Chapter Five Brothers in Arms
Chapter five
Brothers in Arms
Reece swung a leg over the Triumph Bonneville, the seat already hot enough to burn through his jeans.
His battered leather jacket clung to his sweat-slicked skin, useless against the sun pouring in through every crack and seam, and he sat for a moment, helmet loose in his grip, the air heavy with salt and sweat, the bitter tang of petrol making him contemplate the road ahead.
What he really wanted was the rush. The wind tearing at his face without the helmet. The cold sharp enough to scrape everything clean. But he’d seen how that ended. Too many callouts to roads painted with blood and arrogance. He wasn’t invincible. Not anymore.
With a bitter curse under his breath, he shoved the helmet on, snapping the strap tight and, with a sharp kick, the Bonneville roared to life beneath him, engine snarling loud and angry. The way he liked it.
Today, the road would do what nothing else could. Drown it all out .
Last night rattled around in his head like a tin can kicked down the street.
And this time, it was all his fault. Because he couldn’t say no.
He had to get away. Get the air in his lungs.
Burn up the road to ease the ache in his chest. So, leaving behind the small, crooked end-of-terrace cottage he’d lived in since his Nana raised him, he headed towards the coast road.
The one tracing the jagged cliffs, where the sea raged beneath and the barriers were more suggestion than protection. The long way. The dangerous way.
Adrenaline junkie?
Yeah, at least he could admit he was.
An hour later, he rolled onto the battered tarmac of Rosebay Haven , the coastal care home crouched behind salt-scorched hedges and peeling white fences.
Swinging off the Bonneville, he peeled off one glove and thumbed the worn crease of his leather sleeve, pushing it far enough to catch a glimpse of her.
His Nana. Etched in fine black and grey, eyes crinkled in that exact way he remembered, smile soft beneath the perfectly knotted headscarf.
His first tattoo. The one that meant everything.
Over the years, he’d built around her. Twigs and twine, a roaring lion, flames curling like breath from his skin. Chaos and strength inked in every direction. But she stayed at the centre. Always her. Holding the mess together.
He left the bike and made his way inside where the hush of the home wrapped around him.
Carers and residents offered him familiar nods and warm smiles.
Here, the leathers didn’t matter. The helmet tucked under his arm didn’t draw a second glance.
No one cared about the ink winding up his arms or the reputation following him through the town.
Here, he was a grandson. The one who came back, again and again. And that was all anyone needed to see.
He found Nana by the window, as always, her tiny frame swallowed by a faded floral chair, resting her delicate hands loosely in her lap, gazing somewhere far beyond the garden to the sea.
“Morning, Nana.” He pecked a kiss to her cheek.
She didn’t move. Nor acknowledge his kiss or presence.
Not because she was cruel. Because she was trapped.
So he dropped his helmet to the floor, shrugged out of his jacket to his T-shirt, and settled into the chair beside her to pick up the worn paperback from the side table.
Wuthering Heights. With its spine cracked and pages yellowed.
She used to say the storms in it reminded her of his grandfather, a man Reece had only heard about in whispered stories and old photos.
“Thought we’d see what Heathcliff’s up to today, yeah?” His voice stayed low as he read, even though she didn’t respond. Sometimes she smiled. Today, she breathed. And that was enough.
He read for nearly an hour until his voice splintered over the words scraping too close to home.
“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same…”
A harsh laugh caught in his throat, and he dropped the book into his lap, curling his fingers around the cracked spine.
“What is it about him, Nana?” He checked her for any response, though he knew there wouldn’t be any.
It’s why he felt brave enough to say it all out loud.
“Why can’t I let this one go like all the others?
Is that what it was like for you and Gramps, eh?
You just couldn’t let go? That how you know it’s something? ”
She blinked, lost in a world that didn’t have answers for him anymore.
Reece sighed, and he was about to keep reading when the door creaked behind him. He didn’t need to turn. That expensive aftershave always arrived before the man did. Clean, sharp, and suffocating .
“Figured that deathtrap out front had to be yours.”
Reece rolled his eyes, not even bothering to glance up for Ethan’s arrival.
He knew every line of the man’s face as if it was his own.
Because it almost was. Except, looking at Ethan wasn’t like looking in a mirror anymore.
Not for a long time. Not since Ethan had been given chances and made the best of them.
Ethan was all polish and perfection. Clean-shaven.
Hair slicked back with precision. Not a crease in his designer suit.
A contrast to Reece’s rough leather and torched persona.
“Surprised they let you in here with all that leather and grease.” Ethan raked his eyes over Reece as if he’d crawled in off the street.
“Surprised they let you in here with all that smarm.”
If Nana were still the woman she used to be—fierce and loyal, no-nonsense with a sharp tongue and a quicker backhand—she’d have rapped Reece across the knuckles for that.
Told him to show respect. That Ethan had saved the family.
It wouldn’t have mattered that Reece ran headfirst into burning buildings, dragging people out of the jaws of death.
No. That didn’t stack up against a law degree and a fat salary defending the worst of humanity .
Ethan had clawed his way out of the gutter and scrubbed the dirt clean off his name, polishing it until it shone under courtroom lights and in society columns.
He was the Morgan success story. The abandoned twin who’d made it despite the odds.
And somehow, that seemed to count for more.
More to the world. Maybe even more to their Nana, though God knew she’d never said it out loud.
But it was Ethan’s money paying for this place.
The soft sheets, the sea views, the round-the-clock care.
His glossy, guilt-soaked donations bought the peace their Nana slept in now, while all Reece could offer her was his time…
and a voice reading old love stories to a woman who barely remembered his name.
Ethan crossed the room with that effortless, self-contained grace he’d perfected years ago, hands buried deep in the pockets of his tailored coat as if he didn’t want to risk touching the faded furniture or breathing in the scent of decline.
“How’s she doing?” He waved a hand in front of their Nana’s vacant gaze, testing whether she was still in there somewhere.
Reece grabbed Ethan’s wrist. Squeezed it hard.
He didn’t need words. The glare in his eyes would say more than enough.
And, for a heartbeat, the air between them hummed with unspoken history and sharp-edged resentment, two identical faces carved from the same bone, locked in a silent, immovable standoff.
Then, with a disgusted flick of his hand, Reece shoved Ethan’s arm away.
“She’s doing exactly as well as she was the last time you showed your face.
” Reece turned back to his Nana, oblivious and vacant.
“Remind me, when was that? Oh, right, when you needed to sign off an invoice. Let me guess… here today to make sure the paperwork’s lined up for your next round of tax deductions? ”
Ethan gave a tight, humourless smile as he moved to the chair opposite, settling into it as if he owned the place.
“Because sitting here reading fairy tales makes more of a difference than me paying for the round-the-clock professional care that’s actually keeping her alive, is it?
” He leant back, crossing one leg over the other and tossing a pointed look across the room.
“Why not take her home if it’s all about love, Reece?
Oh, wait…” He held up a hand, the mocking smile sharpening.
“That’s right. You can’t , can you? You’ve got the house.
Sure, you hung onto that like a dog with a bone.
But God forbid you actually have her in it. ”
“I have to work , Ethan. Twelve-hour shifts. Day and night. Saving people who actually need me.”
“Wow. A whole twelve hours,” Ethan drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do you want to know how many hours I billed last week?”
Reece didn’t even look at him.
“Eighty.” The number landed like a smug punch.
“Eighty hours spent what? Getting some drug pusher off on a technicality?”
Ethan’s smile didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something beneath it. Exasperation. Regret, maybe. Reece certainly hoped so.
Because that was what Reece couldn’t stand. For all their differences, for all the years spent fighting as if their very existence depended on it, they both knew exactly what it felt like to be helpless. And neither of them had ever really figured out how to forgive themselves for surviving it.
“You really think this makes a difference?” Ethan’s voice cut through the silence and he nodded towards Nana, slumped motionless in her chair, eyes fogged over, and lost to memories she couldn’t quite reach. “She doesn’t know you’re here, Reece. She doesn’t know either of us anymore. ”
Reece’s jaw locked tight, his chest squeezing under the weight of words he couldn’t swallow. “That’s not the fucking point.”