Page 39 of If You Go
The foyer opens into the long room off the courtyard, where everyone has gathered. Morning light pours in, pale and cold; it makes the dust in the air look like falling stars. Joshua and Richie lean over the big table; Hazel perches on the edge, fingers twisting the stem of an empty glass. Bridget hovers nearthe doorway to the kitchens, dish towel over her shoulder, eyes assessing all of us like she can will us full and safe.
Corver’s there, too, jaw set, phone face-down in front of him for once. Gunnar stands at his shoulder—quiet, coiled, listening.
Brenden guides me to a chair with a hand at my back—possessive, yes, but not performative. Mine, his touch says. Safe, it says louder.
Joshua doesn’t waste time. “He’s moving,” he says, and those two words are enough to make my stomach drop. “Kelly made plays with the Bratva overnight. Not whispers. He’s flashing teeth. Money moved. Muscle moved. They want a war. Arnie alerted us early this morning, and Corver confirmed it all.”
Richie blows out a breath. “Of course they do.”
“Sam and your dad are already mobilizing,” Joshua goes on, looking at me like I might break and he’ll catch me if I do. “Irish are prepping for counter-hits. They’re not waiting.”
It takes me a second to find my voice. “They’re what?” The room blurs. “Sam got out. He—he left this. I dragged him back. I dragged them all back.” I cover my eyes as the tears come.
Hazel is beside me before I can spiral further, her hand warm over my knuckles. “No, honey. You didn’t drag anyone. We walked.”
“Ran,” Richie adds. “Toward you. On purpose.”
Brenden’s voice is low. “We do not blame the match for the gasoline someone else poured.”
I look at him. He looks back like he means it.
Alisha comes over and grabs my hand, dragging my eyes away from Brenden, and locking with hers. “He was prepared for this, Surry. He knew it would happen the second he heard about the car. He isn’t going in blind. Trust him.” I nod, unable to find any words.
Corver clears his throat. “There’s something else.” He taps the phone without turning it over. “We found a thread. Natashapinged a network that Gunnar and I can chase. It’s dirty and buried, but it’s there.”
June straightens, all of her regular teasing gone. “You can find her?”
“We can try,” Gunnar says, finally speaking. His voice is calm, which is scarier than if he shouted. “But it means leaving. Now.”
My chest squeezes. Natasha. She’s a wound and a map at once. “You think she’ll lead you to Gavin?”
“Or to the money that keeps him moving,” Corver says. “Same result.”
Bridget slides a mug in front of me like she listened for the exact moment my hands started to shake. “Tea,” she says simply. “Proper.”
I wrap my fingers around the heat and nod. “Go,” I hear myself say, before I have time to think it into a mistake. “If you can find her, if you can cut one of his legs out from under him—go.”
Gunnar looks to Brenden. “You good?”
Brenden’s jaw flickers, but he nods. “Find her. You taking Arnie with you?”
Gunnar and Corver nod at the same time, their movements miming one another.
Hazel turns to Corver, worry making her look younger than she is. “You’ll check in?” She leans in and hugs him, saying something only to him.
“Every six hours,” he promises. “Twelve if we’re dark.”
Josh rubs a hand over his face. “Route?”
“Back roads south, then east,” Gunnar replies. “We’ll look like contractors, not hitters. We’ll leave half our comms here and run burn phones for anything we don’t want traced.”
Richie whistles. “Sexy.”
“Not the word I’d use,” June mutters, but she’s smirking again, and the room exhales around her. But it’s noticeable when she scoots slightly closer to Josh. They are like magnets, always drawn to one another.
Corver stands and pockets his phone, shoulders already shifting into go-mode. “We load in ten.”
Gunnar squeezes Joshua’s shoulder in passing. It’s a small touch. It carries weight. Then they’re gone—footsteps quick down the hallway, a door opening to the bright morning, the distant grind of tires over gravel.
