“Whatever,” Ant says, getting up and stomping to the kitchen. “Everyone here has killed someone.”
I raise my hand. “I’ve killed two men in self-defense, and I haven’t ever recovered from that, and I doubt I ever will.”
“Well, I guess that makes you better than me,” he says, yanking on the junk drawer.
I let out a frustrated breath and join him in the kitchen. “No. It means they’re never going to make me the pointy end of the stick. But whoever is at that pointy end? They need to have their head on straight, at least enough to work with the team. Anders, whatever else he is, works with the team.”
Ignoring me, he finally wrangles open the drawer and grabs a pair of scissors. I hold up my hands and step back. Erik jumps up, and Ant points the scissors at him. “Stay back.”
“Dude, what are you doing?” I ask in Spanish, wondering if he’s actually going to get violent.
He grabs his ponytail and starts violently hacking at it right above the elastic. His hair is thick, so if he thought he could do it in one dramatic snip, that’s not happening. Still, we’re frozen all over again as he chops through the hair.
“Ya,”he barks, eyeing Erik as he holds up the decapitated ponytail.It’s done.
I don’t know what, exactly, is done, but I’ve always suspected he’s kept the long hair for a reason. Whatever that reason is, he’s over it. Walking to the garbage can, he stomps on the pedal, dropping the thick hank of hair into the bag.
Catching our concerned looks, he asks, “Why are you looking at me like this? All of you have been acting like I am this little broken boy since you brought me here. So I’m cutting off the last part of that life. That’s not me anymore.”
None of the professionals have any words, so I go in again in Spanish, speaking low and fast. “You dramatic asshole. It’s official. You look like a crazy person now.”
“I’m. Not. Crazy.” His eyes blaze as he defiantly pushes the choppy strands behind his ears.“So stop calling me that.”
I hold up my hands. “You’re right. But we’re not lying when we say you’re worrying the hell out of us. Seriously. The hair is nothing.You snuck onto a mission.We were in the middle of everything fucking going wrong, and there you were. What if that guy had gotten the drop on you? He was easily twice your size. What if he’d fallen on you when you took out his Achilles? What if you hadn’t been able to take his gun? You got so lucky, and you don’t seem to understand how bad that is.”
“Why is it bad that I got lucky?”
“Because if you can get lucky, you can getunlucky. Even as crazy as he is, Anders is focused. When he’s in the middle of an op, he is working for the good of everyone. You were completely on your own, and you do not realize how dangerous that made the situation for everyone else.”
“Again, I saved Erik’s life. How did I make it worse?”
“Because the people here love you, and if anything had gone wrong with that, they would have sacrificed themselves to save you.”
Looking over at Erik, he snarls again. “Yeah, they love me. Like a brother, remember?”
“Some people don’t even get that in a lifetime. Fuck, I know this thing with Erik is hard for you…”
“Don’t fucking say it. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Okay, but you can break your own heart and keep making shitty decisions based on all the shit you survived, or you can face your past and make something amazing of your future. I know which one I’m rooting for.”
His eyes finally meet mine, and…shit. His feisty attitude does a damn good job of covering up the reality of how much pain he’s been in this whole time. But now it’s sitting there right behind his eyes.
“You say that, Nacho, but you don’t have any idea of the things I have to face. You want me to talk to a therapist to dredge up all this bullshit. Brother, I can’t,” he says, grabbing my wrist, his voice cracking. “It’s too much.”
I pull him into a hug, whispering in his hair, “The therapist isn’t gonna make you talk about anything you don’t want to. Everything they’ve said sounds like she knows how to help. Just tell her what you told me. Hell, she’s Anders’ therapist—she’s probably heard way worse.”
He buries his face in my chest, laughing and crying as he shakes his head, hugging me back. I shed a few tears for my friend, but if there’s anything this life has taught me, it’s that people are pretty fucking resilient.
I choose to believe that about Ant. Hell, I choose to believe it about myself too.
“So, uh, did y’all finish making plans for world domination?” Charlie asks, joining us in the kitchen.
“Not before he’s at least had a chat with Hedy,” I answer, squeezing him close.
Ant pushes away from me, but he does it affectionately. “Ugh. Fine. I’ll see her, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to cooperate.”
“Don’t worry, Ant,” Bram says with a smirk. “Us therapists have a way of getting our patients to cooperate.”
