“Sure, I guess,” Aberlour replied, although he didn’t understand why they had to.
Disappear? Why did they have to disappear? They weren’t hunted or chased. They had no reason to run away.
A wave swept around Aberlour’s legs, almost pulling him from Oli’s grasp before crashing into the pier. It sent up a spray of water that temporarily blinded Abe.
“Would you?” Oliver said, although Abe barely heard him over the rush of the water.
Would he what? Run away? Disappear?
Aberlour shook his head, trying to organize his thoughts.
Oliver was looking down at him, still holding onto Aberlour with one hand, waiting for an answer.
Abe wondered, for a brief moment, if Oli might let go if he gave the wrong answer.
“Yes,” he said.
He didn’t dare read into Oli’s expression, it was too dark and perhaps too dangerous.
“I think we should get out,” Aberlour said, as another wave sprayed water over their heads.
“You afraid of drowning?” Oliver asked, teasing. He wasn’t letting go or moving, appearing to dare Aberlour somehow. Daring him to do what? Drown? Leave? Disappear? Was he calling Aberlour’s bluff?
“No,” Abe said, stilling his movements to look directly into Oli’s eyes. “I don’t scare easily.”
Oliver’s smile softened and he pulled at Aberlour, finally. They made it onto the dock with a little effort and some bruises. It was definitely time to leave. The wind had picked up, andit whistled in their ears as increasingly bigger waves crashed against the pier.
“Wow, the swells really picked up,” Oliver remarked, as they airdried, butt naked on the empty pier.
“About time you caught on,” Abe teased gruffly. “I was barely holding on the last few minutes.” Aberlour gave Oliver a look of disbelief as he shook water out of his hair. He needed a good buzz cut. It was well beyond regulation length.
“Really?” Oliver asked. “Didn’t notice,” he replied honestly.
Aberlour turned back to the ocean, wondering how it was possible not to notice such gigantic waves. Then again, he supposed, it was easier not to when your head was far above the water.
Chapter 19
Present day
May 2020
Everyone always assumed he was Scottish.
It was a reasonable assumption. His last name was familiar to any Scotch enthusiast. But he wasn’t. Certainly not in any meaningful way. There was a single bloodline that was old and some details of it had been lost over time. An old man from Scotland set off for America to make a fresh start, probably alone and lonely. He’d married a young woman, and then their sons married and had children, and so on, until finally Gavin Aberlour had come into the world. Both of his maternal grandparents had been French. One of them came directly from France, the other came from Canada. Both of their parents had been French as well. His father’s mother had been German and Polish. He could never remember her last name. Only the last name Aberlour remained. Only Aberlour that mattered now. He wasn’t Scottish. Not really, yet he rightfully claimed the family name to uphold tradition.
The funny thing was, he hated drinking scotch. Hated it for being so lovely and compelling. He hated how much he craved it. The softness, the amber colour, the way it danced around the bottom of his glass. So little, but so mighty. His father had taught him to drink it. Exhale, then take a sip, and suddenly the taste, which was otherwise far too strong to suit his—at the time—young palate, had mellowed perfectly.
He wasn’t Scottish, but everyone just always assumed he was.
He wasn’t straight, but everyone just always assumed he was.
He hated scotch, but he ordered it every time he entered this shitty bar.
There were a couple of young bucks at a table near the back. They were loud, and rowdy, a few of them had girlfriends next to them, and they all wore bleary, boozy smiles as they stared at them. Some looked almost like strangers to each other, though they sat in each other’s laps, so he supposed it was the alcohol talking. There was only one couple that held an edge of—familiarity. It was the only couple that caught Aberlour’s gaze. The woman had dark auburn hair, and her smile was easy and playful as she leaned into the hold of a much larger African American man. He was listening intently to one of his friends, but every now and again, he’d look down at her, and his smile—
Aberlour shook his head against the thought and looked away quickly.
His phone rang again.
