“Donate it, I suppose,” he replied, wondering if that was the right answer.
“Could sell some of it, turn a profit,” JD reasoned, speaking around the sandwich he’d stuffed into his mouth. He’d wandered in from the kitchen where most of the guys were busy polishing off the leftovers from food the neighbors had brought over.
The whole team had attended the funeral and while Aberlour was grateful to them, he was also slowly losing his mind. He needed—he wasn’t sure what, but it wasn’t chatter.
“Dude,” Marcus said, sharply elbowing JD.
“What?” JD asked with his usual lack of tact.
“Don’t need the money,” Abe answered before their squabble could turn into a wrestling match.
“You could keep it,” Oliver suggested quietly.
Aberlour turned to glance at him. He was still wearing the same nice button-down shirt that he’d worn for the funeral. Aberlour had asked that they dress in something other than their dress blues. His parents hadn’t loved his dedication to the military, and he saw no reason to disrespect their wishes now.
“I’d never be here,” Abe replied, shaking his head.
“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t keep it. It’s paid off, right? Keep it as a cottage. Some place to come back to,” Oliver reasoned, with one of those barely there sweet smiles that Aberlour loved, the sight of it warming his heart.
“You could rent it when you’re not here. Even turn a profit,” JD suggested, still stuck on the idea of Aberlour making money.
“Would you stop with the money shit, for fuck’s sake!” Marcus complained loudly.
Aberlour heard his footsteps approach right before a heavy hand came down on his left shoulder.
“It’s a beautiful house, Abe. No reason you shouldn’t hold onto it. It’s still home, right?”
Was it? Aberlour looked around at the empty rocking chair, the crystal bowl, the fireplace. He saw all those things but couldn’t see home anymore. There was just a distant memory of it.
His eyes fell on his truck parked outside, and the urge to climb in and just hit the road was overwhelming. He forced himself to stay and stand his ground.
Aberlour shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I’ll sell it,” he said resolutely. “Some nice family in the area could use it.”
“I’m sure your folks would approve,” Ghost remarked.
As the quietest member of their little squad, they rarely heard him voice an opinion on personal matters. His given name was Dave, but they’d nicknamed him Ghost early on. Not because he was pale, since he was quite the opposite with his skin almost as dark as Marcus’, but because he barely spoke above a whisper.
Abe shot him a smile, as he always did when Ghost expressed an opinion. It was gift, hearing Ghost share his thoughts. He wouldn’t squander it.
“You guys all packed up?” Abe asked, abruptly changing the subject, turning to face his team. They looked far less intimidating in button ups and jeans than they did in their BDUs, but he could see the raw strength they possessed from the way they stood united even in Aberlour’s childhood home.
He felt honoured in that moment. To have them all here, standing before him, waiting for him to call out orders. Home, he thought. They were his home now, he supposed. His world had changed, and there was no going back.
Perhaps they had been his home since he’d entered the Marines, but now they took center stage.
“Yeah. We’re on our way out, ‘cause we gotta hit the road if we want to get back before sundown,” JD said, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “You sure you don’t want to ride with us?” he asked, showing some concern for the first time that weekend. JD wasn’t a very touchy-feely type of guy. Things usually flew right over his head. Aberlour actually liked that about him.
“Nah, I’m good,” he said, throat tight with something that he couldn’t shake. He’d been swallowing against the rise of his grief all weekend. It was getting harder and harder to keep it under control.
“You guys drive safe, though. One car crash is enough—” he broke off, the weight of his words hanging in the air. He waved towards the road, wishing he could take back his words.
“I’ll ride back with you, Abe,” Oliver spoke up quickly, saving him from having to finish his sentence.
Abe turned towards him in surprise.
“You sure, O? You hate driving,” JD said, brow furrowed in confusion.
