“Is he alright?” he asked, voice tight with emotion, even though he looked rather—stoic.
Marcus nudged Aberlour’s foot, nodding towards Oliver, with a questioning look.
Aberlour shrugged, because he hadn’t the faintest idea what was going on.
“We all knew—” Oliver began, but the other person cut him off. “No. I told you, and you—” he broke off again. Concern morphed into anger on Oli’s face, a fierce frown appearing as his voice rose in frustration.
“Just tell me if he’s going to be okay,” Oli snapped. “I don’t give a damn about your reputation, I’m talking about—”
That harsh tone was usually reserved for one person in his life. Suddenly, Aberlour realized exactly who he was talking to.
“He needs rehab, not another political—” Oli’s left hand was balled into a fist as he began to pace back and forth in the small stateroom. His jaw ticked with anger as he listened to her latest diatribe. No one set Oliver off quite like his mother. It was a gift. An innate ability to drive him around the bend.
“No,” he declared sharply. “I said no. That’s final.” The voice on the other end got louder, and Oliver’s features contorted with annoyance and—pain? Grief? Disappointment? It was difficult to tell. “I’ll call Jake myself. Good night, Mother,” Oliver stated coldly. Before she launched another argument or came up with another way to guilt him into bending to her will, he cut the call.
Wordlessly, he opened the door to return the SAT phone to the Seaman and then slammed the door shut. As Oliver turned around, he was startled to find Team Specter looking at him curiously.
“Everything okay?” Marcus finally asked, when it became obvious Oliver had no plans to explain the call.
Oliver clenched his jaw and growled angrily before speaking.
“Brother overdosed. He’s in the hospital. He’ll be fine.” Oliver sounded as if every word was wrenched out of him, ripped from his very soul.
Aberlour recalled that Oliver’s brother had been absent from Christmas dinner. He’d never asked Oli why, nor had he cared at the time. Now, he wondered if he should have asked about him during their visit.
“What did she want?” Aberlour asked directly, seeing no reason to shy away from seeking the information they all wanted to know.
Ghost reached over and shoved him in the leg, as if it had been the wrong thing to say.
It wasn’t. Aberlour could tell it wasn’t from the way Oli’s gaze met and held Aberlour’s, seeking his strength.
“Everything,” Oliver said, sounding almost dazed. “She always asks for everything.”
No one knew what to say to that, and thankfully, they didn’t have to. Oliver shook his head, as if ridding himself of the dark mood brought on by the call from his mother. He marched back to the bunk and jumped back up to lounge next to Aberlour.
“Press play,” he ordered.
Aberlour readily complied as Oliver pushed his shoulder firmly against his.
Chapter 18
April 2014
As soon as they’d landed back on base, Oli jumped into his car to go visit his brother. Aberlour didn’t go with him, knowing he wouldn’t be welcomed, nor did he even really belong there. But he’d have gone with him if Oli had asked him to. Which he hadn’t. In fact, he’d recommended the opposite.
“Go home. I’ll be back in a few days—we’ll take a trip. Get away from everything.”
Aberlour gave in to his request and headed back to Oli’s house, happy to see his old blue truck in the driveway, and the house exactly as they’d left it. For the next two days, he worked on re-stocking the kitchen cabinets, watching TV, drinking beer, patiently waiting for his Darling to come home.
When Oliver finally got home, he was a vastly different man from the one Abe had left at the airport. This Oliver was hard, cold, and distant. He initially stiffened as Aberlour wrapped his arms around him, but then quickly relaxed in his hold. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen but when Aberlour had asked about what had happened while he was gone, Oliver had refused to discuss it. Instead, he’d insisted they should get ready for their trip to get away from it all for a few days.
“Go pack a bag,” he’d said.
Despite Aberlour’s desire to argue for staying home, he’d silently packed his duffle bag. He hadn’t wanted to leave Oli’s cozy little house. Hadn’t wanted to walk out that little red door and return to the real world. He’d wanted nothing more than to wrap Oliver up in his arms and keep him right there, safe in their home. Whatever was happening—with Oliver, his mother, his brother—whatever it was, it scared Abe in ways he barely understood. He wanted to smother Oli in warmth and love intheir home until he forgot about the people who’d made him leave home in the first place. He wanted Oli to forget about those worthless fuckers long enough to be Aberlour’s completely again.
He revealed none of his inner thoughts and desires to Oliver. He couldn’t. It wasn’t fair to burden Oliver any further, since he looked as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders as it was.
So, they walked out the little red door and climbed into Aberlour’s truck. As Aberlour watched their house grow smaller in his rearview mirror, he could neither explain nor justify his urge to scream.
