Well… How do you mean? Like, what are they doing now? Or, what are they doing on the island? Or, why are they so protective of Rafael? Feel free to be more specific, but for now…

…

“I don’t like him,” Jones says, watching Conner’s Jeep fadeout in the rearview, a scowl on his face. Deats laughs in the passenger’s seat,and Jones narrows his eyes. “What?”

“You don’t like anyone,” Deats says easily. He scratches atthe faded pin-up girl on his bicep, brushes the sand off the falling stars on theback of his shoulder. He’s sunburned where he missed a spot just under hishairline. “Rafe likes him, man, that’s all that matters”

Jones starts the truck, pulls away from the curb. “Rafe likesfucking him. There’s a difference.”

“Hey!” Rafael says, finally, dodging an elbow from Mikeywho’s squeezed in the back beside him. “Watch it, asshole.”

Jonesy opens his mouth again, Deats points two fingers athim, gearing up, and Mikey smacks them both. “Whatever, assholes. Mud Run’s intwo days. Boat ride, road trip, Run. We ready?”

“Boston, man,” Deats says, turning to wink at Rafael, smilingagain, just like that. “It’s ours for the takin’ this year.”

“Go Ruck or Go home,” Jones hollers, and Deats lifts his fistfor Mikey to bump without even looking, eyes on the blonde on the bike paththat runs along this stretch of tree-lined uphill road, bikini top brightacross sun-bronze skin, tight little ass in the air, pedaling full out.

Deats sighs. “Shit, man. I love this place.”

“You love every place, loser.” Jones says, rolling his eyes.Martha’s Vineyard sure is nice, though. Deats hums, and Jonesy adds, smirking,“Less clothes the better, though, am I right?”

Everyone laughs. It’s true, though. No one’s complainingabout the scenery on this island, that’s for fucking sure, or the beaches, orthe cool breezes at night, the damp salt air in the mornings. No one’scomplaining at all, except for Jonesy, but that comes with the territory.Rafael’s just about to mention the nude beach in Aquinnah that Conner told himabout when Jones clears his throat, eyes him in the mirror.

“Hey, Rafe,” Jones says, laughter drifting out the openwindows, Deats and Mikey shaking their heads. “I still don’t like him. Conner.He’s fuckin’ weird, man.”

“Your mom’s weird,” Mikey mutters, flicks Jones’s ear. Jonesswats at him, misses.

Deats says, “Your mom is weird, man.” Jones swats him, too,and doesn’t miss.

“I hate all of you,” Jones says, rakes his fingers through his curls. He doesn’t hate them, though. “Fuckyou and your mothers.”

Rafael just laughs, softer now, his fingers reaching for therock bite on his calf. He tries not to think about Conner, about the bruise hesucked into Rafe’s armpit two nights ago, about the way he looked this morning,come drying on his belly, the sun not hardly up. Fails.

Mikey nudges him, passes him a business card, dug out fromGod knows where. “The fuck?” Rafael says. “BurnBright? The fuck does ‘TrueLeaders, True Leadership Training’ mean?”

“Marine handed it to me last night at that bar. Ex-Marine.Recon.” Mikey’s hair is sun-streaked and pushed back, softer than his usualspikes. He pulls a cap on, twists it around. Rafe waits him out, knows Mikey’s still gotsomething to say. “Doesn’t matter what it means. BurnBright is Private Security.Dark shit. I could smell it.”

“The fuck, Mikey. We’re on vacation.”

Mikey shrugs. “He approached me, man.”

Up front Deats is checking out two girls in strappy sundresses walking identical yellow labs. “Jail bait,” Rafael says easily, barelyglancing at them. “Sweet pups, though.”

Deats agrees, Jones clears his throat. “Seriously, Rafe. Conner.”

Rafael takes his sunglasses off, meets Jones’s eyes dead on. “He’s weird and you don’t like him,” Rafael repeats.“Noted.”

“Run with us, man,” Jones says, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “It’s the Boston fuckin’ Ruck. You know you want to.”

Rafael loves his guys, wouldn’t spend his leave with anyoneelse, but no, he really fucking doesn’t. “Fuck that,” he says, laughing. “I’mtoo old for that shit.”

It’s not true and they all know it, but it doesn’t matter.These are his guys, and they always will be. He’s still looking forward to the timealone, though, and the time with Conner, too. Because Deats is right. Rafaeldoes like Conner, and that is what matters.

He likes Conner way too fucking much.

…