“Abby’s good. Working with her father. She’s planning on running for a Senate seat herself in a couple of years,” Oliver said, although when he said it, it seemed— well, something about Oliver was off, but Aberlour couldn’t identify the strange undercurrent. But whatever it was, there was something about the way Oliver was talking, walking, and even how he wasstanding. Aberlour just knew he was missing some important detail.
“I’ll be sure to head to the polls.” Aberlour’s smile was really more of a grimace.
Another chuckle, a little more silence. There was so much that hung there between them. Rotten truths and blackened dreams. It had all festered for so long that Aberlour wasn’t sure where to start. So, with a defeated sigh, he reminded himself that it was best for both of them if he just lived in the moment and asked the obvious question.
“What’s with the cane?” Aberlour glanced at the black walking stick his friend was leaning on.
“Health’s not what it used to be,” Oliver said, simply, as if making a general comment about growing old.
Aberlour didn’t buy into that for two seconds. Not with the how Oliver looked and sounded. Before he could delve into it, Oliver started speaking again.
“You have time for a beer? This week? Sometime? I just—it’s going on five years now, you know. We could—” he paused to clear his throat. “We could have a beer, pay our respects.”
Aberlour looked Oliver up and down contemplatively. It would have been so damned easy to tell him to fuck the hell off. He’d been paying his respects to Team Specter all by himself for four long goddamned years. So, he wasn’t sure why he should do it now with Oliver, but something tugged at him. A string he’d thought broken and tangled up deep inside him was suddenly tightening around his heart.
“Sure,” he agreed, because when it came to Oliver, Aberlour was still a fucking idiot.
After Aberlour had acquiesced, he’d thought they’d go to a local bar. But in a surprise move, Oliver had asked if they could just meet at Aberlour’s house. He hadn’t had any reason to object, so he’d agreed. Old habits die hard, as the old saying goes.
Oliver had shown up later that evening at his doorstep. He didn’t bother with false flattery about how nice Aberlour’s house was. Because it sure as hell was not. He’d simply smiled up at Aberlour, holding a six pack of his favorite imported beer in one hand, and leaning on the cane with the other. He greeted Aberlour as if it hadn’t been years since they had a drink together.
He hadn’t bothered giving Oliver a tour. There was nothing to see. He lived like a monk, with the bare minimum of furniture and zero attempts to decorate.
It was awkward at first. The first beer, then the second, as they sat stiffly, working on catching up. For the most part, Aberlour was content to let Oliver do all the talking. Story after story about his children, a family trip to the Caymans, his mother’s political aspirations, and how much he hated his job. Abe listened, letting the words lull him into a more comfortable place as the beer soothed his frayed nerves. It had been—okay.
And then Oliver finally worked his way around to what had been bugging Aberlour since he’d stood in front of the booth at the fairgrounds. Just like that, he laid it out for him, as if it was just another story about his daughter, or his mother’scampaign. And with a thoroughly shocking abruptness, Oliver sent Aberlour’s world tilting on its axis, yet again.
Cancer. Started in my leg. It’s spread pretty much everywhere, now. It’s—yeah. It’s over, you know. Terminal.He’d said, with a fuckingshruglike he’d lost at boys’ poker night.
It had come so suddenly. He’d known something was up, but this—
“Were you gonna tell me?” Aberlour said, doing his very best to keep the anger and pain out of his voice.
It was raining outside, and the loud, relentless pounding on the windows was the same as the one in his chest.
“I wasn’t sure you’d want to know,” Oliver replied with painful honesty.
Aberlour stood suddenly, the chair legs screeching against the bare floor. He walked to the window and stared blindly into the darkness, fingers trembling for a smoke.
Two beers weren’t enough. Aberlour wasn’t sure there was enough booze in the world to steady his nerves now. He thought about breaking the glass and making a run for it. His heart hammering away, shattering and breaking. Every time he blinked; heads rolled behind his eyelids. Their dead eyes mixing with their unforgettable, hopeful smiles.
“How long?” He hated the sound of his voice. Hated the tremor he could hear. He’d lost the ability to feign control sometime over the years. Probably around the time he’d forgotten how to smile.
“Eight months, maybe a year.” Oliver said. He was smiling. Aberlour didn’t have to see him to know. He’d be smiling. Of course, the fucker would be. Even now, Aberlour would bet good money that trait was still his default mode.
Oliver fucking Darling. His name was just so goddammed motherfucking perfect, wasn’t it? Always so unforgettable. Always so charming. Always so—
Nearing his breaking point, Aberlour heard a blend of a hiccup, gasp, curse, and sob that caught in his throat threatening to strangle him. It took Aberlour by surprise. Who knew he’d ever be capable of making such a peculiar sound? It was basically inhuman. More like an injured animal than anything. He forcefully cleared his throat so he could speak again.
“I meant how long have you known, dickhead.”
Oliver chuckled. He’d be shaking his head, smiling and rolling his eyes at Aberlour’s grouchy old man attitude. The picture was crystal clear in his mind’s eye. He didn’t have to turn to look at Oliver for confirmation.
“Gavin, come sit down,” Oliver asked softly.
No. Absolutely fucking not. He wouldn’t sit there, watching as yet another piece of his world went up in smoke. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t go through this again. It was like watching them again. Watching his men get lined up like pigs going to slaughter, a long blade swinging down towards their necks. Headless corpses never buried. The weight of that was crushing enough, wasn’t it?
No. Aberlour had sworn he’d never let himself go through that again. He’d sworn up and down that it wouldn’t—
