Tex (Hell's Ankhor #5) - Aiden Bates Page 0,12

loyal, and warmhearted. Prison had changed him, though. Of course it had. I just wasn’t sure exactly how yet.

And I wasn’t sure if I was ready to face those changes. Selfishly, I just wanted to spend time with my brother without any of that heavy shit hanging over us. But Jazz still hadn’t answered, and the door adjoining our rooms was unlocked when I tried it, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to stick my head in and glance around.

Jazz was out on the balcony, leaning against the weathered railing as he looked out over the ocean. The sun was low in the sky, casting golden light across the blue-green sea and catching in Jazz’s hair as the powerful coastal winds tousled it.

There was a seriousness about him now that hadn’t ever been there before. I wasn’t sure if I’d call it purpose, but it was… drive. A drive for something. I just didn’t know what it was.

I slid open the glass door to the balcony. Jazz glanced over his shoulder and met my eyes, his crow’s feet crinkling slightly. I leaned against the doorframe. Jazz’s gaze didn’t falter. Instead, he turned, leaning his forearm against the railing to better face me.

The sky behind him was painted gold and pink with sunset and dappled with clouds. The ocean roared low and friendly below us. Something about the simplicity of the scene—Jazz’s familiar, muscular body, his warm eyes, the slight furrow in his brow, the beach behind him—sent a rush of warmth through me.

I guessed I just couldn’t believe he was actually here. After all this time, he was back.

He watched me with a slight furrow in his brow but the corners of his full lips were slightly upturned. His amber eyes, which in my memory were always bright with laughter, were oddly discerning. I only wished I could read his expressions like I used to. We’d both grown a little in our years apart, and as much as I wanted things to be the same, I knew that was impossible. He looked older, not in physicality, but in the way he carried himself, and the things I couldn’t quite read behind his eyes.

“Clint—”

The sound of my real name in his low, concerned voice was a sudden shock. I swallowed hard. Whatever he wanted to say, I knew I wasn’t ready to hear it.

I stepped close to the balcony and knocked my shoulder against his as I leaned over to survey the view. “Pretty nice up here, isn’t it?”

Jazz nodded in agreement. He glanced out over the horizon, but his gaze was distracted, distant now. “You know we’re gonna have to talk about it.”

I said nothing and looked out over the horizon as well. I’d always been the leader of our little dynamic duo. Growing up, and then moving into our twenties, Jazz had always been content to follow. Generally, he didn’t like to rock the boat between us, and he really didn’t like to have any serious conversations without at least six beers to ease the way.

Three years ago, if I’d’ve blown past this conversation with a pointless comment about the view, Jazz would’ve sighed with relief at my implicit permission to not talk about it. He would’ve been more than grateful for the opportunity to fall into our old patterns like nothing had changed.

But now, he wasn’t so easily cowed. There was an edge of determination about him, and I wasn’t sure what to think of it. I didn’t dislike it, it was just… Different. A little more grown. New experiences, new insights, new wounds.

It was a little intimidating, but he was still Jazz. I’d have him figured out again in a few days. It wasn’t like he was a completely changed person—I’d just have to get used to the little differences.

“Let’s go down to the beach first,” I said, skirting around what he’d said.

Jazz raised an eyebrow. “Sure,” he said sardonically. “I packed some swim trunks in the bag I brought when I went into San Quentin.”

“I planned this,” I said. “You think I didn’t pack your shit?”

Something in Jazz’s expression softened, and it felt like more than a bathing suit warranted.

“So come on,” I said a little awkwardly. “Let’s go.”

Then, with a sudden disbelieving laugh and a shake of his head, Jazz acquiesced. “All right. Let’s go, then.”

In the hotel room, I handed over the small duffel I’d packed for Jazz. It was just enough for a night or two—a couple clean shirts, jeans, toiletries, and his