Chapter Six #2
Now, he saw that he was sugarcoating his feelings, so he had a place to be.
It hadn’t been a good homecoming.
“Sorry about confiscating your cabin,” Ethan said. “I didn’t want to come here. The Shaman is a lot to deal with. We cleaned up and put it back together again,” he said, knowing his brother had seen exactly what went on there.
From another chair, Timothy sighed.
“And he’s in the room. Maybe bitch about me in the treehouse where I can’t hear you,” he suggested. “Since I’m getting older and my hearing isn’t what it once was.”
Ethan opened his mouth, but Gene elbowed him, knowing what he was going to say.
Nothing good was coming out of his man’s mouth at that point, and someone had to wrangle that temper. He might get prickly with him for doing it, but he’d not hold that grudge long.
He hoped.
The action made Callen laugh.
“Someone tamed the savage Ethan. Go figure. I never saw that coming.”
To prove he wasn’t all that tame, Ethan scratched his eye.
With his middle finger.
Well, that was the most brotherly way to be flipped off, and only three minutes into the meeting.
Yeah, Ethan hadn’t changed all that much, minus his grudge and temper. So far, neither were pointed at him.
Then again, he wished they were so Ethan would stop coming here to this hellscape.
“Boys, not in front of company,” Timothy warned. “We’re eating in a few minutes. I hope you’re hungry.”
Gene played mediator.
“Yes, we are, Mr. Blackhawk.”
Timothy sipped his non-alcoholic drink. He didn’t often imbue in booze—not with the alcoholism gene in their family. None of the Blackhawk men were good around the hard stuff.
Ever.
He corrected Gene.
“Please. It’s Timothy, or as my sons non-affectionately call me, The Shaman.”
Ethan rolled his eyes.
And Timothy didn’t miss it.
Oh, someone was ever-so spicy tonight. Apparently, the tides had changed, and the melancholy was not making an appearance this evening.
“So, Gene, how did you hurt yourself?” Timothy asked, making small talk even though he was well aware of what had gone down.
The smoke revealed all.
Gene sipped his beer.
“It was a parting gift from a serial killer. I made a stupid mistake by letting down my guard. I wanted to live, and he wanted me to die by a metal pipe thingy that didn’t feel really good on the bones.”
Timothy wanted to help.
“I have some herbs…,” he began, pretending they hadn’t already had a moment earlier today with some acetaminophen.
Without an iota of hesitation, Ethan pointed the beer bottle at his grandfather the second those words were out of his mouth.
Yeah, hell, no.
That wasn’t going down.
“Absolutely not. Most of the herbs you have are going to show up in a piss test, and he’s already on desk duty. Gabe is an asshole. He’ll drug test him for shits and giggles once he finds out he was on this reservation with my family.”
Gene laughed.
Eh, it wasn’t like he was wrong.
Not entirely.
“Thanks, Mom. Here, I forgot how to say no to drugs after all those campaigns in school. I’ll go find a frying pan and an egg to wrap the campaign up.”
As soon as he said it, Callen snorted, and he couldn’t help himself. It appeared Ethan had found someone who could handle his snark and temper.
Who saw that coming?
When Ethan looked at him, giving him a look, Callen shrugged.
“What? He’s funnier than you, and I got the reference. Deal with it.”
Instead of getting spicy, Ethan just winked at his man and put his hand on his thigh to connect them.
Gene relaxed.
Apparently, his man was calm.
“I’m a regular comedian,” Gene teased.
Yeah, he was, but that being said, Ethan warned his partner. Oh, he wished he was kidding, but he wasn’t.
“If the suspicious Native wearing Shaman robes offers you leafy shit from a pouch, you have to say no. Don’t believe the spearmint label. It’s most definitely not.”
Gene was amused.
“You sound like you know that for a fact.”
Oh, one of them knew better than the other.
Callen raised his hand.
“That would be me. He was smarter growing up. He told me that granddad mislabeled shit so we wouldn’t steal his peyote to get high. Don’t smoke spearmint. It’s useless.”
Gene didn’t say anything, but he was absolutely curious about the family dynamics here.
Ethan was very much like his brother—whether he wanted to believe it or not.
They had the same sense of humor.
They had the same love for each other.
Oh, and they had the same good looks.
Callen was an incredibly handsome Native man.
“Good to know,” Gene admitted.
The whole time they were talking, Timothy was watching his grandson.
“So, EJ, what brings you back?” he asked, already knowing the answer. “Did you and Gene need a little getaway?”
Yeah…
Ethan wasn’t going there for two reasons.
The first was it was none of his business, and if he wanted to have a mental breakdown, he was entitled to do so privately. The second was because he knew this man. There was no way he didn’t already know the answer to that.
The Shaman had to Shaman.
“No comment,” Ethan said. “It was for private reasons,” he began. “And we both know you already took a peek into my private life to find out on your own.”
Gene stayed quiet.
He hoped the Shaman didn’t dig a hole. Ethan was not one you lied to since he could read a room.
Instead of getting annoyed at the sharp tone, Timothy didn’t even flinch.
“It was small talk, Ethan. That’s all. Put the irritation away. It’s not needed here tonight.”
Blackhawk said nothing.
So, Timothy continued.
“I’m sorry that you didn’t get to see your father while you were here,” he offered. “He’s hunting.”
At his words, the man did one thing.
Ethan laughed.
And laughed.
And laughed.
In fact, Callen also joined in, like they were on some private wavelength, and shared a joke.
Gene just shrugged when Timothy looked at him.
“Brothers,” he said. “They have their own language,” he offered, knowing exactly why his mate was laughing.
First, it wasn’t a good kind of ha-ha-ha.
Second, he knew plenty about Wyler, and why Ethan would rather eat a bucket full of eyeballs than interact with the man who abandoned him and his dying mother.
It was for the best that Wyler didn’t make an appearance. Then, it would be almost impossible to keep Ethan from going off the rails.
“Oh, no. I won’t get to see Wyler. Well, shit. I guess this ruins my whole childhood-trauma pub crawl,” he said, holding up his beer.
Yowza.
That said it all.
Because Gene was good at picking up when something was going south, he tried to soothe his man by giving his leg a reassuring stroke.
What Gene did know was Ethan was feeling off. His energy was sliding, and not to a good place. He could feel that chill coming back, even more, and it wasn’t pointed at Callen.
No.
It was all for the Shaman.
Apparently, he was Public Enemy One at that moment.
Immediately, Gene began praying for an intervention so that this didn’t become a spectacle. He wondered if he tossed Ethan over his shoulder and carried him out of there if he’d be pissed.
Because he would if it got ugly.
Only, if there was a god, they’d get a way to escape. Maybe there would be a shaman-related incident on the rez that needed the older man’s help.
ASAP.
Because he knew that he’d bear the brunt of his grandson’s angst, Timothy just sighed. He’d caused this mess years ago, and he certainly had it coming.
Still…
In his mind, there was no point in beating this particular dead horse, now was there? It was clear the boys were on the same side on that one.
Because he knew that his actions all of those years ago hurt Ethan, he let him take his shots.
For now.
“It smells really good in here,” Gene offered, trying to redirect the conversation before it became a standoff at the ‘Definitely-Not-Okay Corral’.
Ethan was getting twitchy.
This was something that Ethan could agree on. It did smell good in there.
“What are we having for dinner?” Ethan asked. “Oh, and after, we’re heading to a hotel. You can go home, Callen. I’ve vacated. You don’t have to hide out here.”
Timothy didn’t argue with trying to get the man to stay. It appeared that Gene Cantrell was a force to be reckoned with in Ethan’s life. It was rare for anyone to be able to calm this savage beast.
Gratefully, Gene was taking his advice and getting his grandson out of here.
For now.
Timothy ignored the last part and answered the more important question.
“We are having an elk roast with potatoes and carrots. It’s one of your favorites,” he offered. “I thought it would be a good meal we could share. I killed the elk myself a few months ago when Callen and I went hunting.”
Surprisingly, Ethan didn’t argue.
That was pleasant.
For a change.
“Sounds good,” he offered, annoyed by that once more. Ethan couldn’t recall when the old man ever went hunting with him. Oh, he’d send him and Callen out together, or he’d try to get Wyler to take him, but he rarely took him.
Ethan just assumed he never wanted to, and this seemed to solidify this for him.
The ugly truth once more reared its head.
Callen was his son.
Ethan was the outsider.
“I bet that was fun,” Ethan offered. “Did you have a good time?” he asked his brother.
Oh, Jesus.
Callen knew this was a loaded comment. He did have a good time, but he knew that Ethan didn’t ask things like that for funsies.
Or to just know.
They were almost always pointed.
And that tip was poisoned.
“It was fun getting food for our freezers. It beats starving. How’s the local grocery stores where you live?” he asked, making a point.
And Ethan got it.
“Good, I guess. Gene does the shopping. We hunt for different things.”
That they did.
“I’m glad you came back, even if it was only for a day,” Timothy said. “I’m sorry, it was work-stress related,” he offered.
And the second he said it, Ethan focused on him, and his blue-black eyes filled with irritation.
Well, this was about to go bad.
“Again, that’s off the table for conversation, Timothy. I’m not discussing that with you. Stay out of my personal issues.”