Page 61 of Man of Honor
“Okay, for real. Who is that guy?” Ivy whispered.
“Prison guard in a suit,” Ben said, grinding his teeth and deliberately not looking at him.
Langford’s expression was unchanged. I wasn’t sure if he’d even heard, or if he just didn’t care.
Ivy pressed closer to me, curling her fingers into my sleeve, and asked, “Do we have to do this?”
“You need clothes,” I said, giving her ponytail a playful tug. “You can’t live in two sweatshirts forever. Unless you wantuspicking something out for you?”
“Don’t look at me,” Ben said, looking horrified. “I don’t even know how to dress myself anymore. What do I know about teenage girls?”
“Better hurry! Storm’s rolling in,” Langford called, trailing us at a stroll as we headed into a shop that didn’t look too stuffy.
The scent of leather and perfume washed over us, but it didn’t make my nose itch like most strong scents. Soft lighting highlighted racks of neatly folded jeans and t-shirts printed with trendy logos for dirt bikes and beer brands.
Despite her complaints, Ivy was already ahead of us, sifting through a rack of sweatshirts that looked exactly the same as the one she was wearing. I gave her space but kept my eye on her.
Ben wandered toward the denim section, running his fingers over a pair of jeans like he had no idea what to do with them. Five years had made him taller and broader, but quieter too. He moved carefully, like a man who still hadn’t learned to trust his own body. He’d changed in ways I couldn’t pin down yet, but he was still the brother I’d always looked up to, the one who’d never hurt a fly. I wanted to see him smile again. Picking out clothes for his bigger frame felt like a small step, but it was a start.
“So,” I ventured, aiming for casual and missing by a wide mile, “how’s it going at Langford’s place? All marble and self-flushing toilets?”
Ben snorted out a sound that was almost a laugh. “Just about.”
Something in that laugh disturbed me. Ben had always been the warmest of us, the one who could find the good in everyone. Now, he sounded like he was running on autopilot. Just surviving.
“You okay?” I asked, studying him carefully.
His mouth pulled into a thin line, but he kept his eyes fixed on the stack of jeans. “I’m good. Just got to keep one foot in front of the other, right?”
I glanced away to keep the pressure off him, toying with a row of leather boots lined up like soldiers on a shelf. “You know I’m here for whatever you need, right? We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”
“Catch up, huh?” For a moment, his eyes gleamed with a trace of his old humor. “You want to start with Vegas?”
The laugh I barked was so loud that Ivy’s head came up on the other side of the store. She was milling near the front entrance, clutching a pile of t-shirts and hoodies in her skinny arms. I waved her away and said, “Not much to tell. Saw some shows, got into some fights, and made a hell of a lot of bad decisions. I grew up.”
Ben’s chuckle was low and humorless. “Same. Just with less neon.”
Somehow, that was all there was to say.
“Well, we’re home now,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “Time to get you looking human again. What kind of fit do you want?”
“Anything that doesn’t have a number stenciled on it.”
“Atta boy.” I clapped him on the shoulder and turned to Ivy. “You good over there, kid?”
The spot by the door where I’d last seen her was empty. My heart lurched as I cranked my neck around, scanning the empty dressing rooms and nearby racks, but she was gone. No grumbling, no bleach-blonde ponytail bobbing through the aisles—just an unsettling void where she’d been.
“Ivy?” I called, sharp and loud, ignoring the startled glances.
Ben’s head snapped toward Langford. “Where the hell is she?” he demanded furiously.
Langford’s composure didn’t waver. “I was watching you,” he said, as if that excused everything. “That’s all that matters.”
“Like hell it is!” Ben snarled, shoulder-checking him into a clothing rack and bolting after me.
I hit the street alive with people and started shoving through the crowd. Couples strolled arm-in-arm, teenagers laughed in clusters, and a man strummed a guitar on the corner for loose change. Normal shit. Nothing that saidpanic. Nothing that saidrun.
Ben caught up and clamped a hand on the back of my neck to stop me. “Think she ran?” he asked, scanning the street like a watchdog.