took one bottle while Gabe took the other. “Thanks, Danny.” He bumped fists with his brother.
Danny then exchanged an extremely complicated set of handshakes with Gabriel. At age twelve, he’d spent an entire weekend teaching Sailor, Gabriel, and Jake that handshake. As his youngest brother talked his eldest one into passing around a rugby ball, Sailor stood with his back to the repaired fence and got a start on his brooding. If he caught up with his cute redhead a third time around, no way was he letting her slip away again.
A rugby ball plowed into his stomach.
Catching it reflexively without dropping his beer, he narrowed his eyes at a grinning Gabriel. “Dude, you’re the captain of the national team.” The most decorated and internationally recognized player in the squad. “Show a little dignity.”
“Hey!” Jake’s dark-haired head popped out from the upstairs room he’d shared with Danny until Sailor moved out several years back. “Are you guys playing without me?” Scowling, he pulled his head back in, and Sailor knew he was running down the stairs to join them.
Putting his beer down by the fence, not far from where Gabe had left his, he spun the ball in a spiral to Danny. His little brother caught it, then did a run straight at Gabe as if intending to go through his muscled bulk. Instead, he found himself picked up and swung upside down.
Rather than giving up the ball, Danny reached out his arm and plonked it on the ground behind Gabe, then did a victory dance while still upside down. Sailor grinned. If everything went according to plan, he’d have even less free time in the coming months. He’d miss these nights just hanging out with his family, but he had dreams that haunted him and demons that howled.
He had to quiet those demons, had to become a man like the one who’d raised him. A man who provided for those who were his own instead of taking and taking and taking until there was nothing left. A man who built something. A man who was nothing like the one who’d sired Gabriel and Sailor.
A man with ambitions like that, he had no time for distractions.
Especially not distractions in the form of cute redheads who kissed and ran.
6
Stubble Burn Is Hard to Hide from the Dragon
ÍSA TURNED THE SHOWER TO ICE-COLD after racing home from Nayna’s office, yelped after getting in; that had done nothing to quiet her libido or her racing heart, though it had successfully frozen her blood. Turning up the heat, she washed off the scent of sin and temptation and blue, blue eyes and lips that devoured her own. Afterward, she rubbed herself down with clinical precision in an effort to hide all evidence of her shower.
If her mother commented on it regardless, Ísa would tell Jacqueline that she’d been exercising. The best thing was, it wasn’t even a lie—she and the gardener had surely burned a few red-hot calories. And Jacqueline would be happy to hear of Ísa’s sudden enthusiasm for after-work sessions. She’d never understood how she’d birthed a child who was so much more into curling up with a cup of tea and falling into poetry than in going for a “head-clearing” run.
The one thing Jacqueline had never done was disparage Ísa for her size. “Curves can be useful,” she’d said more than once. “But you need strength and endurance to back it up.”
Ísa had taken the advice, but in ways she found interesting. Running, Jacqueline’s choice of exercise, didn’t qualify. Team sports would’ve been good if she’d had the coordination. Since she didn’t, she focused on things like aerobics classes where she and Nayna could hide out at the back, far from the sleek gym bunnies who could twist themselves into pretzels without breaking a sweat.
The regular back-line students often sent each other into hysterics. Last session, Nayna had ended up facing the opposite direction from the rest of the class. The session before that, Ísa had almost smacked another back-liner in the face with her outflung hand.
Their younger brothers, Jake and Danny, had never—and would never—experience the icy fear of being thrown out of their home, their clothes thrust into trash bags. Sailor was the youngest of their original family, remembered the least, but he didn’t have to remember all the details to remember the emotions.
The bone-numbing fear and raw confusion.
His five-year-old hand clenched tight around Gabe’s as their mother battled the repo men to make sure they wouldn’t take her boys’ things.
Sailor was so fucking glad that Jake and Danny would never be in the same position. Nor would their mother. Unlike the man who was biologically Sailor and Gabriel’s father, Joseph Esera would cut off his own arm before turning his back on his family.
“We also got lucky with Mom,” Gabe pointed out as he rose to his feet, the bent nails in hand. “She never once gave up. Even after that bastard stole all the money she’d worked so hard to save. Even after he forced her to go to welfare when that was her worst fucking nightmare.”
Gabriel’s anger was a brutal wall. It had always been that way. He’d been the older son, the one who understood the most, the one who’d grown up too fast in the wake of their father’s abandonment. The one who remembered each and every detail of the nightmare.
And the one who’d protected Sailor from the worst of the impact.
“I got lucky with both of you,” Sailor said quietly.
Gabriel’s gray eyes held open affection as he punched Sailor in the shoulder. “We did it together, shrimp.”
Sailor had often wished he had the same eyes as his brother. Because then he’d have their mother’s eyes. Instead, he’d been born with the eyes of the asshole who’d fathered him. But that asshole had no place in this yard full of memories of love.
Shoving Brian Bishop aside with long practice, Sailor packed up his tools. “You ever had a woman just decide you’re not for her and run away? Actually run away.”
Gabriel made a valiant effort of looking solemn. “You must’ve stunk real bad.”
“Fuck you,” Sailor said without heat, though he was wondering if it had been that after all. His redhead had seemed to like him, dirt and sweat and all, zero hesitation in her touch or her kiss, but maybe she’d changed her mind after he’d made the mistake of breaking skin contact.
Idiot.
“Who was she?” Gabriel asked after he’d gotten rid of the bent nails.
“Trouble.”
His brother chuckled. “You taking Ms. Trouble to that big party on Saturday?”
“Did you not hear that she ran away?” Sailor had intended to let down his hair at the party being thrown by a friend of a friend, but now he’d probably spend the whole night brooding over his redhead.
“Gabe! Sail! Dad asked if you want a beer.” Their youngest brother ran over with two cold bottles in hand.
At fourteen, the baby of their family was still more cheerful child than moody teenager—which was a good thing, because Danny hadn’t yet got his growth spurt and was one of the shortest in his class, boys and girls included. That he was also one of the most popular was courtesy of not only his speed on the rugby field but also that same sunny personality.
Ruffling his brother’s hair, the texture a little rougher than Sailor’s own but the color the same inky black, Sailor took one bottle while Gabe took the other. “Thanks, Danny.” He bumped fists with his brother.
Danny then exchanged an extremely complicated set of handshakes with Gabriel. At age twelve, he’d spent an entire weekend teaching Sailor, Gabriel, and Jake that handshake. As his youngest brother talked his eldest one into passing around a rugby ball, Sailor stood with his back to the repaired fence and got a start on his brooding. If he caught up with his cute redhead a third time around, no way was he letting her slip away again.
A rugby ball plowed into his stomach.
Catching it reflexively without dropping his beer, he narrowed his eyes at a grinning Gabriel. “Dude, you’re the captain of the national team.” The most decorated and internationally recognized player in the squad. “Show a little dignity.”
“Hey!” Jake’s dark-haired head popped out from the upstairs room he’d shared with Danny until Sailor moved out several years back. “Are you guys playing without me?” Scowling, he pulled his head back in, and Sailor knew he was running down the stairs to join them.
Putting his beer down by the fence, not far from where Gabe had left his, he spun the ball in a spiral to Danny. His little brother caught it, then did a run straight at Gabe as if intending to go through his muscled bulk. Instead, he found himself picked up and swung upside down.
Rather than giving up the ball, Danny reached out his arm and plonked it on the ground behind Gabe, then did a victory dance while still upside down. Sailor grinned. If everything went according to plan, he’d have even less free time in the coming months. He’d miss these nights just hanging out with his family, but he had dreams that haunted him and demons that howled.
He had to quiet those demons, had to become a man like the one who’d raised him. A man who provided for those who were his own instead of taking and taking and taking until there was nothing left. A man who built something. A man who was nothing like the one who’d sired Gabriel and Sailor.
A man with ambitions like that, he had no time for distractions.
Especially not distractions in the form of cute redheads who kissed and ran.
6
Stubble Burn Is Hard to Hide from the Dragon
ÍSA TURNED THE SHOWER TO ICE-COLD after racing home from Nayna’s office, yelped after getting in; that had done nothing to quiet her libido or her racing heart, though it had successfully frozen her blood. Turning up the heat, she washed off the scent of sin and temptation and blue, blue eyes and lips that devoured her own. Afterward, she rubbed herself down with clinical precision in an effort to hide all evidence of her shower.
If her mother commented on it regardless, Ísa would tell Jacqueline that she’d been exercising. The best thing was, it wasn’t even a lie—she and the gardener had surely burned a few red-hot calories. And Jacqueline would be happy to hear of Ísa’s sudden enthusiasm for after-work sessions. She’d never understood how she’d birthed a child who was so much more into curling up with a cup of tea and falling into poetry than in going for a “head-clearing” run.
The one thing Jacqueline had never done was disparage Ísa for her size. “Curves can be useful,” she’d said more than once. “But you need strength and endurance to back it up.”
Ísa had taken the advice, but in ways she found interesting. Running, Jacqueline’s choice of exercise, didn’t qualify. Team sports would’ve been good if she’d had the coordination. Since she didn’t, she focused on things like aerobics classes where she and Nayna could hide out at the back, far from the sleek gym bunnies who could twist themselves into pretzels without breaking a sweat.
The regular back-line students often sent each other into hysterics. Last session, Nayna had ended up facing the opposite direction from the rest of the class. The session before that, Ísa had almost smacked another back-liner in the face with her outflung hand.
