Just like Ali and Mia,went unsaid.
Oliver bit down on the inside of his cheek. There was nothing Aberlour could say—nothing at all that would ease this burden that weighed down Darling’s shoulders. That was the sad reality of the situation.
Aberlour sighed, hating the helplessness he could feel settling around his own shoulders. He lowered himself to the floor slowly, making his way to Oliver on all fours before lying down beside him. He reached for Oliver’s hand, and intertwined their fingers, squeezing it reassuringly before rubbing soothing circles at the base of his thumb. His hands were rough—callused and dry, still—as Oliver sighed besides him.
“There was this thing my mother used to say,” Aberlour began, his voice a low rumble. “We do what we can, we do what we must, and the rest is up to God.”
Oliver turned his head to look at him, but Aberlour focused on the blank ceiling above. “We couldn’t have done anything more for them, Oli—we did our best, we did what we had to do—”
“You saying God failed them?” Oliver asked, ending his question on a broken sob.
“I’m saying it wasn’t up to us,” Abe replied with a defeated sigh.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Oliver asked.
Aberlour finally turned to look at him. That beautiful blue gaze was familiar, seeking something Aberlour wasn’t sure he possessed or would be able to provide. Still, he didn’t look away.
“No. I’m saying—shoulder the grief for as long as you can. Keep their memory alive if you need to—but don’t carry the guilt. Not when it isn’t yours in the first place.”
Oliver sighed again. He looked at Aberlour, carefully considering his advice, then he relaxed and nodded. He turned to his side, and gently cupped the side of Abe’s face. He brushed his thumb against the bottom of his jaw.
“How’d I get so lucky?” Oliver asked.
“Lucky?” Abe scoffed.
“I’d be a fucking mess without you,” he confessed softly.
“I’ll remind you of that the next time you think my plans are batshit crazy,” Aberlour chuckled, feeling innately uncomfortable with the open vulnerability. The lights were too harsh, the room too open. These were moments they shared in dimly lit rooms, buried in each other—they shouldn’t happen here.
“Good. Never let me forget how badly we need each other,” he said with a nod.
“Like you could ever get rid of me,” Abe chuckled.
Oliver responded with heated kisses—kissed him until they both forgot about ghosts and grief for a little while.
Chapter 9
February 2013
Other than routine interactions on the ship, they never talked about their relationship.
In retrospect, perhaps Aberlour should have been more suspicious of that omission, but at the time, it had felt natural, if not necessary. Their relationship was like breathing. Why would anyone waste time discussing the mechanics of breathing? Besides, they’d managed to find their footing again. And together, they provided cohesiveness and support to the rest of Team Specter. They could always be relied upon 24/7. If—and when—one of the guys stumbled their way over to Oli’s house, distraught and haunted by high-pitched screams and the images of small bodies riddled with bullets, they faced it together, mending each man as best as they could. Abe and Oli found safe harbour in each other, like crustaceans dwelling in their shells. They couldn’t discuss the glue holding them together—not when it might mean falling apart and taking everyone else down along with them.
Still, as well as they managed to keep the team together, there was no denying that the mood had shifted. Their team had matured in ways they hadn’t expected, and their easy camaraderie had changed with it. They were all carrying around a burden that Abe was afraid they could no longer put down. And if they couldn’t—then, they would have to get stronger—there had to be a way to make it easier to carry.
They’d been back stateside for a few weeks, and Abe had approved extra leave time for them to recover. But now, with only two weeks remaining before their next deployment, Abe needed his men to brace themselves for shipping out to another war zone. They couldn’t afford to be weighed down by guilt whenit was imperative that they get back into the field and be able to perform at their usual, superior level. So, fed up with the dark cloud that followed them around, Abe had woken his boys with a mandatory training run on the beach, before announcing they were going to have a “team day.” Beyond a few lifted eyebrows, he’d gotten no further reaction from his sullen men, which was a clear sign that morale was way the hell down.
Oliver, who’d witnessed Aberlour’s depth of sorrow and anguish firsthand, shook his head and smiled as his lover proclaimed a day of “fun and fuckery.” Highly skeptical about the effectiveness of Aberlour’s plan, he jumped into the passenger seat of Aberlour’s truck anyway.
“Was setting our alarm to go off at the asscrack of dawn really necessary?” Oliver yawned as he lifted his to-go mug of coffee.
Aberlour winked at him in reply.
He’d assured all of them that going to the carnival was guaranteed therapy. Their varied looks of disbelief were combined with a round of groans and complaints. Aberlour had stood his ground, so they all piled into their cars and followed him.
Some lighthearted fun, way too much food, and adrenaline rushes ought to get them back in the right head space by Aberlour’s calculations.
That—and frankly—he needed his men to be able to be around children again without crumbling with grief. So—exposure therapy mixed with fun. It was a perfect cocktail in his book.
