39. Talon
thirty-nine
Talon
T he kitchen table felt tiny in front of me, my thighs rubbing against the top. Misely was sitting beside me though, her mere presence enough to calm my nerves. Despite our brief reconciliation in the driveway earlier that morning, I still felt a certain level of discomfort being in the presence of my little brother.
For the first time since we were children, he seemed almost carefree. The punk he’d been for as long as I could remember seemed to have vanished. In his place was a happy, love-sick man who smiled openly at the woman beside him. She was holding out a cinnamon roll to him, the icing oozing off the surface, waiting for him to take a bite. Whenever he came close to chomping down, she’d pull the pastry back and the two would share a conspiratorial laugh.
“I’ve been dying to ask,” Misely effortlessly broke the awkward atmosphere, chewing on a bite of her omelet. “How did we get past the swat team?”
“The what ?” Birdie half laughed.
“You’re in witness protection. I assumed that there would be like guards or something.” Misely’s eyes shuddered closed on a moan when she took a bite of her own cinnamon roll, sending a current of heat through my system. It took a concentrated effort not to pull her from the room and have my way with her, away from the prying eyes of her best friend and my brother.
Birdie waved a hand, oblivious to my inner turmoil, and sipped her orange juice. “They don’t hang around so often unless they think they need to. If they’d had any idea that we’d given you the green light to visit, they would’ve surrounded the property.”
“You didn’t tell them?” I asked, mostly out of curiosity. It was unusual, for me at least, that anyone could trust another person so much that they’d believe them without hesitation. Like Birdie had believed Misely when she’d said she’d needed her.
“I really didn’t think I needed to.” She gave me a pointed look and guilt burned in my throat.
Swallowing the bite in my throat, I cleared it. “I uh…I’m sorry that I manipulated Misely into betraying your trust.”
The woman blinked, her golden eyes widening for only a moment. “I appreciate that.” Her tone held nothing but sincerity, making my throat burn hotter. Misely's gaze was warm on the side of my face, just as her palm went to my thigh beneath the table and gave a gentle squeeze. I avoided looking at her, knowing if I did I wouldn't be able to concentrate on finishing what I hoped sounded like a genuine apology.
“I erm…” I thought for a moment, wondering how sentimental I could get before I simply evaporated into dust right where I sat. “I could only hope to have a friendship as authentic as the one the two of you share. It is clear that you mean a lot to one another.”
“Does that mean you're rescinding your statement from last night? Where you told me that I don’t deserve her?” I knew she was baiting me, but I fell for it anyway, my muscles drawing up tight.
“No, I stand by what I said. Anybody who could talk to her like that does not deserve her. But I’m willing to see past it on this singular occasion, as emotions were elevated.” I passed my own cinnamon roll over to Misely’s plate, vibrating with pleasure when she let out an excited little squeal.
The corners of Birdie’s lips twitched, but she did not give in to the grin. She gave me a curt nod, tilting her glass of OJ my way in a faux ‘cheers.’ “Fair enough.”
Two hours later, Milo led me into what seemed to be a rather lucrative pub about thirty minutes from their house. It sat right on the edge of what appeared to be a small town. The neon sign on the outside glowed a bright red, blinking the name ‘ Nina’s ’ boldly.
Nearly every table held patrons, enjoying what smelled like an amazing lunch. I didn’t miss the fact that much like the bar Milo had managed back home, this one also included a bowling alley. There were only four lanes and it was in far better condition than Top Shelf, but nonetheless, I wondered if he’d chosen this place because it reminded him of home.
A bartender with a thick blonde beard sent Milo a nod while pouring someone a beer, and my brother grinned back at him.
“Hey Connie, how’s things going today?” Milo popped open the counter and motioned for me to follow him back.
The man, Connie, offered what could only be presumed to be a smile—it happened so quickly I thought maybe I’d imagined it. “Busy as usual. Chef made the blue cheese sliders and they’re always a hit.”
I repressed the urge to scrunch my face into a grimace. If I hated one food above all else—it was blue cheese. Who in their right mind would voluntarily eat mold ?
Milo, who happened to love it, grinned broadly and shot me a satisfied—and definitely taunting—look. I guess it didn’t matter how old they got, little brothers would terrorize their siblings forever.
“Excellent, excellent,” he said to Connie before slapping a hand on my shoulder. “This here is my older brother, Talon. He’s kind of an asshole. Feel free to address him as such.”
I shook his touch off. Dick.
Connie looked between us, but nothing could be read from his stoic expression. “Sounds good.”
Milo chuckled. “And this is Connie, my lead bartender slash manager when I’m not around.”
“So, you manage this place too?” I asked, catching the slight narrowing of Connie’s eyes at my question.
Milo shrugged. “Something like that. Come on.” He began walking toward the dual flap doors that led to the kitchen and back rooms. “I’ll be out in a few, Con.”
We walked through the impeccably cleaned kitchen—nothing like what would be expected in the back of a bar—to what appeared to be an office. Flicking on a lamp, Milo took a seat behind a large ancient desk and threw his feet up on its worn surface, crossing his ankles, and leaning back with a satisfied grin. Comprehension washed over me as I took in the scene—and the name sign that sat beside my brother’s boots.
Miles Wilson
Owner
Miles was the alias he had taken when he’d entered witness protection. He owned this place. An overwhelming dizziness forced me to sit down in one of the chairs parallel from him. A home, a wife, a business. Milo had it all here. And I was really here to upend all of it.
“This is all yours?” I asked, gesturing aimlessly around me.
His nod was curt, and the grin settled into a content curve. “Every square foot. It was pretty rundown when I bought it, but I hired a team to start the renovations before I moved out here to finish it myself.”
“You had this planned before you even left Wisconsin?”
His expression turned serious. “I bought it years ago, Talon. I had this planned before I ever even met Birdie. I was always going to leave.”
A new hurt pierced my chest but I schooled my features. “I guess I assumed she had been the catalyst.”
It was easier to blame someone else than to think that my brother would choose to leave his family behind of his own volition. To leave me behind. He seemed to recognize my statement for what it was.
“No. If anything, Birdie kept me in Wisconsin longer. I didn’t want to do it anymore. Be Kyle’s lackey, at the beck and call of him and Bri. Of you.”
My hands balled into fists on my thighs in a sad attempt to hold back the angry betrayal I felt. I didn’t have the right to feel it. He was right. “I just thought…well, I guess I didn’t realize how planned out this had been.”
“The only thing I hadn’t planned on doing was turning Kyle in. That came after Birdie. When she reminded me that one way or another Kyle was always going to keep fucking up my life if I didn’t do something about it. I had a choice to make. Reclaim my life, turn him in, and have the love of my life with me. Or run away, become a fugitive, and leave her and any chance we had at happiness behind. You know the choice I made.”
I could see in his eyes the message he was sending. That I had a choice to make too. “It doesn’t feel like a choice to me, brother.”
"Why not?" His feet dropped to the floor with a heavy thud as he leaned forward, meeting my gaze directly. “I said the same thing to Birdie, you know? But I was wrong. We always have a choice.”
“Yeah, but there’s a kid involved now.”
His expression only grew more serious. “Exactly. There is a kid involved. So man up, take care of your responsibilities, and protect him. And let me clue you in, big brother—giving Kyle what he wants will not be protecting Leo. It’ll only give him incentive to continue weaponizing him. You and I both know he won’t stop at some light stalking.”
Milo held my stare, clearly trying to drive his point home. “The only way you can ensure that your son doesn’t become Kyle’s next victim is to stop Kyle. Period. So, you do have a choice.” Holding his palms up, he raised one. “Keep playing into his hands like you’ve done for years. Let him continue to use you, let him ruin every great thing I have built for myself here, every great thing you might ever build, and let him threaten your son and his family.” Then he raised the opposite palm. “Or…” He sat back again, weaving his fingers together on his chest. “Help me help you. Help all of us. Kyle will go away for good. And you’ll have your own chance at building a real life for yourself.”