I tossed him the cigarettes. “Lighter’s in the box.” Startled, Nash missed my throw and the smokes hit the deck. He crouched to retrieve them, shoulders knotted with tension that hadn’t been there before, brow furrowed so hard he looked like he was having a fuckin’ stroke. “Hey.” I reached him as he came upright. “What’s wrong?” Nash gripped my arms, anguish twisting his pretty face, those sweet baby blues a mess of grief and pain. “Brother, what the fuck happened to your back?”
