Page 2 of Through the Flames
Colt’s bulky figure lumbered up the stairs, each step a deep, thundering thud. He came to a stop next to me, and I could feel his gaze boring into me.
When I didn’t react or move out of his way, he went around me with a deep sigh.
Shouldering a box, he turned toward the stairs again.
“You gonna talk to anyone now that I’m gone?” he asked with his back turned to me.
“I’ll talk to you.”
“Yeah, but I won’t be down the hall anymore. Your little robot heart’s gonna glitch,” Colt teased.
“I’ll reboot,” I muttered, without looking up.
He started for the stairs again. “Sometimes I wish other people knew how funny you actually are.”
“Nah. Combined with my natural charm and sparkling personality, that would just be overkill. Gotta leave some for the rest of them,” I deadpanned.
Colt snorted, stomping down the stairs to load the box into his truck.
Since I wasn’t a total dick — at least not with people I actually cared about — I grabbed a box myself and followed him.
The blinding sunlight was accompanied by what felt like a wall of hot, humid air that hit me as soon as I set foot outside. Colt was standing in the bed of his truck, organizing the boxes.
“Here.” I set mine down on the open tailgate.
“Thanks, man. Slide it over here, would ya?”
The cardboard hit his foot as I gave it a little too much juice, and he peered down at the label on the box.
I’d just turned back around to escape the heat when he called out.
“Hey, hold on.”
Coming to a stop, I twisted his way again. “What?”
Colt was holding a small object in his hands. “Think fast.”
He launched it my way, and my hands shot up on pure instinct, closing around the object. It kind of felt like rubber. When I cast a look down, my chest tightened.
It was the mini football that we’d had since second grade and always fought over. We spent endless hours tossing it around and squabbling over who would get to take it home.
Its worn, rubbery surface was testament to how many hours we’d spent entertaining ourselves with it.
Eventually, our hands got big enough for an actual football, replacing this one. I hadn’t seen it in years, and I sure as hell didn’t expect Colt to have held on to it.
My eyes snapped up to meet his as I slowly turned the ball in my hands.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Figured you should have this. You were always more attached to it anyway.”
I snorted. We both knew I wasn’t attached to anything these days, really. But somehow, my throat still felt tight. Too tight, in fact, to force any words out.
With a nod, I turned around, heading back toward the house.
I didn’t say thank you. I didn’t need to. We both knew what it meant, whatwemeant to each other. Colt would always be my brother.
That night, hours after Colt and all his belongings had left, I stepped into his empty room.
The air was cold and stagnant, and it felt strange to be in there without him. We’d bought this place together.
