“I certainly never thought I’d be friends with the likes of you,” Oliver confessed, his smile making his intent obvious. Abe grunted in agreement. “You were such a cocky motherfucker,” Oliver said, like it was decades ago, rather than barely six years. Aberlour rolled his eyes.
“Right, like I planned to make friends with your scared little rich bitch ass,” Aberlour scoffed, roughly. Oliver rolled his eyes at the taunt.
“Nice to know you haven’t changed, Abe,” Oliver added.
“Amen,” Aberlour muttered, taking a long pull from his beer.
The house looked good. It was newer than Aberlour’s rathole of an apartment, with a back deck perfect for barbecues, and freshly painted walls. It was just the right size for a single guy and Oliver looked good in his house, settled for the first time since Aberlour had met him. In some ways, he still looked like the scrawny rich kid Aberlour had first met. Although, over the past six years, he’d filled out in ways that only rigorous physical training could shape a man. His dirty blond hair, always on the longer side of what the military permitted, was windswept from trips in and out of the house. He was wearing a pair of shorts, not the cargo kind that Aberlour bought at Walmart, but nice beige ones in a brand Aberlour couldn’t pronounce. The only off thing about his rich kid image was the USMC shirt from their basic training days that he wore. It was a little too small now. Pulling at the shoulder seams and across his chest. He looked good. Like a man who’d found his footing. He didn’t cower when he met Aberlour’s stare anymore. He held his own.
Aberlour was about to offer another toast to Oli’s growth when he was interrupted.
“I don’t smell pepperoni!” JD yelled his grievance as he came trotting into the house, a case of beer under his arm. He looked a little winded, like maybe he’djoggedhere.
“Dude, how d’you get here so fast?” Aberlour asked, confused. It had only been about five minutes since he’d sent the group text.
“I was parked a block away waiting for you guys to text,” he shrugged.
“Too entitled to help?” Aberlour guessed.
JD shrugged as he swung by him. “Pulled something in my back last night—didn’t want to make it worse,” he lied, looking smug.
“While you were star fishing your way through a quick fuck? Unsurprising really, considering your fat ass—” he replied, with a wink.
“I’ll fuck you up, Dumber!” JD vowed, shooting him the finger.
Aberlour flicked his ear in retaliation. JD yelped and pulled away, magically holding onto his beer.
“Pizza’s on the way—not that you deserve any,” Oliver declared with an eye roll, done with their nonsense.
Instead of sticking around the kitchen, Aberlour collapsed onto the couch, leaning back so he could watch each idiot on Team Specter as they walked through the door. They were a unique bunch. In the right setting, they were a spear being aimed and finding purchase in the enemy’s side without fail. Working together seamlessly, they were lethal and unforgiving. In this setting, however, they were just a bunch of barely adult idiots who constantly mocked each other. Aberlour loved watching these two vastly different sides of the team work equally well.
“I’m blessing you shitheads with my presence—that should be good enough,” JD replied, walking straight to the fridge. He pulled it open, pleased there was plenty of room for his favorite beer, which he placed dead center.
“I really have to go shopping,” Oliver said, scratching his head and staring at the mostly empty fridge.
With a snort, JD grabbed one of the cold ones from the fridge door.
“Fuck that! You got beer, pizza’s on the way—all the essentials!” he said, popping the top of his beer and taking aswig. He grabbed one more bottle, and turned, just as Ghost walked into the house, quiet as a mouse.
“Here roomie,” JD said, extending the beer towards Ghost.
Ghost flashed a quick, grateful smile. He took his time crossing the living room, nodding at Aberlour in greeting. His keen eyes were considerably brighter than they’d been in days. Ghost grabbed the beer from JD’s hand and carefully popped the top off. It was like watching opposites interact. JD with his pale Irish skin, hazel eyes, and gym-built muscles, and Ghost with his deep ebony skin, timid brown eyes, and lean frame. One was loud, the other barely noticeable. The fact they’d be rooming together was a like a spinoff ofThe Odd Couple.
To be fair, Ghost had a wife and a daughter, but they lived off base in civilian housing. He needed to live with JD whenever they were training for a mission, or the commander required them to stay on base for extended periods. They should be able to work it out. At least, Aberlour hoped they would. Otherwise, one of them would be bunking at his place, and that wasnothappening.
“How’s your kid?” Oliver asked Ghost, ever the mother hen, checking in on his children.
“Growing up too fast—” he sighed, though he was smiling. “But happy.” It was about all they’d get out of him while still sober—hence the nickname.
Before Oliver could try to get anything else out him, the front door burst open.
“I just met my wife,” Marcus announced cheerfully as he bounded into the living room, wearing a huge smile. Everyone turned to look at him as Aberlour sighed and tried to burrow further into the couch.
“What are we on now? Wife number seven?” Oli asked, looking at JD.
“Nine, I think,” came the quick reply. Aberlour couldn’t hold back his smile.
“I’m serious this time,” Marcus said, like he’d just seen the eighth natural wonder of the world.
