Chapter 3
“Abe, are you listening to me?” His mother’s voice drawled in his ear. Her tone was tinged with annoyance with a side serving of humour. He could picture her perfectly, wearing a long skirt and flowing blouse, hands on her hips as she chastised him.
“’Course,” he lied, shoving Marcus sideways while holding the phone between his shoulder and cheek.
His mother had called in the middle of a Call of Duty tournament.
Like an idiot, he’d picked up, and now he was a few seconds away from potentially losing the gargoyle to Marcus—of all people! Unacceptable.
“So, you’ll try to come up for Christmas?” she asked, hopeful.
“Right,” Aberlour said, clearing his throat. “Listen, Mom, I’ll try, but I don’t know if I’ll have enough days off to make it up there.”
“We haven’t seen you in two years, Abe.”
His mother was one in a million: a beautiful, wonderful, sweet, and caring woman. She’d been incredibly supportive when he’d announced he was enlisting, and not once had she made him feel guilty for leaving them behind.
But there was another side to her that he witnessed many times.
She was also thoroughly ruthless. When she wanted something, Florence Aberlour got it.
He sighed over the phone, and watched, as he died on screen.
Marcus jumped to his feet, did a silent scream with mouth wide open, and baited Aberlour by doing a victory dance around the living room.
“You’re right. I promise I’ll try my best to get up there.” Standing up, he headed for the kitchen.
The team was back stateside, squatting at Oliver’s house.
The little house at the end of the street had become the official hangout for most of Team Specter.
It was also where Aberlour could be found most days.
On the one hand, Oli didn’t like to be alone.
As much as he’d craved his own space, he liked it filled with people who mattered.
Aberlour, on the other hand, enjoyed a fully stocked kitchen, clean bed, and a house that didn’t look like something out of a horror movie.
It was a match made in heaven.
Oliver was sitting at the bar, staring at Aberlour as he walked over to the fridge. One eyebrow was raised in inquiry.
“My mom,” Aberlour whispered, pulling the phone away from his ear just long enough that he missed the beginning of her next sentence.
“—not what it used to be,” his mother complained.
“What was that, Mom? I lost you for a second,” he lied.
“I said, you’d do well to. Your father’s health is not what is used to be.”
“Is there something wrong with Dad?” Aberlour asked, despite knowing what her answer was going to be. He grabbed a beer from the fridge while he waited.
“No, but we’re not 20 anymore! We might not be around much longer, and I’d like to see my son before I end up in a box!” She wasn’t yelling, but she was talking loud enough that Oliver heard her response. He smiled and shook his head. Abe rolled his eyes in return.
“Mom, please! I promise I’ll do my best,” he stated firmly.
“You’d better!” she replied, equally as stubborn, if not twice as much as he was. She could out stubborn a mule.
“I love you. I’ll see you at Christmas,” he said, as he closed his eyes and bit back a sigh of impatience.
“I love you too. I’ll make cookies,” she promised, sounding pleased with the outcome and then she ended the call.
“Mama Aberlour pissed?” Oliver asked as Aberlour set his phone down on the counter.
“Yeah. Haven’t been home in a few years, so she’s playing the classic ‘we’re getting old’ card to get me up there for Christmas,” he replied.
He turned and grabbed one more beer from the fridge.
He handed this one over to Oli before leaning over the counter to watch the ongoing tournament from the kitchen.
Abe had been replaced by Ghost, and he was silently—but mercilessly—kicking Marcus’ ass.
“You should go,” Oli said, like it was just that simple.
It was, in truth. They had plenty of days of leave saved up and they weren’t being deployed again until mid-January.
Aberlour had more than enough time to drive home, celebrate Christmas, and return to base before his next assignment.
He didn’t really have a valid reason for avoiding his parents’ house since his enlistment.
He just had.
“I can come with,” Oli said, shrugging. “Anything to avoid spending Christmas on my parents’ yacht, getting an earful from my mom.”
“Seasick?” Aberlour joked.
“Nowhere to run.”
Aberlour snorted.
It was a familiar moment. He and Oliver, staring at each other, trying to ease each other’s burdens, and Team Specter wreaking havoc in the background.
Lots of times like these had been shared in a war zone, but the truth was that it hardly mattered where they were—Afghanistan or Oliver’s kitchen—because the feeling was the same.
Aberlour smiled gratefully at Oliver as he nodded.
“My mother would love that. Two boys to smother for the price of one!”
Oliver laughed and then tipped his beer back to take another swig.
“Fair warning, my friend. Mothers love me. You might be the second favourite by the time we leave.”
Aberlour snorted but shrugged.
“I probably already am, so that’s not a problem.”
Oliver chuckled in agreement and knocked his beer bottle against Abe’s.
Just like that, they had a plan. They’d be heading to Aberlour’s parents’ house for Christmas.
“Never been to West Virginia,” Oliver said. He’d turned to watch the tournament again, although it was pointless. It was clear who the winner would be.
“Anything I should look forward to?”
“Sure. We can play spot the inbred when we go into town,” Aberlour replied.
Oliver turned to him with a smirk.
“Found one,” he said, pointing at Aberlour.
“I’ll fuck you up, Darling!” Aberlour warned with a playful growl.
“Bring it, Dumber!”
Aberlour sprang over the kitchen island. Oliver was halfway across the living room by then, giggling as he turned to face Aberlour, wide-eyed and grinning.
They were off then. Like puppies chasing each other in a playpen, bumping into their littermates.
Marcus yelled. JD clapped excitedly. Their shenanigans woke up Carlos, who’d been napping.
Ghost chuckled silently as he watched from the couch, the grand winner of their tournament, holding the gargoyle of glory.
Aberlour finally caught Oli. He shoved him right out the front door of his house. The asshole tucked and rolled right out of the shove, laughing, his brow sweaty, his smile taunting.
Aberlour snickered, shutting the front door in his face for argument’s sake, but it was the end of the game, and they both knew it.
Oli came through the door a few seconds later. Aberlour handed him his discarded beer and they both sat down on the couch, grinning like idiots.
“So, what’d we miss?” Carlos asked, yawning as he stretched and shook himself awake.
“Nothing important,” Oliver replied, waving towards the gargoyle in Ghost’s lap.
“Congrats, dude!” Carlos smiled and gave Ghost two thumbs up.
Ghost petted it lovingly and smirked up at Oliver as Marcus whined that Ghost must have been cheating.
The little statue—which one of them had found somewhere in their world travels—had become their official trophy.
It never stayed in the same hands for very long.
They were always competing with each other.
Usually it involved video games, but there was no real limit to how ridiculous their contests could get.
Last year, Carlos had won it from Marcus in a “longest fart” competition.
Oliver had refused to participate in that one.
Aberlour had been laughing too hard to even try.
The gargoyle was an ugly little thing. Cheaply made and prickly to hold. It had been cast in rough concrete that made holding it in your hands uncomfortable unless you were wearing gloves. It didn’t matter, though. It was the ultimate prize. The unofficial mascot of Team Specter.
Aberlour fucking loved that thing.
Another fight broke out as Marcus argued the merits of winning at video games. Carlos proposed winning it back in a whiniest bitch contest, which greatly offended Marcus. JD nearly pissed himself laughing as Marcus shoved his finger in Carlos’ face and accidentally poked him in the eye.
Oliver merely shook his head, smiling at their idiocy, but when he turned, finding Aberlour gazing at him fondly, his smile grew into something else. Something even more familiar. A heartbreaking little smile that made Abe think of home, always.
They said nothing else about Abe’s parents, or Christmas, but they both knew the plan was set.
They’d be going to Aberlour’s for Christmas.