Aberlour barked a laugh.
“Thought of giving you my number then, but your second-in-command, Darling, was giving me the old evil eye, so I didn’t.”
Abe didn’t miss the careful way he navigated Oli’s name then. Just like one might handle a landmine—tiptoeing around it cautiously.
“We weren’t a thing, back then,” Aberlour confessed.
“But you were eventually.”
“Eventually,” Abe agreed. His throat itched for a drink. As if summoned by his parched throat, the waitress appeared. She set two glasses down in front of them. Both holding a few inches of amber liquid.
“Aberlour?” he guessed, as he inhaled the aroma of the drink that Shawn had ordered. The scotch had a familiar almost sweet note to it. Not a favourite, but he appreciated the joke.
Shawn cracked a smile filled with youthful glee. He looked at least 10 years younger in that moment.
Abe snorted and lifted his glass to toast Shawn. The man carefully—slowly—used his left hand, which was covered in painful looking scars, to hold up his glass to meet Abe’s. The glasses clinked musically—but no words were spoken. What had they to toast? Aberlour refused to lift a glass to mourn.
“Was he sick?” Shawn asked.
Although Aberlour nearly choked on his drink in surprise, he was grateful that Shawn didn’t shy away from tackling the big questions.
“Cancer—stage 4. They gave him a year,” he shrugged, he’d said it a few times now. To many different people. Some he cared about—some he barely knew. It got a little easier every time he said it. It had only been a few months—he wondered if the day would ever come when it would be painless.
“Fuck,” Shawn said, blowing out a breath.
Abe smiled sadly and decided to hit the highlights of the rest of the story. Shawn deserved to hear it, whether or not their relationship ever moved forward.
“Came to see me eight months out—”
“And you took him back?” Shawn asked in shocked disbelief.
It was understandable. Aberlour had expected it, but it still shook him.
He nodded and took a big sip of his scotch.
“Don’t think I ever gave him up, so—it was easier than living without him would have been.”
Shawn shifted uncomfortably in his seat, making a slight groaning sound. A grimace crossed his face like a wave—stretching and pulling at his scars.
“I read about you in the papers,” Aberlour admitted as he gazed at Shawn. It felt like a confession—one Shawn hadn’t asked for.
“Yeah—everyone and their mother did,” he sneered, because clearly it hadn’t been his choice to be thrust into the public limelight.
Aberlour had known as soon as he’d read the article. Shawn’s story had gotten picked up by the media and soon thereafter, every governor and statesman bidding for themilitary vote had had Shawn O’Reilly’s name on their lips. The decorated Navy SEAL Major, who had been terribly disfigured in action. The brave SEAL who’d jumped on an explosive device to save his men. He’d become the perfect metaphor for America’s great crusade against enemy insurgents and the devastation they’d wrought on US troops. Aberlour couldn’t imagine how horrible it had been—coming home and then subsequently being medically discharged, broken and in pain, and used like a political bowling ball. When Abe had read the article, he twitched with the urge to call him up. Bart’s words played in his head, taunting him with hope.
“Nice to know SEAL training doesn’t teach you anything useful—can’t throw worth a shit, can’t duck, can’t jumpawayfrom a grenade,” he listed in a dramatic whine, glancing over at Shawn to see whether he’d taken offense.
Shawn began laughing and flipped him the bird.
“You’re a fucker!” Shawn declared accusingly.
“How many medals did you get for that?” Aberlour asked, unable to resist fucking with him some more.
“Three—and a big fat check,” Shawn replied with a smug grin.
“Ah, see, if I’d known that—I’d have called you a helluva lot sooner.” Aberlour was amazed that he’d been able to slip back into the easy flow of back and forth insults he’d enjoyed many years ago with his team. Like the tide returning after a long time out to sea.
“No, you wouldn’t’ve,” Shawn said, his smile small and sad.
