Chapter 15
After six months at sea, they came home, battered and bruised, shadows in their eyes, and ghosts behind them.
Homecomings were always uniquely difficult, and Abe had nothing to compare them to.
Men came home to grown children, changed wives.
They were faced with the realization that the world had gone on without them, which more likely than not felt like a bucket of ice water to the face.
For some, the hardest part was realizing their death would have yielded the same outcome.
They were watching their lives slip away from them, and far too often, could hardly explain why.
No. Homecomings were never easy. The military loved to sell them as beautiful, heartwarming moments. In reality, most of them involved gut-wrenching sobs.
Ghost was so surprised at how much his daughter had grown—at least an inch since last he’d seen her—that he almost dropped her when she launched herself at him.
Usually as calm and steady as a lighthouse in a storm, he fell to his knees and wept.
Not gently, or softly. He wrapped his daughter up in his arms and cried, freely and openly.
Caroline burst into tears as well as she jumped into JD’s arms and wrapped her arms and legs around him.
Sabine and Marcus’ reunion was low key. They came together somewhat hesitantly and then hugged each other tightly.
Marcus spoke to her tenderly, reverently, as he held her in his arms. Carlos was greeted by a group of enthusiastic Hispanic women, most of whom Aberlour had met before, but he couldn’t remember their names.
It was a loud, boisterous reunion. Carlos’ family and friends spoke Spanish so rapidly that Aberlour had no hope of understanding.
No one greeted Aberlour and Oliver. So, they just stood there awkwardly, watching their brothers reunite with those they loved, glad for them but itching to leave so they could be alone together.
As if reading his mind, Oli leaned in, his smile brighter than it had been for months as he said, “We’re not leaving the bedroom for at least two days.”
Aberlour didn’t bother arguing that they might need food at some point. He’d be content just to be with Oliver, his real hunger satiated as he laid in the arms of the man he loved.
Finally, the team and their loved ones pulled back, straightening their clothing and wiping away their tears of joy.
“We’ll drop you off on our way home,” Marcus told them, still gripping Sabine’s hand tightly in his.
They said their goodbyes to the rest of the team and got in Marcus’ car. He didn’t even bother to ask Aberlour if he’d rather go to his apartment. He just dropped them both off at Oli’s house.
“So, we’ll see you at the wedding, right?” Sabine asked them with a brilliant smile. Despite her crying jag earlier when she was in Marcus’ arms, she looked positively radiant.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Oliver promised her, his smile equally as bright.
The house at the end of the street looked exactly the same as it had before. Small, white with a black roof, and a beautiful red door. It was home. In every sense of the word, and Aberlour couldn’t help but smile with contentment.
They waited for a moment, watching Marcus drive away before Oliver reached for Aberlour’s hand gently, as if expecting Aberlour to pull away. When he didn’t, Oli squeezed his hand and tugged him up to the front door.
“Home sweet home,” Oliver declared with a relieved sigh, as he retrieved the front door key from under a flowerpot. He smiled up at Aberlour as if waiting for Aberlour to drop down on one knee.
He very nearly did.
“Need me to carry you over the threshold?” he asked teasingly.
“Your puny little arms couldn’t carry a dead bird,” Oli replied cheekily, before entering the house backwards, waggling his eyebrows at Aberlour, clearly baiting him into a fight.
Aberlour was all too happy to take the bait. He chased after Oli, kicking the door shut behind him and grabbing the man by the waist before he could get away. With a deep growl, he slammed Oli against the door and took his mouth in a heated kiss.
Alone. Safe. Home. At long last.
“What would it look like?” Oliver asked.
While cruising down the highway, Aberlour had his right hand safely tucked in Oli’s left.
Aberlour had chosen to drive instead of flying to Marcus’ wedding, as the rest of the team was doing, because he’d needed to be on the open road.
They’d been in so many planes and boats lately, all he wanted was a highway without booby traps and insurgents.
He found it restful and comforting to just hit the road and drive across the country.
Oliver wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic about hitting the road.
But they’d been craving some quality alone time, so he’d finally relented.
Now though, he seemed right at home. Looking like a passenger princess, baseball cap low over his forehead, he played with Aberlour’s fingers.
He kept running his fingers over Aberlour’s softly and slowly.
“What?” Aberlour asked, he’d spaced out and hadn’t heard the question. He’d been staring off into the distance thinking about how his truck had seen better days, but she was still purring along. Daniel Bélanger was singing softly about spring, the sky above was blue and cloudless.
“Our house. What would it look like?” he asked. His tone indicated it should have been obvious what he was talking about.
Aberlour huffed but entertained the thought. He never had before. He’d never dared to dream past this moment they were enjoying together. Imagining a future was asking to be gunned down by hope, and Aberlour knew better. He did—except where Oliver was concerned.
“I loved your parents’ house. I think it was the right size,” Oliver remarked with a smile.
“Says the guy who grew up in a castle.”
Oliver hummed but didn’t argue.
“It too was the perfect size, because then we never had to see each other unless we wanted to. So, the mountains or the ocean?” Oliver gazed out the window at the hilly countryside on either side of the highway.
This part of the country was neither, but it still reminded Aberlour of home.
Rolling mountains were familiar and comforting.
They weren’t a place for Oliver, though.
When Aberlour thought of Oliver, he always thought of the beach.
New England perhaps. Or somewhere even warmer.
Somewhere where the sun shone every day, and the sand grew too hot to walk on.
“The beach,” Aberlour said, with certainty.
Oliver raised an eyebrow in surprise but didn’t argue.
“You hate the heat,” he remarked, arching a brow.
“You look great with no shirt on,” Aberlour countered.
Oliver’s laugh was like the hills. It came rolling out of him in waves. Easily and comforting.
“Do you think we’d have met?”
“What kind of fucking question is that?” Aberlour was baffled.
Oliver gave a shrug. He always came up with things Aberlour had never gotten around to considering. His mind running through scenarios and questions like they’d be on a pop quiz. It was fascinating, if a little irritating at times.
“If I’d—let’s say I’d have done what my mother had wanted me to and gotten a degree in finance or some shit, do you think we’d have met?”
No. If Oliver had become the man he was describing, Aberlour wouldn’t have looked his way, let alone become friends and—whatever else they were.
“No,” he admitted because they didn’t lie to each other.
“Maybe we’d have met in a bar,” Oliver said, like he didn’t like Abe’s answer.
“And I would have decked you,” Abe answered, rolling his eyes.
Oliver stopped playing with his hand for a minute. He laced his fingers in Aberlour’s and squeezed his hand tightly.
“I disagree,” he said, as if that was an impossibility.
Aberlour wanted to call bullshit and tell Oliver he was a hopeless romantic, but something in his friend’s gaze stopped him.
“I think we’d have found each other either way,” he said, convinced. “I think we needed to find each other.”
Yes, Abe could get behind that. They needed each other. There was no Gavin Aberlour without Oliver Darling. He could agree with him on that.
He started to say something. A confession that had never graced his consciousness before now, but he quickly restrained the impulse.
Instead, he said, “Lots of wood. Small, two bedrooms, with a porch swing. Red door, like your house. Couple of dogs, maybe a German Shepherd—I always loved those—and on Halloween we’d scare the neighbourhood kids, and in the summer, we’d teach them how to shoot cans like Marines. ”
“By the ocean?”
“By water, at least,” Aberlour assured him.
“No kids?” Oliver asked, looking at Abe’s profile.
“Don’t think I’d make a very good dad,” he replied.
“Hm,” Oliver hummed thoughtfully, not at all convinced. “One kid, I think.”
Abe shook his head and snorted, but as he started to argue, he caught a glimpse of Oliver’s profile, his hair mussed by the wind, his eyes big and blue, and his smile—hopeful, daring, carefree, and heartbreakingly gorgeous.
“Alright, one or two kids running amuck,” Aberlour conceded, because whatever Oliver wanted, Abe would give him.
Anything.
“JD and his girlfriend would probably move right next door.”
“For free babysitting,” Aberlour agreed, rolling his eyes.
“And Marcus would come crashing through the door every month or so with some ridiculous project to make Sabine smile,” Oliver continued.
“He loves that woman,” Aberlour agreed with a nod.
Oliver turned to him, his smile sunny as always. He squeezed Abe’s hand a little tighter and nodded.
“We’re all in love,” he said, because apparently, he didn’t know when to shut up.
“Ghost too,” Abe said, trying to sidetrack the conversation. “They’d move right next door. Ghost wouldn’t miss the party.”
Oliver chuckled and shook his head.