Chapter 18
As soon as they’d landed back on base, Oli jumped into his car to go visit his brother. Aberlour didn’t go with him, knowing he wouldn’t be welcomed, nor did he even really belong there. But he’d have gone with him if Oli had asked him to. Which he hadn’t. In fact, he’d recommended the opposite.
“Go home. I’ll be back in a few days—we’ll take a trip. Get away from everything.”
Aberlour gave in to his request and headed back to Oli’s house, happy to see his old blue truck in the driveway, and the house exactly as they’d left it. For the next two days, he worked on re-stocking the kitchen cabinets, watching TV, drinking beer, patiently waiting for his Darling to come home.
When Oliver finally got home, he was a vastly different man from the one Abe had left at the airport.
This Oliver was hard, cold, and distant.
He initially stiffened as Aberlour wrapped his arms around him, but then quickly relaxed in his hold.
His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen but when Aberlour had asked about what had happened while he was gone, Oliver had refused to discuss it.
Instead, he’d insisted they should get ready for their trip to get away from it all for a few days.
“Go pack a bag,” he’d said.
Despite Aberlour’s desire to argue for staying home, he’d silently packed his duffle bag.
He hadn’t wanted to leave Oli’s cozy little house.
Hadn’t wanted to walk out that little red door and return to the real world.
He’d wanted nothing more than to wrap Oliver up in his arms and keep him right there, safe in their home.
Whatever was happening—with Oliver, his mother, his brother—whatever it was, it scared Abe in ways he barely understood.
He wanted to smother Oli in warmth and love in their home until he forgot about the people who’d made him leave home in the first place.
He wanted Oli to forget about those worthless fuckers long enough to be Aberlour’s completely again.
He revealed none of his inner thoughts and desires to Oliver. He couldn’t. It wasn’t fair to burden Oliver any further, since he looked as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders as it was.
So, they walked out the little red door and climbed into Aberlour’s truck. As Aberlour watched their house grow smaller in his rearview mirror, he could neither explain nor justify his urge to scream.
So, he swallowed it back down.
They ended up heading to Key West.
Aberlour didn’t ask why, he simply agreed to go wherever Oli wanted to go. He enjoyed having Oliver all to himself for a couple of days. They didn’t even tell the other guys, they just—packed their shit and took off.
It felt like their last days together, too.
Aberlour wasn’t sure why. Maybe because he was a skeptical motherfucker.
Good days, in his book, usually meant end days.
It had always been like that, and so, the days they spent by the beach had felt like the perfect ending they wouldn’t get in real life.
It was the first time they acted like a couple in public.
They never discussed it. Never planned for it.
Oliver simply grabbed Aberlour’s hand as they’d walked out of the airport, and Aberlour hadn’t seen a single good reason to ever let go.
They held hands the whole time. Like love birds on vacation, or newlyweds on their honeymoon.
Sickening and sweet, and everything they had never been meant to be, and yet, you couldn’t have wiped the smile off Aberlour’s face even with a baseball bat.
Spending time with Oliver here was like a dream.
One that Aberlour was wary of trusting. It was too much.
Too—good. Oliver was back to his usual self, with no signs of any underlying anger and short fuse.
He kept looking at Aberlour like he couldn’t quite believe they were here together, and Aberlour was too much of coward to ask him why that was.
Fuck—but he should have.
“Gentlemen,” their waitress said with a smile as she asked them to follow her to their table. They’d been living on takeout since leaving Oli’s house. They weren’t rich, and the hotel had cost a small fortune, but for their last night, it had felt right to go out and celebrate.
Aberlour placed a hand at the small of Oliver’s back and guided his—boyfriend?—lover?— his Darling to the table.
“This place is nice,” Oliver said, as he sat down.
The restaurant was right on the water, with a view of the low tide that was slowly rolling back in. There was a giant concrete dock where they’d strung garden lights for a romantic evening walk. If Aberlour got tipsy enough, he’d probably let Oliver talk him into taking a stroll after dinner.
“Thought you’d like it,” Aberlour said somewhat sheepishly.
He’d been a little hesitant to book a table there. Oliver came from serious money. A fancy table by the ocean wouldn’t impress him. That said, he was also a hopeless romantic. Aberlour going out of his way—and comfort zone—to please him would mean more than the setting itself.
“I’m fucking starved,” Oliver said, opening the menu, and eyeing the selections hungrily.
Aberlour tried to focus on his own menu, but the only thing he was craving was ripping that tight button-down shirt right off Oliver’s chest.
He looked delicious. Sinfully, beautifully put together. His white button-up shirt was opened a few buttons further down than he normally wore it, with a pair of navy-blue chinos that hugged his ass just right. Damn, but his man sure did clean up well.
“Steamers look good,” Oliver mused, yanking Aberlour’s mind out of the gutter and back to considering the entrée choices.
“Right,” he replied, clearing his throat. Oliver shot him a smile that said he hadn’t been fooled for a second.
Oliver talked. Aberlour listened. They ordered too much food. Aberlour grimaced at the thought of raw oysters as Oliver teased him about their reputation as an aphrodisiac. Aberlour replied he wasn’t quite that old yet.
Oliver ordered steamed clams and mussels. He told Abe all about how they were caught and cooked. He’d learned as a child spending time at his grandparents’ beach house. Aberlour had a steak, ‘cause he couldn’t be bothered with anything else. They shared a dessert while drinking too much wine.
By the time the bill came, they were kicking each other in the shins and giggling like schoolboys.
They were some of the last patrons to leave, and Oliver did manage to convince Aberlour to take a walk under the fairy lights of the pier, watching the tide roll in.
Then, when the fairy lights were shut off, and everyone had gone home, and it was just them under the empty sky, they went for a swim.
The water was cold, and dark, but strangely familiar.
Force Recon Marines trained in the ocean regularly.
They trained for all kinds of scenarios.
They practiced survival skills when their boats capsized, learned to navigate hostile and shark-infested waters, trained to sneak into enemy territory or onto cargo ships in the dead of night.
They’d been here before, it seemed. The two of them, surrounded by miles and miles of water, waves pulling them towards shore then dragging them back out again, forcing them to brace themselves against the force of the tide.
Yet, for the very first time, it wasn’t the effort, or the training, or the pressure that had Aberlour’s heartbeat racing.
It was Oliver’s hands holding onto his biceps, his beautiful smile visible even in the dim light coming from the nearby boardwalk.
It wasn’t the cold that took his breath away, but the kisses peppered across his skin as they moved with the current.
“Let’s never go back,” Oliver said, sometime later as he sat on a part of the concrete pier that had been eroded by saltwater. “We have the skills,” he breathed out, like a confession.
“The skills?” Aberlour asked, confused.
“To disappear,” Oliver clarified, turning to look at Aberlour with an intensity he didn’t recognize.
Had the wind picked up? Was the tide rising faster? Were the waves bigger? It seemed, as Aberlour held onto the pier, his fingers gripping the rough concrete, that the swell was crashing against the pier now. Not merely rocking against it, but breaking, violently.
“We have contacts. We know how to go off the grid.” Oliver was staring thoughtfully towards the dark horizon. Chills ran up and down Aberlour’s spine. It was just because the water was so cold, he rationalized to himself.
“I’m sure we could do it. We could disappear, completely,” Oliver whispered, looking wistful.
He turned and grabbed one of Aberlour’s hands, holding tightly as the waves continued to crash against the pier.
“Sure, I guess,” Aberlour replied, although he didn’t understand why they had to.
Disappear? Why did they have to disappear? They weren’t hunted or chased. They had no reason to run away.
A wave swept around Aberlour’s legs, almost pulling him from Oli’s grasp before crashing into the pier. It sent up a spray of water that temporarily blinded Abe.
“Would you?” Oliver said, although Abe barely heard him over the rush of the water.
Would he what? Run away? Disappear?
Aberlour shook his head, trying to organize his thoughts.
Oliver was looking down at him, still holding onto Aberlour with one hand, waiting for an answer.
Abe wondered, for a brief moment, if Oli might let go if he gave the wrong answer.
“Yes,” he said.
He didn’t dare read into Oli’s expression, it was too dark and perhaps too dangerous.
“I think we should get out,” Aberlour said, as another wave sprayed water over their heads.
“You afraid of drowning?” Oliver asked, teasing. He wasn’t letting go or moving, appearing to dare Aberlour somehow. Daring him to do what? Drown? Leave? Disappear? Was he calling Aberlour’s bluff?
“No,” Abe said, stilling his movements to look directly into Oli’s eyes. “I don’t scare easily.”
Oliver’s smile softened and he pulled at Aberlour, finally. They made it onto the dock with a little effort and some bruises. It was definitely time to leave. The wind had picked up, and it whistled in their ears as increasingly bigger waves crashed against the pier.
“Wow, the swells really picked up,” Oliver remarked, as they airdried, butt naked on the empty pier.
“About time you caught on,” Abe teased gruffly. “I was barely holding on the last few minutes.” Aberlour gave Oliver a look of disbelief as he shook water out of his hair. He needed a good buzz cut. It was well beyond regulation length.
“Really?” Oliver asked. “Didn’t notice,” he replied honestly.
Aberlour turned back to the ocean, wondering how it was possible not to notice such gigantic waves. Then again, he supposed, it was easier not to when your head was far above the water.