The counters were sticky from decades of overflowing beers and spilled shots of Jack Daniels. The decorations were a mishmash of borderline pornographic pictures of celebrities and stolen street signs. The vinyl booths were cracked and still smelled of cigarettes from the good old days when ruining your lungs in public had still been legal, and the mirrored ceiling reflected its ugly past. The unattractiveness of the bar in general matched its clientele, who fit right in. After all, any sensible individual would turn right back around and leave the second they entered the bar. The smell of urine, beer, and decades-old smoke clung to every surface, which in combination made a veryeffective deterrent for most people who might wander in here by accident.
“Your usual?” Scella, the bartender, asked, sounding bored and annoyed at the same time as she wiped off glasses with a dishrag that looked older than she was.
“Make it a double,” he answered, his voice rough from disuse. He was slightly rattled by the realization that he’d frequented this den of inebriation enough to have a usual. He hadn’t counted himself as one of the regulars, but it seemed that was just something else to come to terms with. He was a seedy bar regular.
If he was honest, it wasn’t that hard to believe. But maybe it was best not to dwell on that at the moment.
As if on cue, his cellphone began to vibrate again. He gritted his teeth at the sound, wanting nothing more than to chuck the damned thing into a river and never see or hear it again.
He leaned back against the bar as he waited for his drink and tipped his head back. He wasn’t surprised to meet his reflection in the ceiling mirror, but he wasn’t pleased by it either. He looked rough. There was no getting around it. Life had left him looking like something the cat dragged in. His eyes had darkened with pain and regrets over the years. His crow’s feet weren’t caused by smiles and laughter but rather by perpetually angry scowls and squinting down gun barrels. He didn’t like the reminders of those days, nor the threat of grey hair growing at his temples. It was a seedy mirror, but his reflection made a good match.
It was hard to ignore when staring up at it, and it showed just how well he blended into unsavory bars.
He’d always been—rugged, to put it nicely. Never one to care what his hair looked like, or how he should trim his beard. He’d been one of the few members of Team Specter who hadn’tminded growing a beard while deployed overseas. The others had complained about how itchy beards were, but Aberlour had enjoyed the low maintenance.
Still, once upon a time Aberlour had thought he’d looked—good. He had a few appealing features, such as his father’s wide eyes, with long eyelashes that most women envied. He had a smile just like his mother’s that teased and promised mischief. He’d been blessed with above average height and bulky shoulders, which looked exceptionally impressive in a uniform. Nothing close to being a cover model, but he did have a certain something which drew people in—even if he did look rough around the edges most of the time.
But once upon a time had come and gone, and he struggled to see anything he liked now. He’d lost quite a few pounds in recent months. His muscles had fled the sinking ship, and his skin was gray from a steady diet of bourbon and Slim Jims. His eyes looked grey, tired, and sunken in. He hadn’t shaved in weeks, and his beard was unkempt, strongly resembling an ill-fitting sweater on a scrawny kid.
Of all the versions of Gavin Aberlour over the years, he wondered which one of those was reflected back at him now. Although he didn’t have the answer, he did know that it wasn’t a version his mother would have been proud of.
Chapter 15
October 2013
After six months at sea, they came home, battered and bruised, shadows in their eyes, and ghosts behind them. Homecomings were always uniquely difficult, and Abe had nothing to compare them to. Men came home to grown children, changed wives. They were faced with the realization that the world had gone on without them, which more likely than not felt like a bucket of ice water to the face. For some, the hardest part was realizing their death would have yielded the same outcome. They were watching their lives slip away from them, and far too often, could hardly explain why.
No. Homecomings were never easy. The military loved to sell them as beautiful, heartwarming moments. In reality, most of them involved gut-wrenching sobs.
Ghost was so surprised at how much his daughter had grown—at least an inch since last he’d seen her—that he almost dropped her when she launched herself at him. Usually as calm and steady as a lighthouse in a storm, he fell to his knees andwept. Not gently, or softly. He wrapped his daughter up in his arms and cried, freely and openly. Caroline burst into tears as well as she jumped into JD’s arms and wrapped her arms and legs around him.
Sabine and Marcus’ reunion was low key. They came together somewhat hesitantly and then hugged each other tightly. Marcus spoke to her tenderly, reverently, as he held her in his arms. Carlos was greeted by a group of enthusiastic Hispanic women, most of whom Aberlour had met before, but he couldn’t remember their names. It was a loud, boisterous reunion. Carlos’ family and friends spoke Spanish so rapidly that Aberlour had no hope of understanding.
No one greeted Aberlour and Oliver. So, they just stood there awkwardly, watching their brothers reunite with those they loved, glad for them but itching to leave so they could be alone together.
As if reading his mind, Oli leaned in, his smile brighter than it had been for months as he said, “We’re not leaving the bedroom for at least two days.”
Aberlour didn’t bother arguing that they might need food at some point. He’d be content just to be with Oliver, his real hunger satiated as he laid in the arms of the man he loved.
Finally, the team and their loved ones pulled back, straightening their clothing and wiping away their tears of joy.
“We’ll drop you off on our way home,” Marcus told them, still gripping Sabine’s hand tightly in his.
They said their goodbyes to the rest of the team and got in Marcus’ car. He didn’t even bother to ask Aberlour if he’d rather go to his apartment. He just dropped them both off at Oli’s house.
“So, we’ll see you at the wedding, right?” Sabine asked them with a brilliant smile. Despite her crying jag earlier when she was in Marcus’ arms, she looked positively radiant.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Oliver promised her, his smile equally as bright.
The house at the end of the street looked exactly the same as it had before. Small, white with a black roof, and a beautiful red door. It was home. In every sense of the word, and Aberlour couldn’t help but smile with contentment.
They waited for a moment, watching Marcus drive away before Oliver reached for Aberlour’s hand gently, as if expecting Aberlour to pull away. When he didn’t, Oli squeezed his hand and tugged him up to the front door.
“Home sweet home,” Oliver declared with a relieved sigh, as he retrieved the front door key from under a flowerpot. He smiled up at Aberlour as if waiting for Aberlour to drop down on one knee.
He very nearly did.
“Need me to carry you over the threshold?” he asked teasingly.
