Chapter 17
“Staff Sergeant Aberlour,” he said, struggling to sound awake and professional.
Oliver didn’t seem to notice or care. He turned over and laid his head on Aberlour’s chest, throwing one arm across his waist.
Aberlour listened for a minute then wrapped up the call.
Oli sighed plaintively and hugged Aberlour closer.
“When do we have to report?” he asked, accurately guessing the purpose of the call.
“Wednesday at 9:00 a.m.,” Aberlour replied with his own disconsolate sigh that echoed Oli’s.
“We should text the others. Let them know as soon as possible,” Oli said, even as he failed to move a single muscle, not even trying to get out of bed. He just—laid there, as if by saying it out loud would accomplish the task without having to leave Abe’s side.
Aberlour hummed in approval.
“How long?” Oli asked, after a moment, while his right hand traced random patterns across Abe’s shoulders and down his arm.
“Special assignment. Two to three months.”
It wasn’t that Aberlour minded being deployed. He loved his job. He’d just—well, he’d gotten comfortable here in Oli’s house. Living a simple life. Coming home to a warm, safe bed every night.
“Marcus just got married,” Oliver said, like he was sharing a similar train of thought.
Aberlour hummed again and buried his hand in Oliver’s messy, unruly locks. He pulled gently on them before leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to his crown.
“I’ll call him,” Aberlour said.
Rolling out of bed, they got their asses in gear. No longer just lovers, they fell into step like soldiers.
As far as deployments went, it was relatively smooth.
They’d been dropped into action right away, but their movements had been stealthy and successful, with no ugly surprises.
They’d mostly baked their asses in the desert and encountered more than their fair share of venomous snakes.
But at least they were all in one piece.
No bullet holes. No major injuries, and more than anything, they were making their mark and high command was taking notice.
Although they were one of the younger teams, it was becoming increasingly obvious that Team Specter had serious potential.
They were building a solid reputation for themselves, and Aberlour couldn’t help feeling boastful as they were praised by their commanding officers.
Aberlour and Oliver operated as a single unit.
Oliver took the lead more and more, his level of confidence increasing as Aberlour stood behind him in silent support.
They ran the team together, allowing everyone to contribute to the decision-making process, which fostered trust among the members of the team.
The connection that brought them together time and again made the team stronger, and if anyone noticed Oliver walking a tad closer to Aberlour than before, no one said anything.
Now, after three months of proving themselves, they were heading home.
They’d accomplished everything they’d set out to do and they’d be home in two weeks.
After that, they’d get a four-month break before their next deployment, along with a nice promotion for a job well-done.
It was the best news Team Specter had heard in weeks.
As Aberlour and Oliver were relaxing with the rest of the team in their stateroom on the naval warship, there was a firm knock on the door. Since it wasn’t latched, it readily swung open to reveal a young female Seaman.
“Staff Sergeant Darling,” she said, her tone clipped as she stood at the door with her shoulders back, expression unreadable.
Oliver looked up from where he’d been lounging next to Abe, watching an action film on a portable DVD player.
“Yes?” he responded, leaning sideways out of the bunk.
The Seaman merely extended the SAT phone in her hand without replying.
Brows arched in surprise, he jumped down from his bunk and accepted the phone with a quick nod of thanks. She turned and left their stateroom, closing the door behind her to offer him some semblance of privacy while she remained posted outside their door.
Oliver eyed the phone suspiciously but put it up to his ear, his gaze narrowed with confusion.
“Hello?” he asked hesitantly.
Aberlour was too far away from the phone to hear the person on the other end, but Oli tensed up immediately.
“Is he alright?” he asked, voice tight with emotion, even though he looked rather—stoic.
Marcus nudged Aberlour’s foot, nodding towards Oliver, with a questioning look.
Aberlour shrugged, because he hadn’t the faintest idea what was going on.
“We all knew—” Oliver began, but the other person cut him off. “No. I told you, and you—” he broke off again. Concern morphed into anger on Oli’s face, a fierce frown appearing as his voice rose in frustration.
“Just tell me if he’s going to be okay,” Oli snapped. “I don’t give a damn about your reputation, I’m talking about—”
That harsh tone was usually reserved for one person in his life. Suddenly, Aberlour realized exactly who he was talking to.
“He needs rehab, not another political—” Oli’s left hand was balled into a fist as he began to pace back and forth in the small stateroom.
His jaw ticked with anger as he listened to her latest diatribe.
No one set Oliver off quite like his mother.
It was a gift. An innate ability to drive him around the bend.
“No,” he declared sharply. “I said no. That’s final.
” The voice on the other end got louder, and Oliver’s features contorted with annoyance and—pain?
Grief? Disappointment? It was difficult to tell.
“I’ll call Jake myself. Good night, Mother,” Oliver stated coldly.
Before she launched another argument or came up with another way to guilt him into bending to her will, he cut the call.
Wordlessly, he opened the door to return the SAT phone to the Seaman and then slammed the door shut. As Oliver turned around, he was startled to find Team Specter looking at him curiously.
“Everything okay?” Marcus finally asked, when it became obvious Oliver had no plans to explain the call.
Oliver clenched his jaw and growled angrily before speaking.
“Brother overdosed. He’s in the hospital. He’ll be fine.” Oliver sounded as if every word was wrenched out of him, ripped from his very soul.
Aberlour recalled that Oliver’s brother had been absent from Christmas dinner. He’d never asked Oli why, nor had he cared at the time. Now, he wondered if he should have asked about him during their visit.
“What did she want?” Aberlour asked directly, seeing no reason to shy away from seeking the information they all wanted to know.
Ghost reached over and shoved him in the leg, as if it had been the wrong thing to say.
It wasn’t. Aberlour could tell it wasn’t from the way Oli’s gaze met and held Aberlour’s, seeking his strength.
“Everything,” Oliver said, sounding almost dazed. “She always asks for everything.”
No one knew what to say to that, and thankfully, they didn’t have to. Oliver shook his head, as if ridding himself of the dark mood brought on by the call from his mother. He marched back to the bunk and jumped back up to lounge next to Aberlour.
“Press play,” he ordered.
Aberlour readily complied as Oliver pushed his shoulder firmly against his.