“She isn’t you, Aberlour. He’ll get his head out of his ass soon, you’ll see.”
But Oli never did. And by the time Oliver dropped to one knee and proved Marcus wrong, that fucker wasn’t around anymore, so Aberlour never got the chance to say, “I told you so.”
Chapter 23
July 2014
Things took a sharp downturn after that.
Before there had been polite avoidance. Now there was obvious dissonance. Oliver frequently tossed Aberlour expectant looks, like he wanted him to throw a punch or talk about how pissed he was. Aberlour gave him impassive looks to demonstrate that he didn’t give a flying fuck. Hell—he acted as if Oliver was now a stranger.
Team Specter walked on eggshells, watching their increasingly antagonistic interactions. No one openly broached the subject, but Abe would catch them whispering and sharing conspiratorial looks. Marcus was the first one to make a move to fix that shit.
Aberlour knew it was a trap even as he accepted Marcus’ invitation to come over and watch an NFL game. Marcus had called just as Aberlour had finished his last cigarette. The long evening of sitting alone in a desolate apartment, with no smoke to fill his hollowed-out shell of a soul had seemed far too daunting, so he’d accepted.
Military housing for non-commissioned officers was never going to be the epitome of style or elegance, but somehow Sabine had managed to elevate its normally bland interior to make it both beautiful and comfortable. Aberlour was forced to admit she’d done a great job as he looked around the living room, waiting for Marcus to come back from the kitchen.
It wasn’t like Oli’s house. Far less bachelor than the last house on the street had looked, but it was quaint and peppered with personal touches that made the otherwise boring house shine with whimsy.
“Here,” Marcus said, as he dropped gracelessly onto the big fat leather couch and handed a long neck beer over to Aberlour.
He nodded gratefully and took a long pull. It was perfectly ice cold. There was nothing like that initial sensation of frigid bubbles on his tongue. He swallowed and then sighed with pleasure.
It wasn’t his first beer, and hopefully it wouldn’t be his last. If Aberlour had to go home tonight, he’d rather it be with a healthy buzz dragging his ass down into a deep sleep. It just didn’t get any better than that these days.
“JD has 50 bucks riding on this game,” Marcus said, as he settled into the seat cushions of the couch.
There were several football games on TV this Sunday. While Aberlour had never been big on football, he had no problem tossing back some cold ones when he was in good company. Even if it was a trap.
“Where’s he at?”
“His girl got tickets to the game. Anniversary present,” Marcus said. “Lucky dude! All I got were some lousy pairs of socks.” He looked crestfallen.
“Maybe get me something other than a blender, next year!” Sabine yelled from the kitchen. Marcus’ wife was six months pregnant and, apparently, her most recent obsession was cleaning the kitchen. They’d both offered to help, but she’d shooed them out with a stern look and a threat of bodily harm.
How she’d heard Marcus’ words over the havoc of her cleaning was anyone’s guess. Maybe she had bionic ears.
“Yes, ma’am,” Marcus replied automatically. Aberlour chuckled and mimicked cracking a whip just to piss off his friend.
“What about Carlos and Ghost? They usually crash at your house for football,” Abe said. It hadn’t always been the case,of course. Hanging out at Marcus’ house had become a thing ever since Abby had parked her skinny little privileged ass at Oliver’s house and completely taken over. Nobody enjoyed that shit.
He didn’t mind being alone with Marcus. Out of all of the team members, he was the most genial. He kept the conversation flowing, never ran out of beer, and was just a genuinely good guy. Aberlour just needed to keep steering the conversation clear of anything related to his and Oliver’s personal issues. That shouldn’t be too hard, right?
“Carlos went to Mexico to see his mom before we ship out, and Ghost and MJ were taking the kid to Disneyland,” Marcus said. “Don’t you read the group chat?”
“Sure, but none of that boring shit.”
Marcus snorted and idly saluted him with his beer bottle.
The quarterback threw a long pass, and the stadium came to life. Aberlour tried to focus on the screen but couldn’t quite manage it. He took a long pull from his beer and tried to keep his mind on the game.
“I got an offer yesterday,” Marcus said, a few minutes in.
“An offer?”
“Old high school buddy of mine. He’s putting together a security firm. He wants me to join the firm to be a security consultant.”
“The fuck does a security consultant do?” Aberlour asked, trying to avoid letting the conversation get serious. It was too late, of course. Marcus’ words tore a jagged, burning path through his system, rattling every bone in Aberlour’s body. He had to force himself to breathe normally.
