Nobody talked on the drive uptown; the only sound in the taxi was the radio, tuned to a Spanish station. Patrick stared out the window, gaze catching on passing cars and the people hurrying down the sidewalks. He leaned his head against the glass window, peering up at what he could see of the cloudy sky above. Snow wasn’t falling, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t start.
Rockefeller eventually came into view, and the taxi driver pulled over to let them out. Gerard paid in cash before shutting the door and meeting them on the sidewalk. Patrick watched the taxi drive away rather than look Gerard in the eye.
“Why here?” Jono asked.
“Because we won’t be as noticed in a crowd,” Gerard said.
“You mean there’s less chance of me murdering you without witnesses,” Patrick snapped.
Patrick turned his back on Gerard and walked toward the railing that overlooked the ice-skating rink on the lower level. The famous Christmas tree’s lights glowed a deep red, and ice-skaters were already on the rink. The city curfew apparently only applied at night, because trying to get millions of people to stay home behind thresholds during the day was pretty impossible.
People had lives they had to live, after all. Some days, Patrick wished someone else would live his for him.
Patrick was left alone for a few minutes until Gerard and Jono came over to where he stood, cups of coffee from the coffee stand down the way in their hands. Jono handed Patrick a to-go cup and he grabbed it, taking a sip. The coffee was bitter and over-roasted, but warm, and he drank half of it down before Gerard finally spoke up.
“Can you ward us?” Gerard asked.
It wasn’t an order, when it so easily could have been. Patrick scowled but conjured up a mageglobe anyway. He filled it with a silence ward, allowing a bubble of static to engulf them, the white noise blocking out the city around them. He guided the tiny sphere between two railings, letting it hover there mostly out of sight.
“I’m sorry,” Gerard said.
“Fuck you,” Patrick said through clenched teeth.
“I deserve that.”
Patrick reached out and shoved Gerard as hard as he could, making the other man rock on his feet. He turned to face his old captain, mouth opened to yell, but the words were all jumbled in his brain and on his tongue.
“Fuckyou,” Patrick said again, because it was worth repeating.
Gerard’s silver eyes brimmed with more emotion than Patrick had ever seen at once, but that didn’t make him feel better. That didn’t make this fucked-up situation easier to deal with.
“I’msorry, Patrick. I never meant to hurt you.”
Patrick shoved Gerard again, keeping hold of his coffee cup because it was the only thing stopping him from punching Gerard like he deserved.
His coffee—even the shitty brew Jono had bought him—deserved more than that.
Hedeserved more than that.
“You know about me—or you knew about me,” Patrick spat out. “You’re a fuckinggod. A fuckingimmortal. You know how I feel about them—you—fuck!”
Gerard’s mouth twisted. “I know.”
Patrick let go of his coffee cup where it sat on the railing to shove Gerard with both hands, putting all his strength behind the push. “Fuckingwhy? Why did you lie to me?”
Gerard caught himself as he stumbled backward. He reached for Patrick, but his hand stopped halfway before clenching into a fist and dropping down to his side. “I never lied, but we all have secrets to keep.”
“Don’t you fucking dare turn this on me. My identity is tied up in the courts. I’m bound by laws and a soul debt, while you’re bound bynothing.”
“Nothing but my word,” Gerard said quietly.
Patrick glared at him, trying his hardest to ignore his watering eyes. He’d blame the sting of wetness on the wind. “Your word is shit, Gerard. Or should I call you Cú Chulainn now?”
“Every name I go by is a true name for me. I’ll answer to whatever name you call me.”
“Asshole?”
Gerard rubbed at his forehead with gloved fingers. “Would it make you feel better to call me that from here on out?”
