Still, guilt trickled through his glacier-cold numbness, because problems were what he did. Or used to do. He was used to taking the lead…in foster homes, with his brothers, in the military and law enforcement, with the merc company. He pulled people together and fixed what was broken.

Trouble was…he was what was broken now.

“Then listen and tell us what you think we should do.” Bull poured himself a cup of coffee, then ran his palm over the new kitchen chair. “Nice work.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Coffee mug in hand, Bull dropped down onto the old brown couch and put his feet up on the ottoman.

Gabe scowled. Dammit. Once settled in, his brother couldn’t be moved. Not that Gabe would care to try, because Bull’s childhood wish to be a big man had come to pass in spades. Thankfully, he didn’t have the irritable personality of a male moose. He didn’t have to. He’d simply flatten whatever annoyed him.

With a resigned sigh, Gabe got his own coffee and took a seat.

Caz filled a cup and glanced at the open shelves in the kitchen corner. “You’re low on food.”

“End of winter. Of course I am.”

Choosing his favorite armchair, Cazador opened his backpack, took out a package, and tossed it in Gabe’s lap. “Eat those while we talk.”

Gabe looked down. Oreo cookies. Double-stuffed. His favorite junk food. Caz understood people—and he never forgot anything.

Gabe’s mouth started to water. He’d run out of sugar and sweets well over a month ago.

He had to clear his throat. “Thanks.” The first bite was a symphony of taste and texture, like having sex after a long drought. “Good bribe.”

Which meant he’d have to listen to what his brothers had to say. Maybe they weren’t related by birth or even adoption, since Mako’d never bothered with the paperwork, but they were brothers, nonetheless. Their ties had grown strong from facing off against Phillip, growing up together, shared experiences, deaths, spilled blood and terror, and from practical jokes and late-night whispers.

The sarge had originally said they were a team. Later, he just called them brothers.

Gabe picked up another cookie and shot Bull a look. “What’s this so-called problem?”

“You should have gone into town to pick up your mail.”

“Too much work.”

“Too barn sour, more like.”

Gabe scowled. He wasn’t a horse unwilling to leave the stable, dammit.

After a glance at the coffee in his cup, Bull frowned, took a careful sip…and grimaced.

“Coffee not to your liking?” Gabe’s lips twitched up. He’d made the pot hours ago.

Bull was a fussy bastard about food and drink. After leaving the SEAL Teams, he’d opened a brewery in Anchorage, then a restaurant that’d grown so popular he’d launched another on the peninsula.