He opens the door and slides into the passenger seat. “Didn’t ask you to come,” are the first words out of the moody bastard’s mouth. If I had less restraint, I’d give him a kick in the balls.

“Wasn’t going to let you get the bus, now, was I?” I say, starting up the engine.

We drive in silence for a couple of minutes, Stu staring out the window, big horror head on him.

“Well, I must say, Stuart, you’re a veritable ray of fucking sunshine today.”

All he does is turn his head, level me with an expression that has “piss off” written all over it, and resumes looking out the window.

“So you’re not going to explain why I’ve gotten nothing but radio silence off you for months?”

He tilts his head to me, all snotty. “Wasn’t feeling chatty.”

“I thought they put you in the hole. Found out from Jimmy Kelly’s cousin that you’re walking around fit as a fiddle.”

“Jimmy Kelly’s cousin can go fuck himself.”

That does it. I slam my foot down on the brakes and pull the car off to the side of the road. He’s putting up a front, I can just tell. Snapping free my seatbelt, I turn to him, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. He flinches at my touch, and let me tell you, seeing your six-foot-two, brick-shithouse brother flinch away from a friendly touch would do a number on anyone.

“This is me, Stu. There’s nobody else here. No bullshit, so stop blocking me out.” I keep my voice measured, not letting my temper get the better of me.

All of a sudden, Stu slumps in his seat. His breathing goes funny, and he closes his eyes. I stare at him, not knowing what to do. It seems like he’s ignoring me again, but then I see the wetness on his cheeks and I realise he’s crying.

“Ah, fuck,” I swear quietly, emotion biting at my gut as I pull him into a hug.

He heaves in my arms, all two hundred and some pounds of him, and I notice he’s become a lot bulkier during his time away. The pain he’s been dealing with rolls out like a riptide now that he has a safe place to expel it. It’s a bullshit social standard that men aren’t supposed to cry anyway. Fuck, I’d cried like a baby into a bottle of Jack when I thought I’d lost Karla, and I’m man enough to admit it. I know Stu had a rough time of it when he first got sent away, trying to avoid fights and stupid political mind games. A bloke like me can disappear into a crowd, become wallpaper, but not Stu. He stands out.

“Fuuuuck,” he curses, gripping my shirt as he pulls back and runs his hands down his face. “I’m sorry.”

“Not necessary.”

“It is. You don’t need me coming out with a chip on my shoulder. And I missed your wedding.”

I laugh softly. Missing my and Karla’s wedding is the last thing I expected him to feel bad about. “It’s not like they were going to let you take a day trip.”

“Yeah, but, I could’ve, I dunno, Skyped myself in or something. I always thought I’d be your best man.”

“Me, too. Trevor did an okay job.”

“Little prick stole my thunder.”

I chuckle and grip his hand in mine. “You didn’t miss nothing fancy, that’s not mine and Snap’s style, but it was the best day. I wish you could’ve been there.”

He perks up, sliding his eyes to mine. “Yeah?”

Sitting back in my seat, I describe the day, knowing it’d be good for him to picture something other than a six-by-eight cell and high walls. “Yeah. Alexis was her bridesmaid. You would’ve appreciated the low neckline.”

Stu groans. “Don’t fucking torture me. It’s been two years, bruv.”

I frown. “I know. My bad.”

“Not your fault. What else?”

“Karla had her hair up in this thing, looked like a bloody Danish pastry. I don’t know how birds do that shit. It’s like it’s purposefully designed to make you want to pull it and make a mess. Obviously, her old man didn’t show. Her mum made a brief appearance, though. Karla seemed real happy about that. We had Liam give her away. Trevor, the greedy little git, wanted to play father of the bride and best man, but I wasn’t having it.”

Stu laughs.

“And during the afters he tried getting off with Larry Murphy’s wife. The bloke nearly de-bollocked him. Trust Trev to pull a stunt like that, but fuck it, a wedding’s not a wedding without a bit of colour.”

“True.”

A quiet falls between us, and I cast him a look. “Are we good?”

Stu nods before letting out a long exhalation. “Yeah, we’re good.”

“Great, because Soph’s throwing you a welcome-home party, so you’re going to have to plaster a smile on that ugly mug for the next few hours.”

Stu chuckles loudly. “You’re jealous of this mug and we both know it.” A pause as he side-eyes me. “She hasn’t invited a bunch of people, has she?”

I shake my head. “Nah, just the family today, bruv. I’m making you a slap-up meal, by the way. Been planning it for weeks. It’s gonna blow your socks off, make you forget about all that prison slop you’ve been eating.”

Stu groans. “I never thought I’d miss fruit, but Christ, I swear I’d get a stiffy if I saw an apple right now.”

“All round and ripe for the picking,” I say with a grin. “Sexy little bitches.”

Stu barks a laugh, and it makes me feel ten feet tall to see him smile, even if it is only for a minute. I pull a pack of ciggies from my pocket, light one up, and hand it to him before lighting another for myself. We sit in quiet as we smoke, staring at the road ahead. When we’re done, we throw our butts out the window and I start the car up again.