He put it on speaker while he worked the stove. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself. How’s civilian life? Have you started wearing khakis? Please tell me you haven’t started wearing khakis.”
“I’m not wearing khakis.”
“Cargo shorts? Crocs? One of those aprons that says something about kissing the cook?”
Ben glanced around to make sure William wasn’t in earshot. “Fuck right off.”
Ben stirred whatever was in the pan. Chicken, garlic, something green. The results of his cooking had beenranging from surprisingly excellent to educational, and tonight was looking like it might fall on the right side.
“How’s the Kenya prep?” Ben asked.
“Fine. Ethan’s got me doing advance work on the threat assessment before the team deploys.”
“Who’s running logistics on the ground?”
“Don’t know yet. It all has to do with some large animal vets and issues with poachers.”
“Sounds like a party.”
“You know me, man. Party all the time.”
Ben looked over at me. I tilted my head toward the yard, asking if he wanted me to go out. He shook his head and reached his hand out toward me. “You good?”
“I’m always good.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
The line went quiet for a beat. Somewhere on Donovan’s end, a door closed. When he spoke again, the banter was still there but thinner. Worn through in places.
“I’m working on it.”
Ben didn’t push. Didn’t fill the silence. I walked over to him, and he wrapped an arm around me, kissing the top of my head.
“Tell the kid I said hi. And tell the hot mom if she comes to her senses and wants a real man…”
Ben rolled his eyes. “See previous comment about fucking right off.”
The lightness was back, snapped into place. “And tell Jolly I expect him to maintain his standards even in retirement. No getting fat on the couch time.”
“He’s not on the couch. He’s on William’s bed.”
“Even worse. Soft living. My condolences to a once-great warrior.”
They bantered a little more before hanging up. Ben stoodat the stove for a moment, not stirring, just holding the spoon.
“He sounds the same,” I said carefully.
“Mostly.”
“But?”
Ben turned down the burner. “He’ll get there.” He said it with certainty, and I could hear him deciding to believe it.
We ate dinner. William talked about school and about Theo and about a plan to build Jolly a fort in the backyard that involved cardboard boxes and a tarp and structural ambitions that would have challenged an actual engineer. Ben listened with the steady attention he gave William.
Not pretending to be interested. Actually interested.
