Will made an impatient noise. "I don't like any of that."
"I don't share your misplaced or exaggerated concerns," Jordan said as the screen in front of me flashed aplease holdsign and a loud beep sounded from the speakers. "I just thought it was a strange coincidence."
My brother gestured for Jordan to shut up and Jordan gestured for Will to calm down and I did my best to behave though I wanted to tell this deputy director about the problems I had with him and his decisions.
The call was short and direct. My cover was blown and thus I was no longer able to conduct covert work in this or any other intelligence program. There was some noise about me failing to follow protocol—fucked-up noise but they had to invent some, so there it was—and not being able to place me in any overt Agency position despite my background and skills. Naval Command had issued an honorable discharge order and the deputy director's tone made it clear I was to interpret that as an undeserved gift. I'd receive more information on that portion of my separation soon but as far as the Agency was concerned, we were finished.
There were many significant differences between being a SEAL and being a spy but the most pronounced, at least right now, was the way they ended things. The SEALs loved their formality and structure and processes. They didn't even let you die without getting the full process. The intelligence community was just done with you. Here today, gone tomorrow. No ceremony, no process. No "thanks for giving us the entirety of your life for all these years, hope you land on your feet!"
"That wasn't as bad as I'd anticipated," Jordan mused from the sofa. "The rumors I'd heard leaned harder into the protocol issues."
"And to think you flew all the way up here for a disappointing show," I replied. "Sorry to break your heart."
Missing my sarcasm entirely, he waved me off. "I'm here because we want to talk about what comes next." He glanced to my brother and the thin fibers of dignity I'd maintained through all of this disintegrated in my hands. "We have a job for you."
I brought my hands to my face, the balls of my palms pressed hard to my eyes. "Oh my fucking god."
Will and Jordan took turns rattling off their talking points while I mentally toggled through a highlight reel of my final days in Russia. I'd misread the information. I'd ignored the signs. I'd fucked up. I'd fucked up and my partner was dead, my career was over, and—and fuck, what was I going to do now? Who was I if I wasn't a SEAL, a spy, an operative? Who was I without those cloaks and shields?
I put my head down on the desk while they continued with their crisply rehearsed pitch. They wanted me to work with them, they were expanding, blah blah fucking blah.
It was juvenile of me but I didn't like being lumped in with Will and Jordan. I didn't want to be part of their crew. I didn't like thinking of myself as someone who'd also experienced a career-ending injury and there was no way in hell I'd sign up for a gig like theirs. The last thing I needed was a Pottery Barn office. No, I wanted the dream scenario I'd constructed on the drive home. The college campuses and the blazers with those kitschy felted elbows and soccer in the quad while I wove a charming tapestry of the clandestine life. Cooking lessons for my man. Climbing trips to Europe and Mexico and Africa. Not…whatever the fuck this was.
When I couldn't take it anymore, I pushed to my feet and announced, "Excuse me, gentlemen. This has been lovely but I need to go walk into the ocean."
With their insistent calls bouncing off my back, I stepped out of my brother's mini-mission control center and into the hall, my heart whomping against bone and muscle in pathetic, self-piteous thuds. It was dark and cold now, evening having surrendered to night while closed up inside that office and I hated this place all over again. I hated the winter and the frosty dryness in the air and the implied house arrest and all the people who wanted the best for me and the best was doing everything their way. I hated it all and I was so fucking done, I could taste the finality in the back of my throat.
"Wes! Oh, thank god," Shannon called from the opposite end of the hall, near the girls' bedrooms. "You're here and that's perfect because I need help. Please, just a couple of minutes."
"I'm not"—I didn't know what I'd meant to deny but I suddenly found I didn't have the energy for it. All I wanted to do was curl up under blankets and pillows and sleep. But I also wanted to punch a lot of holes in walls and I wanted to break a few things. And then walk into the ocean and let it carry me to a place where none of this bullshit existed in my life. "Okay. Cool. Whatever."
"Thank you," she said, beckoning me to her end of the hall. "I need you to sit with Abby for a bit while I handle a situation with Annabelle." She pointed toward her oldest daughter's room. "She's busy with her toys. Just keep an eye on her, okay?"
"I think I can manage that," I said as Shannon let out a relieved breath, her hand clutched to her neck. "What's going on? What's the big emergency?"
"There's an explosive situation in Annabelle's room that requires undivided attention," she said. "If I didn't think this one"—she nodded toward Abby—"would teach herself to climb walls and swing from the light fixture if I turned my back on her for a second, I'd be okay on my own. But—"
"It's fine," I interrupted, far too tired for this much conversation. "I got it."
After another round of thanks and warnings to keep Abby grounded, Shannon departed to diffuse the situation with Annabelle. I flopped onto the floor, watching while she engaged in another complicated game involving socks and her play-kitchen spatula. She sang a song I couldn't decipher and that was life right now. A song I didn't understand.
I folded my legs in front of me and dropped my head in my hands because I couldn't process this or any of the truths that'd loomed over my head like a guillotine for the past few months.
Abby appeared by my side, her arms around my neck and her head bent to my shoulder. "Give loves," she said, flinging herself into my lap. "Give loves."
It wasn't that easy.
17
Tom
This Monday'sattic meeting went off the rails within ten minutes. There was no specific reason for this derailment but this squad had a way of growing rusty and fragile when down a member or two. Shannon's first maternity leave hadn't seemed as long as this one, and with Patrick spending his days on Cape Cod recently, the vibe in the office was slowly oxidizing.
Simply because they'd been storing up reasons to argue with each other, Matt and Sam crashed into a bloody debate as to whether their primary obligation was sustainable design or historical preservation—spoiler alert after a decade in this shop: that debate had no end. Since Riley knew this, he turned his attention to the breakfast burrito he'd stashed in his backpack. Patrick rested his arms on the table and dropped his chin onto his clasped hands, listening and occasionally opening his mouth to comment but stopping himself to rub his temples or shoot baleful glances at Andy. For her part, Andy ignored the entire conversation, preoccupied with wedding business. From the looks of it, she was selecting flowers for the ceremony and reception.
I stared at my screen, toggling between spreadsheets. The numbers and workflows made sense to my conflict-averse heart. I'd known the Walsh family long enough to know they yelled their feelings and I knew how to hang with it now. Back when I'd started out here, I'd struggled with ithard. For a million different reasons, raised voices and arguments made me anxious, and it activated my people-pleasing instincts. It was fucked-up but that was why I'd been sensational as an assistant.
I hadn't realized that then. No, I'd figured I was uniquely qualified to read Shannon's mind and keep this office running smoothly. Helping her be awesome was my gift. When she'd made noises about taking college courses in the evenings, I'd dismissed her. Shannon didn't say anything just to be nice but I hadn't even finished high school. I didn't see anything wrong with fetching her coffee and paint swatches for the rest of my life.
