Without a word they walked toward the living quarters.
The other storm had started to break. The quiet one made of sideways glances.
Melvin felt it in the air. A shift in pressure.
He walked the perimeter road with Mac, their steps in sync.
Mac glanced over. “You feel it?”
Melvin nodded. “Yeah.”
Mac walked a few more steps. “It’s not over.”
“No.”
“But it’s not nothing either.”
Melvin looked out at the ridgeline.
“No,” he said. “It’s not.”
They completed the loop and turned back toward the living quarters. At the door to his room Melvin paused.
Mac stopped beside him. Mac’s hand lifted, hovering near Melvin’s jaw.
“You’ve got…” He didn’t finish. His eyes dropped to Melvin’s mouth, then back up.
Melvin caught his wrist. Not to stop him.
Just to feel the pulse.
Melvin stepped back, breath rough. “We can’t,” he said. “Not here. Not like this.”
Mac nodded once. “I know.”
They were both still covered in dust and the ghost of Lucero’s blood.
Melvin turned to the desk, bracing his hands on the wood.
Mac stayed where he was. “Tomorrow,” Mac said quietly. “The shed. After debrief.”
Melvin looked at him in the mirror. “We have the bar this time?”
“That’ll work. Who knows, some bars have private rooms. Or at least a closet.”
Mac waggled his eyebrows and let out a low laugh.
“I bet you’re a member of the Mile High Club?” Melvin said with a grin.
“This guy doesn’t kiss and tell,” Mac said.
They didn’t say anything else.
The memory sat between them until Melvin finally gave it words.
“I keep seeing it,” Melvin whispered. “The card. Pressing it down. Your hands over mine.”
“I know.”
