Oliver turned to Aberlour last, his blue eyes full of hope.
“Didn’t listen to a single word. We were too busy talking about that hickey,” Aberlour confessed, admiring the red blotch on Oliver’s skin that Aberlour had left there a few minutes ago.
Oliver slapped his hand over the spot on his neck as he frowned in consternation.
Everyone laughed. Well, everyone except Oliver, of course.
Marcus got married in October and went on leave for two months to celebrate. JD followed his lead and eloped with Caroline before disappearing on a three-week cruise to the Caribbean. With Christmas fast approaching, Carlos headed down to Mexico with his parents, and Ghost—well, no one really knew what Ghost chose to do. They simply assumed he planned to spend as much time as possible with his wife and daughter while the team was on leave.
Day in and day out, it was only Abe and Oli in the small house at the end of the street. They trained, took a few extra classes they’d been postponing all year, tortured a few new Recon recruits, and made the most of their days off. It was—peaceful, and everything Aberlour could have asked for. Every night ended the same, with Oli’s arms wrapped around him, hisunruly mop of hair tickling Abe’s face, and every morning, he thanked the world, and any god listening, that he was allowed so much in a world that was tainted with so much pain and misery.
The morning that Oliver’s mother had called started out like any other. Lazing around with their arms around each other for awhile, then exchanging morning blow jobs in between cackles and a few fights for dominance, they’d eventually dressed in their running gear for a 10K run. When they returned to the house, they’d showered and downed a quick breakfast. They were making plans for their day when Oli answered a call on his cellphone without checking the caller ID first.
Abruptly, his easy smile disappeared, and his jaw clenched. Aberlour watched the transformation and gave him a questioning look, listening to Oliver’s clipped responses.
“No,” he said then paused for a moment. “Because I already told Father I wasn’t interested in—” More tense silence as he listened. “I can’t.”
Aberlour could hear the voice on the other end getting progressively louder.
“Mother, you can’t—” He halted abruptly, cut off as she began speaking again.
Oliver’s mother. It explained the frown and constipated expression. Very few people could get to Oliver like his mother could. It was a strange relationship. Oliver both respected and feared his parents, it seemed. He was wary of letting her down, always seeking her approval, but then again, he always recoiled at the mere mention of visiting her.
She was a dark shadow hanging over Oliver’s life, and she tended to block out the sun.
“I’ll consider it.” He sighed deeply, indicating his concession to yet another one of her plans, which was certainly not to his liking.
“Yes. Goodbye.” His expression was stormy as he pressed end and shoved the phone back in his pocket.
Aberlour waited patiently by the kitchen doorway, knowing Oliver would tell him if he wished to share.
At first, he thought Oli might not want to talk about what his mother wanted, which was somewhat surprising. But a few minutes later, when they climbed into Abe’s truck, he started talking.
“She expects me home for Christmas,” he said unhappily.
For a second, Abe considered telling Oliver not to go. What right did she have to demand that he come home, but then—well, he remembered his own mother calling him and asking that he come home for Christmas. He also remembered rolling his eyes, annoyed at the thought of driving there and back. The stab of guilt pierced him sharply as he recalled his last interaction with his mother. He’d never made it home that Christmas.
Instead, Aberlour did for Oli what Oli had offered to do for him.
“I’ll go with you if you want me to.”
Oliver’s head jerked around so fast that Aberlour worried he’d suffer from whiplash. His blue eyes were wide as he considered the offer, wearing an odd expression that Aberlour could not identify.
“You would?” Oliver asked faintly.
Aberlour extended his hand, palm up for Oli to rest his own against and smiled warmly.
“In a heartbeat, Darling. I’ve always wanted to play rich boy Christmas.”
Oli took the offered hand but didn’t seem amused.
In fact, he looked downright scared as he mulled it over.
Chapter 16
December 2013
There was a gingerbread man made of clay, half of his right arm cut off in the shape of a bite, hanging from the Darling house Christmas tree. Aberlour took note of it only because Oliver’s name was scribbled along the length of one of its legs in barely legible cursive. He nudged it with his index finger, pleased when it swung a bit from the big green branch.
