"Who wasthat?" Will asked.
"Don't know," I said. I scratched my jaw as her silhouette faded from sight.
"Really?" Will asked. He set his board on the sand and grabbed a rock from a nearby tide pool. He turned it over in his hands, and then sent it skipping across the surface of the water. "You two looked…familiar."
I jerked a shoulder in response. "Not exactly."
He gazed at me, his hands on his hips and his lips flat. He pointed to my abandoned surfboard a couple yards away. It was on its back and gathering a sizeable quantity of seaweed around the fin. "What's that all about?"
"I hit the waves this morning," I said. "They hit me back. More like whupped me and sent me cryin' to my mama."
He cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowed, and stared down at me. Apparently determining that I couldn't be left on my own, he dropped beside me. He didn't say anything, and neither did I. We'd both walked away from the Navy with wounds and war stories, but we didn't make a habit of discussing any of it.
"Do you miss the Teams?" I asked eventually. I'd been out of the military since my injury, but Will only had a few years of separation. For most, the Special Teams was a lifestyle, a family in its own right.
Will laughed. "No," he said. "And neither do you. Think about it. When was the last time you had blisters inside blisters? Or packed a gunshot wound with dirt? Or pissed in a plastic bag? Or ate freeze-dried food by choice? There's none of that arugula you like in the Navy."
"That's just the bad shit," I said with a scoff. "What about the missions? And the guys?" I rubbed my neck as I thought back. "I miss the guys."
Will snickered. "You miss the adrenaline of the missions. You don't miss getting shot at," he said. "If you need guys, come back to Boston with me. I'll give you some guys. Shannon's brothers could use a trip to SERE school."
"I might wear suits and eat arugula now, but I don't need to hang around with your architect brothers-in-law," I said. "I mean, maybe I would. I don't know. I have guys. I don't need you get me guys."
Will swung his head toward me, his brows furrowed. "Is that why you're so pumped about expanding the training site? Because you want to get involved in missions and hang out with Team guys?"
"No," I said. "That's not it at all. We're able to take on bigger clients if we're able to offer stronger units, and we need a larger, more flexible facility than the one we're working with to accomplish that. I'm thinking about the bottom line."
"The bottom line was pretty healthy last month," he replied. "And every one of the twenty-two months before that, too."
I drove my hands into the sand and let the grains slide through my fingers. "Staying on top of spycraft is expensive work, Halsted. We can't get complacent."
He grabbed several more rocks and rolled them around his palm. "You're in a private jet co-op, Kaisall. We're past complacency when you're playing with that kind of money."
"Only because it's more efficient with my travel schedule," I replied.
"It's still aprivate jet," Will said. He dug his toes into the sand and stared at the ocean for a minute. "This isn't about money. We're doing just fine, and you know it. You're bored. You need some action in your life. Working and busting my balls cannot be the sum of your existence." He rubbed his palms together and glanced at me. "You need dude friends."
"Why would I need friends when I have you to point out all of my issues?" I asked.
"You gonna see that brunette again? She seemed very," he started, cupping his hands in front of his chest in the international signal forthat rack, though, "intelligent. More—ah—betterintellect than Titsy O'Silicone."
"Yeah, veryintelligent," I said. I gazed down the beach in the direction she'd gone. All I knew was that she had a friendly smile and stopped for strangers whimpering on the shore, and that was reason enough to see her again. At her apartment. At night. "Don't wait up for me, sweetheart."
"Now that's an action plan," Will said, clapping me on the back. "That's the kind of excitement you need. Don't forget the protection."
"Do you trust meat all?" I rolled my eyes. "I don't go anywhere without a sidearm. You know that, Halsted."
"I meant condoms," he said, dropping his head into his hands with a laugh. "Condoms, Kaisall."
"Oh, yeah," I said, shrugging as if rubbers were on the top of my mind. They were not.
"May I offer some advice?" he asked.
I scowled at him, my eyes narrowed. "What the fuck has this conversation been if not an accounting of my many faults and your sage solutions?"
He flipped me off. "It's Montauk, dude. Bring the condoms. Lock up the sidearm."
