9. Oliver
TWO WEEKS LATER, MID-MARCH
9
“Wake up, son.”
I snarled, using my arm in a pathetic attempt to block the water being flung at my face. “What is wrong with you?” I sat upright on his sofa in the living room, swiping the beads of water from my eyes before shoving my hair away from my face.
“You came to me for help, and all you’ve done is work your way through every bottle of liquor in our small town.”
“If you can even call this a town,” I grumbled, knocking over the beer bottles on the coffee table while reaching for a bottle of water. “There’s like seventeen people and your dog living here. Eighteen if you count me.” Slight exaggeration. Probably even less than that.
Scrappy jumped up on the couch and curled up next to me. A golden retriever, of all dogs.
Given Dad’s beyond-extreme security measures, I’d have at least expected him to have a sidekick with a bit more bite.
“Traitor,” Dad said to Scrappy as he reached for bucket number two.
I set aside the bottle and held up my palms in surrender. “I’m awake. Sober.” Barely, but . . . “No more bathing needed.” My tense body relaxed when he returned the bucket to the floor.
He turned abruptly, disappearing from the living room, only to come back a minute later in cowboy boots, holding a wide-brimmed hat by the crown. “We’re going out.”
“You’re neither a westerner nor a cowboy.” I couldn’t help but give him a hard time, adding, “Just because you look and sound like Kevin Costner, doesn’t mean you’re suddenly John Dutton from that Yellowstone show. Since when do you wear a Stetson?”
Also, fuck that show, because Mya used to watch it. And anything that made me think of her made me want to drink, because it hurt too much to think about her after turning my back on her like I’d done.
“Since none of your damn business.”
Such a dad thing for him to say. Not that I’d know from firsthand experience. I was going on thirty-six, which meant he hadn’t been in the picture in almost twenty years. I was surprised I hadn’t called him by his first name, even in my head, since I’d arrived. Maybe subconsciously I missed going two decades without using the words dad, old man, father, pops, and all the others in between.
Turning back toward the door, my father whistled and Scrappy hopped off the couch and ran to his side. Barely turning back to me, he used his ridiculous hat and gestured for me to follow them.
I tried to stand, but my legs failed me. Dead weight. All of me. Haggard, beat down, and useless.
Dad’s boots clicked across the hardwood floors. He stretched out his arm, offering me his free hand. “Get up. No excuses.”
“Maybe one or two,” I scoffed. “Do I need to remind you what happened?” Not that I could handle verbalizing that ugly truth for a second time. Once was enough. For both our sakes, I kept my mouth shut and accepted his hand.
The last two weeks, the man had treated me like a burden, like I’d been the one who abandoned him. Not the other way around.
Maybe I’m the problem, though? My sour mood and grumpiness had even Scrappy cry-howling on occasion. Those were the only times I ever felt bad for being so fucked in the head in the presence of anyone, particularly an innocent animal.
“Where are we going?” I asked as Dad shoved one of his heavy winter coats my way. I pushed it right back. “No, thanks. My anger manages to heat me up just fine.” I was perfectly content losing all feeling in my body. Unfortunately, the numbness never impacted my mind. Nope, that kept working just fucking fine unless I drowned myself in alcohol to the point I’d pass out.
Although Dad had given me the second and only other bedroom aside from his, I never usually made it beyond the couch to sleep after one of my binge-drinking-away-life’s-problems sessions. I was becoming like my brother.
Hell, that was probably why Dad could barely stand the sight of me like this. I reminded him of his older son, of the child he lost.
“I’m not dealing with frostbite.” He forced the coat into my hands. “Now put it on. We’re taking the snowmobile to Emerald Lake.”
I wasn’t familiar with the lake, nor did I have any desire to take a ride with this man to have a look at it. Or ice fish. Or whatever the hell he had planned for me. But, not in the mood to get water dumped over my head again either, I relented and shrugged on the North Face jacket.
When Dad handed me gloves, I rolled my eyes, acting just like the kid I was back when Dad was still in the picture.
“Seeing as you slept in your boots, guess you’re good there.” Dad opened the door, and a heavy gust of wind provided my second wake-up call that morning.
Guess I wasn’t as numb as I thought, because I felt every biting sting of the cold air lash my face.
“Stay here,” he ordered Scrappy. He howled but followed his order and retreated to the other room. Probably to knock over one of my empty beer bottles in hopes of licking up a leftover drop.
“Is this ride to the lake really necessary? I’m still a wanted man.”
“Oh, about that.” He patted the wall by the door twice, then tossed a quick look at me over his shoulder. “Your name has been cleared. Surprised it took that long. Your girlfriend’s name, too.”
Girlfriend? No. Mya was more than that. She was who I’d hoped would be the love of my life, and I’d spend my forever-days making her happy (and driving her a little nuts).
But now she was the woman I failed. The woman I left behind.
“Cleared?” I finally echoed back.
Without looking at me, Dad walked out the front door. I followed him, allowing the door to slam shut behind me.
“I was buying groceries in town this morning. Saw the story in the paper. Did some googling on their computer, because small-town folk are good to each other and John let me use it, and discovered your names were cleared.” So casual. So nonchalant. Like he’d been giving a tip in the stock market rather than letting me know I was no longer wanted for murdering Interpol agents and resisting arrest in Thailand.
I caught Dad’s arm, needing more information since the Wi-Fi was shit out there, and I’d been out of the loop.
Not that this news changed the fact that the Sorens knew who we were, so Mya would still need to hide out, but my traitorous heart wanted to go back to her. To take her in my arms and keep her safe. Eliminate Mason’s obligation to do it for me like I’d basically texted him to do.
It made my stomach turn to think of someone else holding Mya. Mason and Mya would probably marry and start a family. That was probably how it was always supposed to be. M&M. Mya and Mason. Sounds about right. But fuck right. Fuck it all.
Gritting down on my back teeth, I forced away the mental image of the two of them getting back together before I snapped. I’d done enough snapping for now, hadn’t I?
What were we talking about again? I tried to recalibrate before my mind had dipped into the depths of hell where Mason stepped into my shoes and won Mya back over.
“Your alias is clear,” Dad said as if reading my messy thoughts. “Still no mention of your real name in the papers.” He secured his Stetson in the small storage area of the snowmobile, along with a canteen I hadn’t noticed he’d grabbed before leaving the cabin, and hopped onto the seat. “Joseph Jendell.” He snickered. “What kind of alias is that, anyway? Should’ve just gone with Jimmy Olsen.”
We really did think alike. It was eerie.
I stood by him, not prepared to get on yet.
“I guess you really are pals with POTUS, though, if he cleared the two of you like that.”
The President did what I’d hoped he’d do. After all, Falcon had been working with him to hunt The Collective. That didn’t change anything for me, though.
My gaze fell to my gloved hands, feeling as though Anurak’s blood was seeping through the leather. Remorse clawed its way back to the top as my number one emotion. But I knew anger would replace it the second I thought about the asshole who nearly raped Mya. I would’ve had to lie on that bed and watch, powerless to stop it, and it was that nightmare that kept me up at night.
I’d had to see that monster’s face on the news at my friend’s place in Jakarta. My only regret when it came to killing that Interpol agent? I didn’t take my time and slowly drain the blood from his body, starting with castrating him.
Between thinking of him, taking Anurak’s life, and leaving Mya behind, I had plenty of reasons and solid grounds for drinking myself to sleep every night.
“Son?”
I gulped and looked down at him, lowering my hands to my sides.
“There’s a reason I live in a small town of one-fifty,” he emphasized, clearly not happy with my earlier jab about the population. “They protect their own. No one will ever run their mouths that you’re here, fugitive or not.” He motioned for me to get on. Like a good soldier, I shut my mouth and followed orders.
And off we went to Emerald Fucking Lake so he could lecture me as if he didn’t know exactly what I was going through. And hadn’t left our family for almost the same horrific reasons.
“What kind of man does this make me? I’d have killed ten more people if I had to. I’d have done anything to keep that woman safe.” The fact Dad had me talking, opening up like I was on the couch of a therapist, was almost as shocking as him even asking me to express my feelings in the first place.
“It makes you my son. It makes you the man I raised, even if I left far too soon.” He went quiet for a moment, fidgeting with his hat as if still growing used to the idea of wearing it. “It makes you a man who respects women.” He gestured toward the woods by the lake, where we sat in the freezing-ass cold. “The kind of man a woman wouldn’t fear, even if she didn’t know you and stumbled upon you here alone.” He pointed at me, no longer treating me like a disease, but like his flesh and blood. I suspected his change of heart had to do with what was in that canteen he’d been drinking from. Dad never could handle his liquor. “The world needs more people like you. And so help me, if you try and follow the same path your brother took and wind up dead . . .”
“You were at his funeral, weren’t you?” My shoulders slumped. “Mom’s, too. I didn’t see you, but I could feel you.”
He quietly nodded, unscrewing the lid of the canteen. Yeah, we were alike. He needed alcohol to get through this conversation as much as I did to sleep at night.
“And in Dubai, when I was in prison, were you there, too?”
“When that woman’s husband beat her, and you, being the good man you are, went to confront him and were framed for killing him . . .” He took a long swig. “Yeah, I was there. And trust me, I didn’t think twice about organizing a team of vets to break you out of one of the world’s most secure prisons.”
Oddly enough, I believed him.
“But that friend of yours, Julia, had her pals find a lawful way to save your neck,” he added.
I looked out at Emerald Lake, which was still frozen, then took in the view of the postcard-like image of a resort in the distance, wishing I was inside that lodge with Mya. If only I could wish away what happened and create an alternative reality.
The only alternate reality that ever infil’ed my thoughts, though, was the nightmare of not being able to save Mya that day. Having to watch that sick fuck rape her.
“Why didn’t you ever reach out to me, at least after Mom died?” I understood the leaving part now, far too well. But I supposed I still needed to know why he didn’t fight harder to stay in my life.
“That’s a long story and for another day.”
At his words, I hung my head, deciding not to press. A few quiet moments later I admitted the ugly truth. “I’m a murderer.”
I held my side when my knife wound started acting up again. It didn’t help that I used booze to numb the pain instead of medicine. Without the alcohol in my system, the new scar was now throbbing again.
“You don’t think for one second I wouldn’t have done the same if given that choice? You’re lucky you had that decision to make.” His tone deepened. “I didn’t.”
Regret was a hungry beast, and now it was crawling through him. Regret, a close second to its cousin, guilt.
Hoping to chase away the persistent pain, both at my side and in my heart, I snatched the canteen and took a sip. “You’re a hypocrite. Drinking whiskey at zero eight hundred after giving me shit about hitting the bottle.”
“I’m doing my best to prevent you from ending up like me. I never said I have plans to change. I’m sixty-eight.” He took back the bottle and returned the cap. “Besides, it’s cold out. This whiskey is to warm my blood.”
“Yes, I’m very aware of the cold. My balls are fucking frozen.”
“Looks like you won’t need them anymore since you’ve decided to tuck them away and hide out here.” He tsked. “Never thought you’d try and find me, though.”
“I’ve kept tabs on you, same as it seems you’ve been doing with me,” I admitted. “But that does mean you’re in danger if I stay here. If The Collective finds out where I’m at . . .”
Dad set aside the canteen and stretched out his legs, casually crossing his ankles as if the world wasn’t crumbling down all around us, and the heavens were but an artificial construct—a glass roof over our heads. One hammer to it, and it’d shatter, ending life as we knew it.
“I wouldn’t mind a little action. Let them come for you. I’ll be prepared. I’ll take as many bastards to hell with me as I can.”
“Who says you’re going to hell?” I sucked in the sharp, cold air, and it burned my lungs.
“You don’t live the life I have and not have a room reserved there.” He sighed, then slowly looked my way. “Listen, did you really come all this way just to sit around as some broken shell of a man? Waste away up here in the woods?” He’d watered down his tone to something barely above casual, but then he shifted positions and stood and his entire demeanor changed. “Or are you going to pull yourself together and fight back?” He offered his hand, clearly not interested in waiting for my decision.
His message was clear. Don’t roll over and surrender. Get up. Fight.
I stared at his gloved hand, unsure what to think aside from the one harsh truth I knew. “I left her. The team.” There’s no coming back from that, from what I’ve done. “I had no choice. I told Mason to take care of her for me. Even if I wanted to go back one day, I can’t.”
“Depends on how long you plan to stay away. I waited too long. By the time I figured my shit out, your mom had already sent the divorce papers and moved on.”
I’d meant to keep the “go back one day” words within the prison of my mind. Eyeing the canteen he’d left on the ground, I went for it and unscrewed the top. “I’m too messed up.” And I can’t forget what almost happened to her. What I did after that. I can’t move on.
“You’ll feel better when you get justice.” With the tip of his boot, he kicked the canteen from my hand, and I stared at the golden-brown liquid sliding across the snow.
Did I want payback? Of course, but . . .
“We both know why you really came to me, and it wasn’t to get piss-drunk every day.” Crouching, hat returned to his head, he reached for my arm, commanding my attention.
“And did you feel better after you killed those men? Did it fix things? Make us a family again?” Pain worked its way up into my temples and behind my eyes, a headache forming.
“You saved Mya. I couldn’t save your mother. Different stories.” He removed his hat by the crown, letting go of a deep exhalation. “And like hell will I let yours have the same ending as mine.”