“It’s no problem.”
“I mean, I’ll just call my handler and ask him to send the request up the chain,” Maison says, feigning casualness as if making such a monumental request is no big deal. As if this isn’t the kind of request Kellan would kill someone over.
Except he doesn’t know about Kellan, or how easily Kellan finds it to order someone’s death, or how overprotective he is of the organization - not because of the organization itself, but because of Keaton’s part of it. Maybe even because I’m a part of it, too.
Which means if this is going to have any hope of happening, it needs to be me who makes this call. “Your handler got cycled out now that the operation is officially over. I have a guy, though. I’ll give him a call.”
His eyes light up. “Yeah? Awesome, man. That’s - thank you.”
“It’s no problem.”
He gives me a look like he doesn’t believe that, but also like he’ll indulge me in pretending. Which is fine.
Except, he’s reaching for the box of Fruit Loops, which aren’t for him, and then he’s leaning back on the couch. Getting comfortable. Clearly planning to stay.
I can’t make this call if he stays.
Why did I not think about the possibility that he’d want to stay?
“Um,” I manage to say, like an idiot. He raises an eyebrow at me.
A task. I need a task. I have so many fucking tasks.
What can I give him? What can I - oh fuck it.
I stand up abruptly, my desk chair rolling a little too far and hitting the cabinet.
“Feel free to hang out. Eat. Whatever. Don’t touch my fucking licorice. I need to run a quick errand.”
He sits up straighter. “But… the call?”
“I’m pretty good at multi-tasking, I’ll have you know.
I’ve got it handled. You focus on getting the stuff for their kits ready, yeah?
” I glance at my main screen, making sure I’m signed into the right profile still, then grab my coat from where it’s draped over my corner bookcase. “Need anything while I’m out?”
“Uh.” He seems to consider it before slowly shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, call me if you think of anything.” I give him an awkward sort-of-salute thing that I immediately regret - why are you like this, oh my god! - and dart out of there before I can start rambling.
I weave through the house to the discreet exit in the back, entering my code and handprint and waiting to be granted permission to leave as if I’m not the one who built the entire system. It beeps cheerfully.
“Everything good?” Codies asks from his spot tucked behind the overgrown wildflowers that edge the building.
I force a smile - nothing is good, nothing is good at all, I have to sneak away to call my pseudo-father, and I have to pretend to run an errand, which means I need to drive, but I’m also kind of thinking I might fall asleep at the wheel within the next five minutes and that would be bad for any innocent people driving on the road, and also bad for Carter and Casey because it would mean the phone call didn’t happen, but I’m also sort of hoping to fall asleep at the wheel within the next five minutes because this phone call is going to really piss Kellan off, at best, or get some people I love killed, at worst - and wave off his worry.
“Yeah, everything is fine. Sorry for not giving you a heads up. I need to run a quick errand, last minute, nothing to be concerned about. I’m going to check out vehicle 3 - shouldn’t be long.”
“What’s your check-in time?”
Oh jeez. I know it’s not his fault, but I have no fucking idea what time it is right now, and I’m too tired to calculate how long it takes to get to the nearest town where I could possibly have an errand to run, and his safety protocols are really inconvenient right now.
I play it safe. “Check-in by 10 PM. But I’ll be back way before that, trust me.”
He’s already pulling out his phone, likely to log the time into the program that will send out a team-wide alert at 10:01 if it hasn’t been disabled at the sight of my return. Does Kellan see those? Why can’t I remember if Kellan sees those?
Not that it matters.
I have to talk to him either way.
Fuck me.
I keep my head down until I’m in the car, not giving anyone else a chance to stop me.
The radio is set way too loud when the engine kicks on. I turn it down. Then off. The silence pricks a little at my skin.
I drive down the dirt road and onto the main thoroughfare that leads to the highway. I drive for exactly five minutes. I don’t fall asleep at the wheel.
I pull over.
I consider calling Keaton instead, even though it wouldn’t be fair to put the weight of this on his shoulders. He’s fought other battles for these men already. All he ever does is fight others’ battles. This one I can take on.
I make the call.
He doesn’t make me wait long, which is probably good - I’m starting to have a damn hard time keeping my eyes open.
Instead of a greeting, he answers with the words, “Keaton is worried about you. You’re dodging him.”
I deflate into my seat. I so do not have time for that right now. “He’s always worrying. It fuels him. I’m fine.”
“Ace-”
“I have a favor to ask.”
There’s a long silence, full of disapproval at being cut off. I have to remind myself that Kellan doesn’t punish. He never did. Not once. The closest he got was a pointed look, or a bigger than usual sigh, or a soft, “Ace, let’s reconsider that decision.”
I can’t speak for his expression, but there’s no sigh, and when he finally speaks, it’s a different set of words instead. “You never ask for favors.”
“Uh - no, sir. You’ve done so much for me, I just-”
“Sir?” he echoes, his tone slipping sideways a little. “Since when do you call me that?”
He’s right, but… fuck, I’m exhausted. And scared. I’m actually really fucking scared. “Sorry. I’m - I’m just tired. Sorry, Kellan. But you’re right, I don’t usually - well, I don’t like to ask for favors because you saved my life and you gave me so much, you gave me everything, and-”
“This is disgusting. No. Stop. I will grant you whatever favor you want as long as you don’t continue this line of conversation. You’re making me itchy.”
I manage a huffed laugh. Or maybe a delirious laugh. Or maybe I don’t even make a sound at all.
“Right. Sorry.”
“Hey, remember my sticky note? You’re not supposed to apologize for things. What’s the favor?”
“Well-”
That’s as far as I get before my throat closes up.
I stare out of the windshield at the trees stretching endlessly down the road and over the hills. Some of them are starting to change colors, splashing the horizon with oranges and yellows.
“Ace?”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Sorry for what?” he asks, his tone soft, almost hushed. “Hey, kid, come on, sorry for what?”
“I-”
The trees are blurring together, oranges and reds melding, the greens looking more like patches of darkness trying to pop out from behind the bright colors.
“Stick to the facts. Let’s talk through this. Who is the favor about? You? Keaton?”
“The brothers.”
“Alright, good. What do you need me to do for the brothers?”
“The younger one, Carter, he wants to leave, but-” fuck, fuck, fuck, this is bad, fuck, don’t do it, he’ll kill them, fuck, “-he wants to go to this college. And… he wants - well, it’s actually Maison, really, it’s Maison who wants - he’s just worried about Carter and he was hoping-”
“Just say it. If I don’t like it, I’ll say no.”
But see, saying it means giving away the information, and then he knows about it, regardless of his decision. He knows Carter is aware of the location of the safehouse. Casey is aware. He’ll know and it’ll be over.
He won’t kill them.
If I beg him, if I call Keaton and get him involved, he won’t kill them. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. He’ll be pissed, but he won’t kill them.
“Carter wants to go to college,” Kellan says slowly, as if trying to jog my memory.
“Yeah. He - uh. He wants to go to the college. Nearby. PTU.”
I blink to try to make the trees stop blurring as I wait for the bomb.
It’s quiet when it drops. Eerily quiet. Nothing but a low, monotone echo, “PTU.”
My throat is too tight for words, but I manage a sort of mhm sound.
“How does Carter know PTU is near the safehouse, Ace?”
Lie. Just lie to him. It’s easy. He’s not even here, not looking you in the eye, can’t see you fidgeting, you can pull it off. Just lie. Fix it. Walk this back before-
“Was it Maison who told him where your safehouse is located?” he asks, and absolutely any warmth he had before, any of the practiced kindness he was using to comfort me, is gone. It’s so far gone, I’m already wondering if it was ever really there at all. “Or was it Travis?”
Fuck.
“I-” I swallow, choking on the lie. It physically hurts to force it out. “It was me.”
“Bullshit.” And now we’re at the next stage of his angry voice - the dark one. The dangerous one. “What’s my one rule, Ace? What is my one fucking rule when it comes to you?”
The trees are blurring because I’m crying.
That makes sense.
“No lies,” I make myself answer.
“No lies,” he repeats.
“I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry. Kellan, please, I-”
“Stop.”
I stop.
Then I listen as he takes a very specific breath.
The kind of breath he reserves for the very bad moments in life.
I can so clearly picture him doing it, always the same way - a deep inhale through his nose, a slow tilt of his head to look up at the ceiling, a pause, then a long exhale as his head settles back in neutral.
I’ve only caused this particular response from him once, as far as I remember.