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there, son.”
    “I babble when I get nervous. I start singing when I’m fucking terrified.” He chewed on his lip. “It’s kind of why Damie put me on the mike. Pretty sure in about five seconds, I’m going to start belting out ‘it’s a small world’ or something. He’s going to hate this.”
    “It’s a good present, especially for m’boy.” The older man eyed the wood. “Ye could do with less lights. Maybe only a few bows. Several of the big ones will do. Want me to be helpin’ you?”
    “You have no fucking idea how much I want you to help me,” he muttered. “Maybe you could start by shooting me in the head.”
    “I’ll be avoiding that one, boyo. How about if ye’d be starting a pot of coffee for us, and I’ll start by stripping this poor thing loose of its bindings?”
    By the time Miki got the coffee machine working and spitting out enough brew for two full cups, Donal had the chunk of wood stripped and draped with two strands of tiny faerie lights. Miki stood just beyond the circle of white light, amazed at how the man could take the disaster he’d wrought and turn it into something that didn’t burn out his eyes. Handing Donal one of the cups, he sighed in appreciative amazement.
    “That looks great, dude, thanks. Really. I mean, no words kind of good,” Miki muttered.
    “Pity. I’d have liked to hear you sing a bit. Maybe even something from Queen.”
    “Can’t go wrong with Freddie.” Miki nodded enthusiastically. “You’ve saved my ass. Big time. Thank you.”
    “Anything for one of me boys,” Donal said, taking the steaming cup from Miki’s hand. “Come on, then, let’s sit and talk about what’s botherin’ ye.”
    Miki stood in stunned silence. He didn’t know what to do with Donal calling him one of his boys. The Irish-born cop didn’t seem to notice Miki’s slack-jawed shock and ambled over to the large sectional taking up a substantial amount of space in the warehouse’s living room. After stepping over the gnawing terrier, Donal sank into a corner of the couch with a sigh of contentment.
    Sipping at his mug, Donal twisted slightly and beamed at Miki. “Ye make a damned fine cup of coffee, Miki boy. Course I learned at a cop house, and we’re not known for our brew.”
    Miki couldn’t remember the stumble over to the couch, his mind still in a fog, but by the time he plopped down into the soft cushions, he’d shaken most of the numb off of his tongue. Cupping his hands around his nearly too hot mug, he sipped cautiously, hoping the steaming liquid would knock some sense back into him.
    Instead his brain seemed to have handed over any common sense to the primal lizard part of its core, because rather than a polite expression of gratitude for Donal’s assistance, he blurted out, “You really meant that?”
    “About the coffee? It’s verra good, son.” Donal peered at him curiously.
    “No, not that. You guys would drink liquid goat shit if someone put it in a cup and called it coffee,” Miki snorted. “I mean the whole… ‘one of your boys’ thing. I don’t know what to do with that. Hell, I was just telling Damie that.”
    “Ah, Miki boy.” Donal’s eyes—so much like Kane’s—softened perceptibly. “Yer as much mine as any of those that I’ve had with m’bride. I thought ye knew that.”
    He kind of did. He just had a hard time believing it.
    “Dude, I’m five kinds of fucked up. If I were Kane’s dad, I sure as shit wouldn’t want him to hook up with me.”
    “Do ye really think that of yerself, Miki?”
    “I couldn’t even get Valentine’s Day right.” He jerked his head toward the column of wood. “I had to talk his dad into coming to help me fix this—I bought him a dead tree !”
    “First off, it’s a very nice dead tree. Perfect. And secondly, ye didn’t have to talk me into coming. I’d come anytime ye called.” Donal set his cup down, then took Miki’s from his hands. The second mug joined its brother on a roadie