Oliver snorted and cast a smile in Aberlour’s direction.
Aberlour couldn’t help but smile back.
“I could get you in, if you’d like,” Oliver offered, something akin to pity in his eyes.
And then the connection was broken. Whatever spell Aberlour had fallen under for a few seconds flew right out the window, and the newer, diminished, stripped down version of Gavin Aberlour appeared. The one that didn’t know who or what he was living for anymore.
With a fierce scowl, he turned away and looked out his window in total silence.
Anger washed over him, suddenly and violently. It grabbed him by the heels and dragged him under, making him feel as if he was suffocating.
He didn’t speak a word of it to Oli.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Oliver muttered to himself. “Maybe we can revisit the idea when your discharge is finalised.” Oliver sounded hopeful.
Aberlour didn’t comment that it already was. He couldn’t find the strength to say the words, so he just grunted.
“Here you are,” Oli announced, pulling up to the curb and stopping the car.
Aberlour wasn’t surprised to see that they’d arrived at his apartment complex. The front porch light was busted, and no one had bothered to clean the windows or porch since it had been built. It looked like a haunted house in progress. A bit like Aberlour himself.
There was no red door. The apartment complex sat midway down the block, nowhere near the end of it.
It didn’tfeellike home, but it was.
“I can pick you up tomorrow, drive you to your car, if you’d like,” Oliver offered as Aberlour put his hand on the handle.
“I’ll just catch a cab,” he replied.
He pulled the door open but stilled when Oli’s hand settled on his forearm.
“You look like shit,” he said for the second time.
“Then look away.”
“What’s going on? What’s happening right now?” Oliver asked, speaking quickly, like Aberlour might step out of the car and leave forever.
He just might.
“Nothing’s happening. I didn’t ask them to call. I don’t fucking know how you got the call tonight, Oliver. Go home,” Aberlour said, intent on pushing him away and getting out of the car.
“I’m your emergency contact,” he answered, as though it was obvious.
Aberlour turned to stare at him, eyes narrowed at the man he’d once called his best friend.
“Not anymore. Got it changed before we shipped out. It’s Marcus—was Marcus,” he corrected himself quickly, struggling to keep his voice steady.
Aberlour wasn’t sure what world Oliver Darling was living in, but it was like all of the lights in his brain turned on at the same time.
Oliver gasped and fell back against the driver’s door, his head hitting the window hard enough that Aberlour wondered for a second if he’d cracked the glass.
“The fuck?”
Aberlour sighed heavily and settled back into the passenger seat. He shut the door, the cold air giving him chills. At least he pretended it was the air.
“What exactly did you think would happen?” Abe whispered harshly. “Did you think we’d just go back to normal?”
A truce. That’s what Oliver had thought. At the funeral, Aberlour had called a silent truce and let Oliver lean on him for support. He’d been too tired, toohollowto hold onto any of his anger. At the time, they’d been adrift, and Aberlour had begrudgingly shared a life raft with him for a couple of hours.
