Page 62 of Homecoming

Mock. Reese could decipher that sort of thing now. He thought the feeling that surged inside him when he recognized an emotion might have been pride.

“Holding pattern for now,” Ghost said, sweeping the whole room with a look. “Ears to the ground, everyone. Right now, I’m just glad the graffiti bullshit seems to have stopped.” He clapped his hands, once, and the informal meeting disbanded.

Reese’s gaze, as it tended to do lately, sought Tenny. It would be good to spar. The weather was still cool enough that an afternoon run was possible, and he felt full of coiled energy in need of an outlet, any outlet.

But Tenny’s gaze skittered away when Reese tried to pin it.

Reese stood, pulse giving a hard thump, intending to cross the room.

But Mercy stepped in front of him, blocking the way. Reese almost ducked around him, but checked the impulse – used to, he would never have done such a thing, not when he respected Mercy as much as he did.

He couldn’t keep his hands from closing into fists, though, nor tell his pulse to settle.

Mercy noticed. He tipped his head. “You alright?” They hadn’t spent as much time together since Tenny came along. Partly because Fox had kept him busy with training. But also because Reese had begun, in quiet moments, to seek Tenny’s company instead of Mercy’s.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m alright.”

The twist of Mercy’s lips proved he didn’t think so, but he didn’t comment. Only reached out to clap Reese on the shoulder. “Ava’s having a dinner thing tonight if you wanna come by. It’s pot luck, but there’s always plenty of food, so you don’t have to worry about bringing anything.”

The idea of “bringing anything” to a dinner was mind-boggling, though he knew that was the etiquette.

Without meaning to, he glanced toward Tenny again, now walking past them, headed for the kitchen.

Mercy, far more observant than some of his club brothers gave credit, missed little, and glanced that way, too. “Hm? Oh. I mean. I guess you could bring him. Ava’s not afraid of him or anything. Just, maybe tell him to not be as much of an asshole as usual, okay?” He squeezed Reese’s shoulder and stepped back. “Six-thirty for drinks, food at seven.”

Reese nodded, and went to follow Tenny. Behind him, he heard Ghost saying, “I’m not invited?”

“Younger generation only, boss, sorry.”

Fox said something unintelligible that had Mercy laughing, and Ghost going, “You know what…”

In the kitchen, Tenny stood in front of the open fridge, rooting through the soda cans on the top shelf, clucking disappointedly to himself – which was odd. If left alone, and not forced into performing, he wasn’t the sort of person who talked to himself. He would talk to Reese, sometimes, after a girl had left the dorm room, and the sweat was drying; Tenny would work on a cigarette and wonder aloud. Innocent questions. Random musings. That hadn’t happened that last night with Stephanie, and it hadn’t happened since.

Reese pulled up short behind him, missing their normal interactions a moment – and then realized with a lurch that, given things hadn’t been normal, but that Tenny undoubtedly recognized the soft sound of his footfalls, that this was an act. This humming and grumbling. Tenny was performing – for his benefit.

Or, rather, to hide from him.

He finally selected a soda and turned back around, letting the fridge door slap shut behind him. He met and held Reese’s gaze as he popped the tab and took the first sip. “What?” he asked, after, eyebrows moving into their Annoyed setting.

Reese took a breath, and strove – probably not with success – to put some inflection into his voice. He tried to make it sound like an invitation, instead of one of his usual flat statements. “Mercy invited me to dinner at his house. It’s a potluck.”

Tenny shrugged and took another long swig from his soda.

“He said I could bring you, if you wanted to come.”

His brows went from Annoyed, to Stunned, and then to Cranky. He swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Bring me? Like I’m yourdate?”

“He didn’t say ‘date.’ He just said you could come.”

“With you. What the hell is he implying?”

“Probably that we spend a lot of time together.” Reese heard the snap in his voice.

“Bollocks,” Tenny muttered. “Fuck that.” His gaze shifted to the door, and he started toward it.

Reese caught him by the arm, a tight grip on his bicep, one that pulled him up short, slopped soda out of the can, and had Tenny’s head whipping toward him.

Their faces were suddenly, surprisingly close; close enough to feel the heat of Tenny’s breath, to smell the sugar and lime on it.

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