Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
The soldiers called it R and R. Rest and relaxation.
Blake thought it was probably more like a last hurrah.
A ramshackle feast of questionable canned goods and whatever burned hottest after they swallowed.
That afternoon, Gabriel had slammed the map of the Metro down, tossed his pen into the corner of Irving’s office, and announced they were done.
That they were prepared. Every ‘I’ had been dotted, ‘T’ crossed, and there was nothing left to do but celebrate a job well done.
What he really meant was their last night alive, but he was their commander, so he couldn’t say that.
Didn’t stop Blake from thinking it though, as he leaned back on the grassy knoll over the river, warm soda can warping under his fingers. It was a nice day. A gift, or maybe an omen.
Blake felt like a plant, rolling up his sleeves and turning to face the sun, letting it bathe across his skin. He’d even taken off his socks and shoes, toes squishing in grass that wasn’t quite green but didn’t have that crunchy, brown dead look of winter.
To his left, Tommy was shirtless, tossing a stick to some of the dogs that followed him around.
Phin was behind him, a grumpy shadow who made sure everyone knew exactly where not to look.
Sometimes he’d cajole Phin to throw the stick, marveling at how far he got it.
Phin tried not to look too pleased as he subtly flexed his biceps.
Gabriel was fishing. He had some kind of bet with Victoria and was taking it very seriously.
They’d found an old rod at the back of a shed next to some moth-eaten uniforms and a stack of yellowed newspapers.
Neither one of them had any luck, and eating anything out of the Potomac was questionable at best, but Gabriel had shucked most of his clothes so he could wade into the muddy river.
His arms and back flexed as he cast, sweat sticking to skin that only needed a few moments of sun to bloom the most beautiful bronze.
Blake didn’t really care for fish, but he sure as hell liked watching them get caught.
Everyone else was scattered. Some retired to their rooms, others lounged around the hotel. Irving thought some recreation was good for morale. What he considered fun, Blake couldn’t guess. Probably reading fiction.
Tipping his head back, he watched the sun begin to fade, and the blue sky turn a pink sherbert. Colors splashing across the thick, fluffy clouds meandering across the sky. The trees were beginning to pop leaves, small little buds tentatively sticking their heads out to see if the coast was clear.
It was a nice day. Would be nicer if tomorrow wasn’t looming.
In less than twenty-four hours, they would either have DC…or be dead.
The thought of probable death should be more worrying than it was.
Blake could feel the small kernel of anxiety sitting low in his stomach, threatening to pop if he just gave it enough attention.
But he was ignoring it. Telling himself they were ready.
Gabriel thought so. Even Irving had given his assent. That had to mean something.
One summer—Blake couldn’t recall exactly which—they’d had a spider infestation in their hall coat closet.
They were harmless. Small, fuzzy, quick-moving things that skittered in the corner of his eye and lingered in dark corners.
His mom said to just ignore them. His dad didn’t have the heart to call an exterminator.
Blake thought they were funny. In the heat of summer, bored out of his mind, he’d open that door and poke at them with a pen. Prod at them just enough until they’d rear up, waggle their furry front legs at him. Defensive posturing. Beware! I’m bigger than I seem! Rawr!
It made him laugh.
Now Blake knew exactly how they felt. Small, helpless, desperate to protect yourself against an entity bigger than you, smarter than you, with more resources than you. Karma might be a bitch, but damn was she effective.
Gabriel was confident in the way a man who had planned and executed dozens of military missions could be, but Blake felt like a furry spider backed against the baseboard, flailing his arms and hoping the Off Formers and Monkey Cats would be intimidated enough to leave him alone.
It would have to be enough. It had to. Operation: ET Get Fucked was their best bet.
Tomorrow morning, Blake would be boarding a helicopter, a syringe in his pocket with enough methamphetamine to kill him three times over.
It had to be him. He had the best chance of finding the weak point.
The spot where the drugs would have the best chance to infiltrate their system.
But that was tomorrow. Today, he was watching the sunset with warm soda in his belly and the people he’d learn to love like family all around him. As far as last days go, it could be worse.
“I tried to eat a cloud once,” Judd said, his drawl carrying over from where he was sitting with Sara. They were sprawled out on their backs, looking up at the sky. Coloring books, broken crayons, and an open box of cookies between them.
Sara giggled. “Nuh-huh!”
“I did.” He lifted his hands, touching his thumbs and pointer fingers together to make a square. He centered a cloud in it. “Got all the junk from around the farm and piled it into the bed of my momma’s truck. Climbed high up into the sky and took a big ol’ bite.”
Rolling onto her belly, she leveled him with a serious look. “What did it taste like?”
“Dirt.”
Sara’s face crumpled in confusion.
Judd dropped his hands and snagged a cookie. He chewed it slowly. “Fell off the tower and broke both my wrists.”
When realization dawned, she squealed, “You liar!” She smacked him on the chest. He stole the box of cookies and took off across the grass.
Sara chased him down the hill. Judd clutched the cookies to his chest, darting behind Victoria, nearly slipping into the water.
She knocked him to the ground, stole his cookies, and laughed when Sara tackled Judd.
“He’s ticklish,” she told the girl around a mouthful of snickerdoodle.
“Betrayal!” Judd shouted as Sara exacted her vengeance with her tiny fingers.
Gabriel told them they were scaring off the fish, but his smile took the bite out of it.
He looked away from the scene when he heard boots against the grass. Beaumont slid down beside him, legs curled under him. He was wearing a ratty jean jacket and his typical slouchy beanie, blonde hair was in his eyes. It was artfully messy.
“Hey,” he said, voice low. “What did I miss?”
“Shakespearean levels of betrayal. Judd may never recover.”
“Well, as long as he doesn’t fall in love with his mother.”
Blake smiled and offered Beaumont a sip of his soda. He was a little surprised when he took it. Making a face as he took a sip. “It’s better cold.”
He hummed in acknowledgment and finished off the drink when he handed it back. They watched everyone in easy silence. He hadn’t had much of a chance to talk to Beaumont since their ill-fated mission. They’d all been so busy with preparations there hadn’t been time.
Gabriel looked up from his fishing spot, and his eyes narrowed. He didn’t have an issue with Beaumont, but he did with Alvarez. The two were practically a BOGO deal, and Gabriel might have put his issues aside to work with Alvarez, but he still hadn’t forgiven him for taking Blake out.
Blake stuck his tongue out at him.
Beaumont huffed. “I should apologize,” he said, brushing some hair from his eyes. “For the mission. And for after. I never—I should have said something to you. Thanked you.”
“For what?”
“For finding the insulin. Emily is pretty great, and the thought of her not getting it…” he swallowed, wrapping his arms around his knees. “And for the kid. I didn’t—I’m not good with kids. And after her mom died like that, I couldn’t face her.”
“I feel guilty, too.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Maybe if we say it enough, we’ll start believing it.”
Beaumont nodded, his face grim. He looked paler than usual, his light brows drawn together. His throat bobbed. “You’re a good person, Blake. The kind of person I would have—I don’t think we would have been friends. Before. Not because of you, but because I wouldn’t have wanted to.”
Blake turned to look at him. It was a strange thing to say. Beaumont was chewing on the inside of his cheek, staring at a spot in the grass but not seeing it. He was wrestling with something. Probably whatever secret he was keeping so close.
“When Alvarez found me, I was running. I didn’t—I’d never really trusted anyone except my b—brother and—” his words were stilted. Like he was yanking them out from between clenched teeth.
“Whatever your secret is,” Blake said, crumpling the can. “You can keep it.”
Beaumont looked up quickly.
“You don’t have to tell me. We’re not the same people we were before. I know you now. And that’s enough for me.”
Blue eyes flicked across Blake’s face for a moment, looking for the lie. The loophole. Something but the truth. He didn’t find it.
Hands shaking, he nodded. “Thank you.”
They didn’t embrace. Blake didn’t do that. But he felt like if he did, that would have been the moment for it. Instead, he tossed the empty can at Beaumont and asked him who his favorite superhero was.
They talked about movies until the sun went down, and the darkness chased everyone back to the motel.
Judd and Phin built a bonfire. Alvarez pulled out a guitar.
He was a good player despite the scowl. Blake sat on Gabriel’s lap, leaning against his warm chest. Gabriel sang along under his breath, voice low and chest rumbly. Blake could listen to him for hours.