“You’ll always be a kid to me.”
Of course he would. Z took the big brother schtick seriously.
“Long time no talk.”
“How’s it?” Z asked. “You keepin’ yourself busy or what?”
“Mostly. You? How’s married life?”
“Fucking epic.”
That made Reese smile. He’d always admired his brother’s ability to go after what he wanted. And Z hadn’t let anything stand in his way when it came to him wanting RT.
“Have you heard from Jensen?” Z inquired, referring to their baby sister.
“She called last week. Said she was keepin’ busy.”
“All that schoolin’s not good for the soul.”
No, it probably wasn’t. Then again, Reese knew their sister was all about working her way to the top of the food chain. Why she’d decided to go into psychology, he would never know.
“Anyway, I was just checkin’ in,” Reese told Z. “Thought I’d catch you stateside.”
“Good call. We’re up in Boston right now. Long-term assignment. Won’t be back for another month.”
“Well, when you do get back, maybe we can meet up. I’ll head to Dallas, spend a few days.”
“Sounds like a plan. You keep your nose clean, kid.”
Reese grinned. “Yeah. You, too.”
The call disconnected as Reese was pulling into the range’s parking lot. There were half a dozen or so vehicles parked on the dilapidated asphalt, including one he recognized from earlier that morning at the diner. The big black Chevy had a United States Navy sticker on the back window and a chrome toolbox in the bed, which made it stand out.
He grabbed his bag from the back seat and found himself smiling, though he wasn’t exactly sure why. Maybe because he looked forward to chatting it up with Brantley Walker? Only, he couldn’t figure out why that would make him happy. Sure, the guy was a SEAL and he probably had quite a few stories he could offer up. Those that weren’t classified, that was. But since Reese was Air Force, he had his own. They could likely fill a few hours swapping war stories, if the guy was up to it.
The thing was, ever since he’d been introduced to the man at the impromptu trip for pancakes, Reese had found Brantley strangely taking up a lot of his brain space. Then came an unexpected dinner with the Walkers, an encounter over a meal at a shared table, and a right place, right time coffee with JJ giving Brantley shit. And perhaps that was the reason he’d been hoping to run into him again. Bottom line was: he liked the guy.
From a friendly perspective, of course.
When he stepped inside, the sales floor was empty except for one customer and one clerk, both of whom were chatting it up over a Ruger sitting on the glass case that held numerous others. Beyond them, at the counter to register for the range, there were two clerks and four customers. When Reese stepped up, all eyes shifted to him, which wasn’t unusual. Being that he towered over most men, he tended to draw attention everywhere he went.
“Tavoularis,” one of the clerks called out. “Good to see you, man.”
“You got anything open?” he asked, making conversation while he stood at the back of the room.
“We’re full up here for the next two hours. But I’ve got a spot for you.”
Knowing the guy was referring to the private range, which was underground, Reese gave a nod. “I’ll take it.” He canted his head toward Brantley, who was standing near the wall waiting his turn. “I’ll take the SEAL with me, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. It’ll free up a lane up here. Need ammo?”
“Yep. Put me down for six boxes.”
“I’ll bring ’em down for you.”
“Thanks.” Reese turned to Brantley. “Come on, Navy boy. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The look on Brantley’s face was one Reese had seen before. That slow smirk, the slight tilt of his lips gave him an edge that Reese found oddly intriguing, though, again, he had no idea why. Never in his life had he found a man attractive, but there was something about this guy. Probably had to do with the fact he was a bona fide badass and Reese couldn’t deny admiring him for it.
Yes. A badass. He’d go with that.
“Anyone ever tell you it’s a helluva lot cheaper to make your own ammo?”
“Too time consumin’,” he replied.
“What branch were you in?” Brantley asked as Reese led the way through the employee-only door, then down a set of stairs.
“Forty-ninth Security Forces Squadron,” he said easily.
“Air Force.” Brantley smirked.
“Fulfilled my contract. Officially out,” he noted.
“You see action?”
“More than I cared to,” Reese told him, shrugging it off because he rarely talked about his time in the military. He’d gone in as a tribute to his brother, who hadn’t been able to serve because of a medical condition. And while he had given it his all, Reese had known he wouldn’t be career military.
