His Brother's Keeper

Like with Robert. She was sure that’s what he was thinking, with the anniversary of Robert’s funeral a day away. Robert and Alex were alike, now that she thought about it—both angry, both artistic, both small. Robert’s nickname had been Chapo—shortie in Spanish.

Gabe’s gaze returned to her. “His mother’s useless. His current stepfather beats him. Thanks to STRIKE, he holds his own with his big brother, but now the asshole wants Alex to help him steal cars.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Not unusual around here. So use his crush, throw in some nuances, and maybe you can help him stay straight.”

“I’ll do that.” She paused. “You care about him.”

“I care about all my guys.”

“I get that, Gabe. I do.” She caught his gaze and held it. “And I care about my students—not just their test scores.”

“Point taken.” A connection snapped into place between them—crisp as two pieces of a puzzle. They understood each other better.

“I need to get back to the job. Reheat the gyros in the oven, not the microwave. The pita absorbs more juices that way. Enjoy.”

“I will. Thank you. I’m glad we could work this out.”

“Me, too,” he said. Then he was gone.

She’d gotten what she was after—rent money for her program—even though she had to sacrifice some space. But like every encounter with Gabe, there was more to it than getting the cash. Kicking STRIKE out would have felt wrong. Because of their past? Because his fighters loved STRIKE and he loved them? It didn’t matter. Not really. For better or worse, STRIKE was in. She would just have to make the best of it.

CHAPTER FOUR

EARLY©THE©NEXT©EVENING, Gabe parked in the lot behind Giorgio’s Grotto for the family dinner before the cemetery visit. He wasn’t sure these events were good for his mother. They always made her melancholy. She’d been clean for five years, but Gabe stayed vigilant against a relapse.

Tonight should be more lighthearted, since she and Giorgio were fresh from their honeymoon. Thank God for Giorgio, who’d coaxed her into his life with his good cheer and great food.

Gabe paused to kiss his fingertips, then touched the tattoo of Robert on his arm. “Always in my heart, hermano,” he whispered. “Siempre.”

Inside the restaurant, he breathed in the great smells—garlic, lemon, mint and seasoned lamb. The place won Best Greek Food in every review there was, and it was as homey and welcoming as Giorgio himself. The walls were painted bright blue and sparkling white, the lights glowing golden.

“How is my new stepson?” Giorgio stepped out of the kitchen to give Gabe a hug. The man walked in a bubble of optimism, despite the fact he’d lost his first wife to cancer five years ago. “Myself, I’m a happily married man.”

“I’m good. How’s Mom?”

“As well as you’d expect today. I respect the sadness of your family, so no jokes tonight.” He made his mouth a straight line.

“Please…we need to laugh tonight most of all.”

Giorgio led him toward the private dining room, then put a hand on his arm. “I have to warn you. The girls styled Mary’s hair. It’s very…modern.”

“Okay,” he said. When he saw his mother, he was glad he’d gotten a heads-up. Her hair had stripes of purple, orange and black and had been smoothed in waves against her head. “Wow” was all he could manage to say.

“Didn’t the girls do…great?” his mother said uncertainly.

“It’s…stylish.” It looked like a Halloween fright wig. For God’s sake, did his sisters have no sense?

“She said we could practice what we needed to practice, okay?” Trina said defensively. “It’s temporary color, so pick up your jaw.” Trina’s hair was in cornrows so tight they had to hurt.

“I didn’t say a word.”

“But the waves are perfect, right?” Shanna said. “I did those.” Her own hair was a cloud of kink reaching to her shoulders. He hoped to hell they were getting good grades. They were certainly practicing enough.

“We need to work on you, Gabe,” Trina said. “Hardly any guys come into the beauty school for cuts and we need men for our portfolio.”

“I’m cool, thank you.”

“Come on. One haircut? You’ve got great thick hair. And so shaggy. You’re making me salivate.”

“Please, no drool at the table.”

“If you get to cut, then I get to color,” Shanna said. “You would totally rock blond highlights, Gabe.”

“I like my hair like I like my coffee—straight and black.”

“You’d look hot.”

“I don’t need to look hot.”

“Yes, you do,” Shanna said. “You need to start dating. It’s been a year.”

“I’m fine.” He had dated, though his sisters didn’t know. Right after the breakup with Adelia he’d hooked up with women who wanted no more than one-night stands. Before long, the sex had begun to seem pointless. He’d gone without for a while now.

“Wait! That reminds me,” Trina said. “Adelia! I saw her at the DMV. She misses you, asked me all about you. She’s doing a mural on 20th Street and Indian School. You should stop by and see her.”

“I might.” Though the breakup had nearly killed him, they were on friendly terms now. He’d thought she was the one, his soul mate. They had the same background, the same world view, wanted the same things in life.

“And she told me that guy was a total mistake.”

She’d begun to make a name for herself as a Latina artist and muralist when she cheated on Gabe with a guy who’d bought one of her pieces.

“Could we drop this, please?” Adelia had claimed she’d strayed because Gabe was too closed off to truly be hers. Bullshit, he’d thought…at first.

Over time, he’d realized she might have a point. He’d given all he had, but maybe that wasn’t enough. Maybe it would never be enough. Maybe he didn’t deserve a soul mate. His head hurt thinking about it, so he’d stopped.

“Pretty please,” Shanna whined, returning to the subject of his hair.

“Still no.” He adored his sisters. He’d taken care of them during the years his mother was out of it. They’d been cooperative and uncomplaining right up until puberty, when they’d been hell on wheels for a while—belligerent, rebellious, secretive.

They’d hated high school, but hung in to graduate. They loved beauty school and wanted to open their own shop one day. He’d love to have enough cash to set them up.

“We’ll do any favor you ask,” Trina said. “Washing? Ironing?”

“I like to iron.” Turning a crumpled wad of fabric into a crisply smooth shirt was stupidly satisfying to him.

“You’re so domestic,” Shanna said. “You cook, you iron, you keep your house pretty clean. You’ll make some girl a great wife.”