Hallowed Ground

“But just in case, live well. Love hard. Try to follow a goddamn rule every once in a while, just to throw people for a loop, okay?”

He stood, and I wanted to yell at him not to turn off the video, just to give us another second, but he reached for the camera—and paused, coming back into eyesight. “For the record, I should have moved that fucking polar bear with you. Bye, brother.”

A click later, and the screen was black.

Josh snapped the ring box shut and dropped his head over his hands, sucking in long, deep breaths. “I killed him.”

I wrapped my arm around his shoulders and leaned into his arm. “You gave him what he desperately needed. Friends. A family. Everything else was out of your hands.”

“Logically, I know that, but I close my eyes and see his face above me, taking those shots.”

“I’m so sorry.” I pressed a kiss into the fabric of his shirt.

“Me, too,” he said quietly. His lips brushed my forehead, then he stood. “I’ll be back after my appointment, okay?”

He was gone a few moments later, and I pressed play again, pausing when Will grinned. I wanted to remember him just like that. “It mattered, Will,” I told him. “Your death. It mattered. It will always matter to me.”

I was going to fucking kill him. “Dead, dead, dead,” I muttered as I stood in the garage doorway. What the hell had he been thinking?

Jagger whistled low, leaning against the doorframe, crutches braced under his arms and giant boots on his lower legs. “So this is how death-by-fiancée begins…”

“Shut up,” I snapped. “And are you even supposed to be walking around?”

“It’s part of my physical therapy,” he flat-out lied. “Seriously. I’m cleared for weight-bearing casts.”

“Paisley’s going to kill you if you overdo it.”

“What she doesn’t know isn’t going to hurt her.” His eyes shifted to the Ducati.

Well, I sure as hell knew about the motorcycle now. “I can’t believe he did this.”

Jagger sucked his breath in through his teeth and shook his head. “You know, Josh is my best friend, but on this…yeah, I’ve got nothing.”

“Speak of the devil,” I muttered as Josh pulled into the driveway behind me. He hopped out of the Jeep, the doors long since removed in the hot weather.

“Hey, babe.” He walked over and kissed my neck. “Oh! She made it! Damn, I thought she was being delivered tomorrow.”

“Yeah, well, I hope that bike looks good wearing an engagement ring.” Jagger laughed and left us, walking with tiny, excruciating steps back to his own house.

“What?” Josh asked. “Do you need me to carry you, old man?”

“It’s going to be hard for you to walk once she kicks you in the balls, man.” He flipped Josh the bird and kept going.

“Why would you do that?” Josh asked, but then caught the look of hell in my eyes. “Whoa.”

“You brought that fucking Ducati here?” I spat the words at him.

His mouth opened and closed a few times. “My mom said it couldn’t stay there.”

“So you thought it should come here?” And invade my sanity? Next to Josh’s Harley, it looked like the brother no one in the family wanted to talk about…because he was still in jail, and somehow knocking up nuns.

“Bad idea?” he asked honestly.

“Only if you wanted to ever have sex again because your fiancée is still hugely pissed about the death machine in her garage.”

We stood there, side by side in relative silence for a moment while he digested the news that his pretty little baby wasn’t welcome. Because it’s the spawn of Satan.

“Okay, well, I love that bike, so we’re going to have to come to a compromise. I swear on my life that I will never race it again.”

I side-eyed him. “A compromise like it not being here?”

He cringed. “Like a storage unit nearby?” His tone was pleading.

I wanted to kick the damn thing over, but that was about as mature a move as the one I’d pulled running away from him in Arizona. “How about we go to this barbecue and we’ll talk about it later?” After I find an appropriate junkyard.

His entire posture relaxed. “Thank God. I mean, yes, that sounds like a plan.”

“Nice. Go get changed. I’ll meet you in the car.”

The barbecue was in full swing by the time we made it to the Trivette’s house on the outskirts of Clarksville. It was a beautiful two-story with a wraparound porch and a giant backyard that was currently full of families.

“Walker!” Rizzo called out, waving us over.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Josh asked, taking the offered beer. I declined, since someone would have to drive home so we could fight over the silver speedster in our garage.

Rizzo lifted his hand, squeezing his fingers. “I’m healed up. Got the all-clear and everything. How about you?”

Josh lifted the leg of his cargo shorts to expose the long, pink scar. “Good to go. I actually got my up-slip today.”

My stomach hit the floor. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he said with a huge grin. “I’m ready to get back up there. I meant to tell you, but we got distracted.”

That’s a word for it. I shouldn’t be worried, right? He needed to get back in the seat for his own well-being. Besides, it wasn’t like people were going to shoot at him on Fort Campbell. This was for the best.