“The fuck,” Aberlour snarled, although it lacked any real heat.
“How about you don’t act like a martyr about my death until I’m actually dead,” Oliver growled.
Although Aberlour didn’t doubt that he meant it, looking as frail as he did while sitting in his wheelchair, wool blanketover his lap, hair thin, face pale, it somewhat reduced his credibility.
Aberlour turned to look at the gargoyle again. Why was it here? How had it made it back from their last mission? He didn’t remember bringing it back stateside. If Marcus had won it, it should have still been with him—with his corpse, somewhere dark and damp. Not here.
Aberlour took a deep breath, recognizing the wisdom of Oli’s words. With a sigh, he walked over to Oli and crouched down so they could be face to face. Tenderly, he placed his hand on Oli’s face, and smiled up at him. The blue eyes softened, his smart-assed smirk the same as always.
“I’m an asshole,” Aberlour admitted ruefully.
Oliver didn’t see the point of replying. He wouldn’t contradict what he knew to be true.
“I’m sorry,” Aberlour apologized.
Oliver rolled his eyes but nodded.
Aberlour leaned forwards and kissed him. Quick, easy. Oliver’s lips were dry, and his skin felt rough and patchy under Aberlour’s hands, but it was still Oliver. His Oliver.
“You’ll have those heathens out there,” Oliver said, nodding towards the kids still running amuck. “They’re yours to take care of, you know.”
“I was never good at taking care of others,” Abe shook his head.
“Face it. Taking care of others is all you ever did. Every shot, every sleepless night, was always for someone else,” Oliver said.
Aberlour shook his head but didn’t offer a rational argument.
When the fireworks show ended, Aberlour and Oliver said their goodbyes. It was quick affair, thankfully free of tears. The only emotionally trying moment that occurred was whenSabine had handed the gargoyle to Aberlour and asked him to keep it. He wasn’t sure how she’d known its importance to him, but he’d accepted it with a nod, his throat tight with emotion.
The subject of the letters, or rather his lack of one, came up when they climbed into bed later.
“I didn’t get a letter,” Abe confessed. “Sophie said there were letters, but I never got one.”
Oliver chuckled. Aberlour wasn’t sure what was so funny, as he held his breath waiting for Oliver’s response to that admission.
“Top drawer of the nightstand. Get it for me, would you?” Oliver said. Slowly, he sat up in bed as Aberlour reached over to the nightstand. The letter sat right on top, Ghost’s handwriting unmistakeable.
To Darlingwas written in bold black letters.
“I got it a few months after their funerals. It showed up in the mail one day,” Oliver said as Aberlour handed it over.
“But there’s no stamp,” Aberlour replied confused.
“Ghost doing Ghost things from beyond the grave, I suppose,” Oliver said with a chuckle.
He ran his fingers over the handwriting but didn’t open the letter.
“He wrote six. One for his wife, one for his daughter, and one for each of the guys. All of us except for you.”
It hit Aberlour like a ton of bricks. He’d always been closest to Oliver and Marcus, but Ghost—Ghost had been like a brother to him. He’d never considered that perhaps Ghost didn’t look on him as a brother.
“I didn’t write Dumber a letter, ‘cause if I’m dead, then he for sure is too. Whatever happened to me out there, Abe probably died right alongside me. And if by some miracle he didn’t sacrifice himself trying to save me, then—then he doesn’t need the guilt of reading me from the grave.” Aberlour had beentoo lost in thought to notice that Oliver had unfolded the letter. He read from it slowly, in a tone of voice that reminded Abe of exactly how Ghost had always sounded. Quiet, kind, rational. Never a word read in a higher tone than any other. A steady presence in their ocean of insanity. That had always been Ghost. That was still Ghost. From beyond the grave.
“You’ll tell him—won’t you? You’ll tell him everything I just told you. You’ll tell him I love him. You’ll tell him we always loved him. That he was the pillar that held the team together? I’m counting on you, Oli. Marcus’ll be too emotional. It’ll be up to you, and it should be a breeze, since I know you love him, too.”
“Ghost had a lot to say for a guy who could barely put together a complete sentence when you talked to him,” Oli said, thumbing through the pages in his hands, chuckling like it was funny.
“You didn’t think I’d want to know?” Aberlour asked, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.
