4. Chapter Four #4
“When you find Mica, Travis will need someone to be his second. Maison isn’t going to be healed enough, unless it takes longer than we expect to track him down.
Even if Maison is healed, it’d be good to have him and Jake stay behind to help you out.
Plus, you said that Jake is close to Casey, so he’d probably want to stay behind anyway. ”
“It’s not going to happen.”
“Which means we would have probably assigned him an outside operative anyway. We would have at least considered it. Who’s to say I’m not one of them? Maison would back the story up if he saw me. You could, too.”
“I cannot be more clear about this, Keaton. You are not going to be setting foot in this safehouse. Absolutely not.” My stupid voice is fucking shaking at this point, panic battering in my chest. “Do you understand that? Absolutely fucking not.”
“I’m not saying the safehouse. I’m not saying I want to meet… anyone else. I get it. I know that I - that it wouldn’t be a good idea. I know I have to let… him go. I am letting him go. I’m… working on it. But I will let him go, I swear. I just want to meet Travis.”
I press two knuckles to my face, one at the corner of my eye and the other at the edge of my brow. That’s right where my migraines usually originate.
“It’s not even against Kell’s rules, really.
He said I could keep doing short missions, right?
Low-risk ones. Wherever this fuckhead is hiding, it should be easy enough to smoke him out.
His entire social circle has been tugged out from under him.
Whoever is helping him, it’s a skeleton team.
Kellan would approve of that, don’t you think?
” He doesn’t give me the chance to decide - or to share that decision with him.
“Then I can just talk with Travis, you know? Ex-operative to sort-of-ex-operative. I can tell him I was an old team leader or something. Maybe get him to open up a little. See where his head is at. He’ll talk to me more than anyone at the safehouse, you can’t argue that.
It’s always easier to open up about the messy shit with strangers. I could be that for him. I could help.”
How is this my life?
Ten years ago, when I begged Kellan to let me work tech on the main team of an operation, I knew it was going to be hard.
I knew I was going to see things. I was going to see shit that fucked with my head, see shit that would remind me of dark closets, see shit that he and Keaton had gone a long way to protect me from seeing.
I knew we’d lose people, too. Plenty of victims, sure, but even losing teammates was possible if things went sideways enough.
They both warned me, but they didn’t have to. I knew. Maybe I didn’t know everything, and I definitely didn’t know that things would become quite this fucked up, but I knew enough. Of course I did. I was raised in their shadows, after all.
I didn’t know it’d feel like this, though. I didn’t know it’d be so heavy. I didn’t know I would be so alone in the position of holding everything together.
Maybe Keaton would help. He couldn’t make it any worse, right?
It’s not like he’d be in the house, seeing the operatives, meeting survivors, feeding his obsession with Bryce.
Hell, maybe talking with Travis would be enough closure for him to finally get this whole fucked up operation out of his system.
Maybe he’ll even be able to let go of Bryce, trusting his support system with his safety. Maybe he’ll be able to move on.
Maybe I can get just a little bit of help taking care of these men I love, and help Keaton at the same time. Maybe I can finally stop being split so entirely. Maybe I could let the gap close, just a little.
“You there?” he asks, his voice so small it’s hard to remember just how big and strong he is.
“Yeah.”
“You haven’t said no again.”
I laugh, hoarse and low and not amused. “No, I have not.”
“You’re considering it, then?”
“It’s not really up to me, either way.”
“No, but he’ll ask your opinion. He always does if it’s about me.”
Oof.
I wasn’t aware that Keaton knew about that. I doubt Kellan is either. Should I apologize? It’s not like I’ve ever tattled on him or anything. There are plenty of his secrets I’m going to be taking to my grave. Bryce might be the biggest one, but he’s definitely not the only.
When Kellan calls about him, it’s more of a consultation than a request for intel.
He wants to know my opinion on Keaton’s current mental state.
He wants to check to see if I think Kellan’s actions on a particular Keaton-related issue are the right choices.
He wants to bounce ideas off of me to figure out if something is the kind of thing Keaton would forgive him for, or if he’s approaching a line he shouldn’t cross.
I’m a sounding board, more than anything else.
He knows Keaton relaxes with me in ways he can’t with him.
If I told him we called each other brothers tonight, I don’t think he’d be even the slightest bit surprised.
If anything, his surprise would be that we hadn’t said that to each other sooner.
He’s fully aware that Keaton and I have grown into something as the years have passed.
He knows I fill in the gaps he can never fill.
Kellan trusts me to be that person for Keaton, something I’ve never fully understood, but something I won’t ever take for granted.
I always thought the least I could do was be honest with him in return.
Keaton’s mental health history is too dangerous not to be.
The system has worked so far, at least.
I’m realizing now that Keaton might not agree.
Fuck.
“I don’t tell him things you wouldn’t want him to know,” I say carefully, my heart pounding just as hard as before. I hope I sound more honest than defensive. “I haven’t told him about Bryce. I would never do that.”
“There isn’t…” he stops himself with a deep sigh. We both know denying it would be absurd. I appreciate him saving us the time. This conversation has been exhausting enough as is. “Okay, yeah. There’s an ‘about Bryce’. But I’m… handling it. Sort of. I’m working on handling it.”
I can feel the way my bouncing knee is making my chair vibrate. Stopping it feels like a bad idea, like all the pressure inside of me will burst without the small outlet. Like I’ll be the one tearing apart for once, instead of Keaton.
I’m so good at piecing Keaton back together while I keep my own shit steady. I’m not sure how good I’d be at doing that for myself if I fall apart.
God, what if I hit rock bottom and end up having to, like… go see Adam?
Yuck.
I lay my forearm on the desk before using it to pillow my head. My desk starts to bounce along with my knee and chair. The two monitors nearest to me jiggle a little.
I have to do this. Before I send him out with Travis. Before I tell Kellan I think it’s a good idea. I have to do this.
I’d never forgive myself if I don’t do this.
“Keaton?”
“Yeah?”
“When’d you start drinking again?”
He sucks in a sharp breath, but he doesn’t deny it.
“I’ve got it-”
“-under control,” I finish softly. I’ve heard those words before. “I know. How long?”
Every second he makes me wait for the answer sends a fresh wave of panic through me. I’m nearly drowning in it when he finally says, “Since the other night. I was… watching.”
“Watching what, bud?”
“The party.”
I shift my weight, my bouncing knee pausing for a second as my mind spins.
I was busy the night of the party. Especially once Carter and Casey were entrusted to me.
My top priority was getting them to the safehouse while the operatives handled the takedowns and finished things, and while the other survivors were rounded up and sorted into vehicles.
Before it was time for me to take Carter and Casey, though, I was sitting in my vehicle with a tablet, monitoring the party to make sure everything unravelled the way we needed it to.
I knew Keaton was monitoring it, too. Even Kellan probably was.
It was the much anticipated ending to a nearly decade-long operation that took a lot out of all of us, psycopaths included.
I was too busy to think of the consequences of Keaton’s viewership.
He had to watch Bryce.
I don’t have to ask him what made that night different from all the other times he’s had to watch Bryce get hurt.
It just was. The energy, the nerves, that awful feeling of being so close and knowing at any second everything could fall apart.
Adding that on top of having to watch Bryce panicking, the man overwhelmed with confusion, his fragile hope warring with a lifetime of skepticism - all while knowing that it was the last time he’d see Bryce if he stayed true to our deal.
I don’t know how to help him with any of that, especially not without giving in and letting him fuel his obsession, but I can handle the drinking at least.
“Stop now, before it gets out of control,” I half-beg, half-order him. “Sober up. Toss the rest of the booze - and the cigarettes, while you’re at it.”
“And you’ll tell Kellan you think it’s a good idea? Me going with Travis?”
It’s not a good idea. It’s a terrible idea.
The alternative, though…
“I’ll tell him it’s a good idea.” I close my eyes, keeping my voice steady and calm. “But this is it, Keaton. It has to be, okay? Do this for closure and be done. Done with all of it - all of them. Tell me you’ll do that. Promise me.”
“Yeah, Ace,” he says immediately. “I can lock this down. Promise.”
“Lock it down and stay sober?”
“Yeah. Yes.”
I don’t know if I believe him.
I hate that I don’t know if I believe him.
When did I lose control of this situation? Am I losing control of anything else? How do I keep everything together if I don’t have a good hold on any of it?
“So, you’ll do it?” he asks with a far too happy voice.
I don’t know what the right thing to do is.
Someone tell me what the right fucking thing to do is.