6. Chapter Six #2
“And tell me when you send them out, alright? Message both phones in case I’m in a stupid fucking meeting or something.”
I smirk. “Okay.”
“And stop smirking.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
He scoffs and hangs up.
I let myself keep smirking for a few more seconds as I tap my screen to pull up Keaton’s number, hovering my thumb over the green icon to make the call.
And it’s then that I realize that I was kind of relying on Kellan to say no.
On top of everything else, I didn’t want to worry about Keaton too. He could get hurt. Or killed. Travis could tell him things that send him spinning worse than he already is. He could come home with a whole new pile of self-hatred and guilt. He could find out things about Bryce that break him.
He could let something slip that betrays who I am and all the lies I’ve told.
He could get to the end of the op and realize there’s no way in hell he can let these men go.
He could get closure, maybe, but… I don’t think he will.
Fuck, I really don’t think he will.
It’s too late now.
My computer monitor has a pop-up announcing a positive match.
I found Mica.
Despite the late hour, the guys are wide-awake and buzzing with anticipation as I give them the details of what I’ve been able to find.
Maison slips right into boss mode, hands on his hips as he makes decisions and gives orders.
It was already decided before that Travis will go, mostly because he feels personally responsible for Mica, but Maison also wanted to get him the hell away from Carter for a while.
He was obvious about it then, and he isn’t any more subtle now.
Travis is well aware of those feelings, if the way he keeps his head down and just says, “Yes, sir,” over and over is any indication.
It’s definitely a good thing Maison is injured because if he was capable of going with Travis himself, I’m not entirely sure they’d both make it back. If they’re going to have a heart-to-heart, or even an all-out brawl, I’d prefer it happen here versus on an op in butt-fuck Mexico.
Maybe while Keaton works on Travis, I should try to talk to Maison.
My to-do list is overflowing at the moment, and I can’t actually remember the last time I slept, but I owe Maison that.
Not just as one of the men behind the decision to put his brother through hell, either.
He’s my friend. He’s like a brother. I want him to be okay again.
Besides, there’s no way I’ll get much rest while Keaton and Travis are active. Not only because I love both of them, but also because Kellan would murder me.
“Jake?” Maison says, pulling me out of my worry-spiral. “You good to go?”
“I’d prefer Jake to stay here,” I lie. Or maybe it isn’t that much of a lie. I really could use the help here. Maison is trying his best, but he’s clearly about to hit a wall - and hit it hard. Jake doesn’t seem to mind, if the relief he’s currently trying to hide is any indication.
Travis is a little more apprehensive. “Uh - so me and Maison, then?”
“I need Maison to stay here to help me out with Jake. Plus, he’s injured. Just because he’s pretending he’s not doesn’t erase that,” I explain for Travis. When Maison bristles, I shoot him a look and a raised eyebrow. “Don’t even try it.”
“Fine,” Maison grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. The attitude would be more convincing if he didn’t immediately wince at the movement. “So, who? Hyde? Cash?”
I blink once, a normal blink, keeping my face and tone completely neutral. He knows Keaton - well, he knows him as Keats, the semi-retired operative. He’s worked with him on some side jobs, even. He likes him. Me suggesting him isn’t going to be strange. “Keats is available.”
Maison nods slowly before looking at Travis. “He’s good. You’ll be fine with him.”
Travis shifts, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck, but he doesn’t argue.
“I can print out his file for you to look at on your flight, Trav.” It’s a file full of half-truths, of course, but he’ll never know that.
Keaton’s skills and experience is all that matters.
The details don’t have to be the truth. “He’s a great sniper, if you need cover, but he’s good at just about anything.
Semi-retired, but not enough to be rusty. ”
“Sure, yeah. I trust you.” He eyes Maison. “Both of you.”
Maison’s jaw ticks. He’s still only looking at me. “Send him out as soon as possible. We don’t want the fucker slipping away again.”
I can’t help the way my eyes flick to Jake, the two of us exchanging the kind of look that can only be shared by two people stuck in the middle of an extremely awkward situation. Sort of a ‘kill me now’ and ‘no you kill me’ exchange.
“Well, I-” I do some mental math. “I can have the materials you need printed and ready to go in 20, if you want to go pack up.”
“No need to say goodbyes,” Maison adds. His tone makes it an order, not a suggestion or a request. “No reason to wake anyone up. You’ll be back in no time.”
Jake and I exchange another look. This time he’s the one to speak up. “I’m sure there’s time for him to say a quick goodbye, man…”
“He’s sleeping,” Maison growls. “Leave him alone.”
We don’t have to ask who the him is.
I turn to stare at my computer screen, wondering if this is what it’d be like to be a kid with fighting parents. Am I now a child of divorce? I don’t like it.
Maybe Jake and I should Parent Trap them or something when Travis gets back.
Or stick Adam on them.
Then again, that’d require me to talk to Adam, which I’m definitely still avoiding.
I nearly slammed face-first into the wall earlier pulling a 180 when I realized he was in the room I was about to enter.
I don’t know why he’s still letting me get away with this shit, but I’ll milk it as long as I can.
I must miss a look or something said too quietly because the next thing I know, Maison’s saying, “You know what? It’s not like you listen to me anyway. Do whatever the fuck you want, Travis.”
Travis sounds heartbroken when he says, “Maison…”
I hear the office door open, but it doesn’t close. Not for a few seconds. Not until Maison takes a deep breath and says, much softer, “Be safe.”
It’s like a trainwreck. My eyes disobey, moving over to Travis, wanting to see. He swallows hard before nodding. “Yeah. I will be.”
Maison doesn’t say goodbye, leaving the rest of us in awkward silence. Thankfully, Jake is a guy that likes to take charge, especially in situations where he can comfort someone. He’s the ultimate daddy. If it was any other time, I’d take the chance to tease him a little about that.
Now is definitely not the time.
Especially when Jake grabs Travis by the shoulder and meets his eyes to tell him, “You focus on the mission, you hear me? You be fucking careful. You get your ass back here. I’ll watch your boy in the meantime.”
“Yeah?” Travis asks, his voice cracking.
“Of course. I’ll stick Casey on him, too.”
Travis nods a few times, almost like he’s trying to convince himself to believe Jake. “Okay. Yeah. Thanks, Jake.”
“Maison just needs some time,” I add. “He’s in a bad headspace. I’ll try to talk to him while you’re gone.”
“I will too,” Jake adds.
He forces a smile for us. “Thanks, guys.”
“I’ll start on that file.” I turn back to the computer, feeling much steadier the moment the keys are beneath my fingers. “Jake, you want to talk to security? Make sure they’ve got everything sorted before he tries to leave?”
“For sure.”
The door clicks shut again just as the printer is whirring to life. I start to reach for the energy drink I had already been working on before Kellan called before the back of my neck prickles like someone’s watching me.
I glance over my shoulder to find myself proven correctly. Travis is lurking near the door, looking as sketchy as a kid who just swiped cookies from the cookie jar. He almost startles when we make eye contact. Dread twists in my gut. What now?
“You want to change something?” I ask, trying not to sound annoyed or anxious or exhausted or anything else.
He has a right to change details. It’s the whole reason we had a planning session as a team instead of just Maison and I deciding and giving hte orders.
Him waiting until Maison left would have made sense.
I wouldn’t have been happy about it, but it made sense.
Him waiting until Jake was gone too makes me nervous, though.
I am too anxious of a person on a good day, and barely fucking holding it together on this particular day, to be nervous on top of it.
“I wanted to ask you a favor. Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I wasn’t sure if - so here’s the thing.” He glances at the computer, then at me again. “Can you find someone on that? If I gave you some details and a name?”
“Depends on the details. Is it a full name, or just a first?”
“Just a first. He - uh.”
I fight the frown trying to pull at my lips, not wanting him to get even more self-concious about whatever this is. “It’s alright. Just talk to me, man. We’ll figure it out.”
“There’s a boy.” His eyes flutter closed for a moment.
It’s the way someone looks when they suffer a loss, their world pulled out from under them, but they only have a moment to grieve.
He exhales, slow and steady, before squaring his shoulders and looking back at me.
Every anxiety from before is washed away, leaving nothing behind but confidence.
I’ve only ever seen this version of him on video, from his time playing the part of Nathan Roarke.
He sounds like him too when he says in a scary, threatening tone, “A fucking little kid.”
There’s something that happens to me when kids get involved in my job.
The edges of this awful world go fuzzy and everything feels far away.
I slip into a sort of auto-pilot, surviving my way through until I can turn the metaphorical page and forget about kids being trafficked altogether.
It doesn’t take a fucking genius to figure out why.
Adam says it’s my brain trying to protect itself.