Brothersong (Green Creek #4) - T.J. Klune Page 0,78

as you are, then do it. I just… I like hearing your voice.”

He looked baffled. “You do?”

“It’s a good voice,” I said, and Kelly sounded like he was choking.

Gavin said, “I forgot. How I sound. Strange. It’s strange. Speaking. It’s hard. All jumbled.”

“It’ll get easier. I promise. I’ll help you.”

“Help me,” he whispered. He took a step toward me, and everything else melted away. He stood in front of me. He was shorter than me by a good few inches. I wondered what he saw when he looked at me, if he felt the same as I did. Confused. Terrified. Desperate. And I needed to make sure nothing could ever hurt him again. “You’ll help me.”

“Whatever it takes,” I promised.

He poked me in the chest. “Thump, thump, thump.”

I took his hand in mine and pressed it flat against my chest over my heart. He stiffened but didn’t pull away. “Whatever it takes,” I said again, and it was the truth.

He heard it.

His eyes widened, his fingers curling against me.

Then he said, “Home,” and I knew nothing would ever be the same.

HE LAY IN FRONT OF THE FIRE, shifted, his tail curled around him, his eyes closed.

“First thing,” Gordo said, sitting with his back against the wall. “We leave first thing.”

“He’s right,” I said. “Livingstone will know. He’ll come for us. To Green Creek.” Joe and Kelly were outside, the failing light coloring the sky in a bone-deep bruise.

“I know.”

“Can we stop him?”

“We don’t have any other choice.”

I nodded. “He’s… stuck in his shift. Like Gavin was.”

“I don’t think he expected it when we came to Caswell. I think he thought he was almost immortal.”

“Because of what he did to you. The raven.”

“Something like that.”

“It’s not fair.”

He snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

I looked at him. “Tell me.”

“About what?”

“Home. Tell me about home.”

He said, “It’s cold. There was snow on the ground when we left, though not much. Your mother put up some Christmas decorations. I asked her how she could focus on something so trivial. She told me that she knew you were coming back. I don’t know how she knew, she just… did. She said you’d want to see it when you came back. That it would be a homecoming for you and Gavin. Ox helped. You know how he gets at Christmas. Like a little kid. Robbie enables him. You should see the shop. It looks ridiculous, all these lights and baubles.”

“But you don’t stop them.”

“No.”

“Why?”

He said, “Because it makes them happy. And I would never want to stop that.”

“Still bitch about it, though.”

He laughed. “I have a reputation to maintain.” He sobered. “It’s going to be rough. I won’t lie to you about that. But we’ll do as we’ve always done.”

“We’ll fight.”

“Yeah, Carter. We’ll fight.”

The door opened.

Gavin’s ears twitched.

Kelly came in, followed by Joe.

They looked at me.

“What?”

Kelly held out his phone.

The screen was lit.

A timer counted across the bottom.

And there was a single word on display.

It said Mom.

My chest hitched. “Is that….”

And through the speakerphone, she said, “Hello, my son. My love. My everything. Hello. Hello. Hello.”

I put my face in my hands and cried.

THAT NIGHT I SLEPT between my brothers, their bodies warm, their heartbeats familiar. I breathed them in, this scent of packpackpack, and for the first time in a long time, my dreams were green.

I awoke only once, late in the night. I looked toward the window. Gavin sat in front of it, staring into the dark.

I pulled out of Kelly’s arms. He frowned in his sleep. I reached down and smoothed out the lines on his forehead, whispering that I was here, that he was okay. He sighed, curling toward Joe.

I went to the window and settled on my knees next to Gavin. I rested my arms on the windowsill. It was cold, ice crawling up along the pane of glass.

“Thank you.”

He looked over at me, eyes violet.

I didn’t look away.

“For keeping watch. Guarding. These past few weeks. I know you did while I was sleeping.”

He huffed out a breath, a low grumble in his throat.

“You don’t have to do that. You don’t have to hide from me.”

He looked back out the window. I leaned my chin on my arms, my beard scratching my skin.

He pressed his nose against my shoulder, a question without words.

I needed him to know. I needed him to understand. To hear me, to really hear me. And so I said, “This is ours. This pack. This life. This world. It’s ours, and no one can take that away from us.