His Brother's Keeper. Dawn Atkins

down from the bargaining, weighing the balance between resentment and acceptance and how they would relate to each other from here.

       “If you need help clearing the space, Dave Scott can assist you.”

       “Dave?” He half laughed. “I’ll pass. He’ll want to give me coaching tips.”

       “You, too? If he pats me on the shoulder once more and says, ‘You’re new, you’ll learn,’ I can’t be held responsible for my actions.” She was certain Dave had started the rumor that she was going to be fired.

       Gabe laughed. “That’s where kickboxing is handy. One shot to the family jewels and he’ll be at your command.”

       She burst out laughing, then covered her mouth. “That wasn’t very professional. Pretend I didn’t laugh.”

       “Your secret’s safe.” He smiled and she got that rush of attraction again, saw him reacting to her, too.

       “Anyway, Dave speaks well of you. He says you keep his, quote, ‘biggest pains-in-the-ass out of my hair,’ end quote.” Another teacher had praised STRIKE’s effect on one of her students. Plus, the coach is sooo hot, she’d said. When he comes into the lounge, I swear I drool on myself.

       “Makes sense he’d like that. The fewer kids he has in detention, the more time he has to plant real-estate signs.”

       She winced. “I need to talk to him about that. Teachers complain that he disappears from campus to work his side job. Not helpful, especially since I need him on board to fully implement my system.”

       “Tell him what I tell my boys—work hard or get out.”

       “I wish it were that simple. I need him on my side. Otherwise, he can foment turmoil and start rumors, make my job much harder. So I have to show him respect while convincing him to do his job. There are nuances.”

       “Nuances? Jesus. I could never do your job. I wouldn’t know a nuance if it kicked me in the crotch.”

       Her gaze dipped unconsciously to that part of his body, then up to his face. He’d seen what she’d done and heat flashed in his eyes.

       She flushed, fighting off her own response.

       Gabe cleared his throat. “So…nuances. How you dealt with Alex and the protest had nuance, for sure. It didn’t hurt that he’s got a crush on you.”

       “I noticed that.”

       “Now he wants to know if you need to meet with him again.”

       “You mean as leader of the rebels?” She smiled. “I could thank him for his cooperation, I guess.”

       “That’d be good. You can reinforce what it takes to be a leader. The kid’s on the razor’s edge of trouble. He’s got a lot of anger. A friend just jumped into the Double Deuce and he wants Alex to join.”

       “That’s not good.”

       “Plus, he’s been tagging with a crew of toys.”

       “Toys?”

       “Kiddie graf writers. The city’s cracking down on graffiti crimes—major fines and jail time. Juvenile hall will wreck him.” Gabe’s gaze went distant and stormy.

      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,