“It cheers people up.” Hollywood took out a plastic baggie full of bright and cheerful little UFOs. “Here—”
V batted the calories away. “Yeah, you can fuck off with that.”
“Why? It has that chemical that simulates the feeling of falling in love.” Rhage opened the bag’s top. “Fritz puts them in a Ziploc for me because sometimes the regular packaging breaks open when I’m in the field. I hate chocolate in pockets, all melty. It’s like putting your hand in poop—”
“Oh, my fucking God, please stop talking—”
“—except you can eat it, of course.”
“What.”
Rhage popped a handful into his piehole and chewed. “I’m just trying to distract you from Butch’s family reunion.”
“They are not related.”
“Just like we’re not related, right?”
“Shut up.”
“It’s okay to be jealous—”
“I’m not jealous!” As V’s voice rose, Butch and that homicide detective looked over—so he lowered his volume. “Shit ain’t like that.”
“There’s a reason they call it bro-mance. I’m just saying.” More with the palmfuls and the chewing. “And what are you embarrassed about? I get jealous, too, sometimes.”
“Of what. Anybody eating something anywhere on the fucking planet.”
“No, of people.”
“Stop projecting onto me.”
“I’m just saying it’s totally normal to feel left out when you see two people who have a special bond. Butch and that guy worked together for how long—”
“I do not need a history lesson.”
“—and went through a lot of shit together—”
“Oh, like he and I battling the Omega was a trip through Chuck E. Cheese?”
“—and given how close you and Butch are, it could feel weird to see him with somebody he’s equally close to.”
“He lives with me,” V snapped.
“And you’re right, Chuck E. Cheese is awesome.”
“What?” V blinked at the brother. “You know, a conversation with you is a real experience.”
Rhage put his hand over his heart. “That is the nicest thing you’ve ever said.”
Shaking his head, V dug into that Ziploc and shoved some M&M’s in his mouth. As he chewed, he tried to pretend he wasn’t watching his roommate stand in the middle of the street with V’s archnemesis, Detective Luthor.
“FYI, I’m never jealous of Marissa,” he said around all the chocolate.
“Why would you be? She’s not a threat. She’s his mate—”
“Which is my point.” V went in for more candy because he was absolutely not perking up in the slightest already on just one swallow of the stuff. “I don’t want to be his fucking shellan.”
“Exactly. You want to be his best friend.” Rhage nodded out to the street. “And don’t worry, you are.”
Okay, V wasn’t relieved by that statement. Just like the M&M’s didn’t help.
“No offense,” he muttered, “but I think you need to leave the psych business to your Mary. You couldn’t be more off base if you were talking about someone else entirely—”
At that moment, there was a vibration in V’s free hand. Lifting his phone, he was so fucking relieved it was a text to the whole Brotherhood. As he called the message up, and Butch and Rhage also got their Samsungs out, V hoped it was something serious enough to demand immediate attention, but nothing that involved death or dismemberment.
Well, not among the Brotherhood, at least.
“Shit, shadows,” Rhage muttered as he put away the candy. “And not the good kind.”
“We gotta go.” V did the same with his cell and raised his voice. “Butch, we’re out.”
As his roommate looked over and nodded, Vishous studiously ignored a little surge of triumph—like he’d won a race and the trophy was a former-alkie, Southie ex-cop with a great sense of style, more loyalty than the moon to the earth, and the best laugh in the whole world short of Jane Whitcomb’s.
But there was no real competition here, especially because as if a human could ever be a threat? Whatever. Rhage had his head wedged on the jealousy thing—
Out in the middle of the street, Butch finally got moving—but it was to close the distance between him and his former partner. There was a pause, and then the two embraced.