Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Plan
Kris seems taller and more rugged than the skinny teen I left behind.
His sharpened jawline and long golden locks fall past his broad shoulders.
There is a kindness to his face, and there always has been.
That’s what drew me to him when we were kids.
He has always been a gentle giant; his size doesn’t come attached to typical stereotypes.
He was an emotional soul, with the sensitivity to cry over a sunset, and moved with more grace than I could ever muster.
We spent many nights singing into props while Ren was forced to endure our extravagant, tuneless performances.
His muscles swell beneath my embrace as he lifts me from the floor, whimpering into my shoulder.
“Hey, hey,” I whisper into his ear, stroking my hand across his wide back. “Kris, are you okay?”
He sniffles when he pulls his head back with tears cutting through the dirt on his face.
“Yeah… I’m just so glad to have my pal back.
” He lowers me to the floor, wiping his cheeks dry, and the church doors close, echoing behind us.
A flicker of delight fills his face, settling on that rascally smirk he wears so well.
“Ahhh, that will be Ren. I’ve been looking forward to seeing how awkward this reunion will be. ”
I had not thought about how problematic it would be at all, especially after all this time. I try to remember Ren only as a friend, but truth be told, we didn’t part on great terms.
Ren dawdles towards me. His enthusiasm doesn’t match Kris’s, but it never really did before either.
His short, noir hair has a tufty fringe set against his tawny skin, while his sloping eyes and sagging shoulders have evolved with the passing of his teens.
What we once considered a mopey boy is now a smouldering man.
His shoulders seem inflated with his muscular arms, and as he walks with his chin held high, it’s nice to see him with more confidence, compared to the shy kid who stood in mine and Kris’s shadow.
We would fiercely protect him, but he doesn’t look like he requires anyone’s guard anymore.
The murky narrowness of his eyes adds to his brooding stare, and he looks more like his older brother than the teenager I remember.
He stops before me, the silence only amplifying the discomfort, until a curve of his mouth ripples across his sombre face. He lifts his arms to greet me, and I willingly accept them, hoping the hug will be the new start we need.
“Hey, big dork,” I whisper into his shoulder. “It’s been a while.”
“It really has, little dork.” The movement of his hands is minuscule, but it feels protective, full of endearment. “I heard you had a tough time out there. I’m real sorry about that,” he says with his touch lingering as he slowly steps away.
I shrug, lifting the edge of my mouth. “Yeah, well, I’m home now.”
He doesn’t speak again, but his mouth opens and closes, the hesitation apparent as he fumbles for words while his stare moves over the details of my face.
Roscoe steps towards us. No doubt he’s been enjoying watching the awkwardness. “Now that everyone’s here, let’s make these pledges, shall we?”
Ren forces a smile before Roscoe playfully pulls my wrist, bringing me to the front of the church. Malcolm and Rex guide Leon, Atlas, and Zeke, standing side by side before everyone, smiling at one another. The men gather with arms crossed, their proud grins surrounding us.
Rex clears his throat, speaking in a voice both charming and alluring. “Now, you all know our daughter, Everlee. After a gruelling three years, she has returned home with some loyal friends and soldiers. And in true Everlee fashion, she too will join the ranks of our cause.”
A round of applause echoes with the volume of firecrackers against the stone walls.
Rex smiles back at me proudly. “So, let’s get these guys sworn in! The flag?”
Malcolm unfolds and presents it to us, while Rex pulls a marker from his pocket. On the original American flag, what first looks like scribbles turns out to be the signatures of hundreds, maybe thousands of people, in thick black ink.
“Now, we don’t swear on Bibles or flags. We pledge our loyalty to the Cornerstone and to our brothers,” Rex states, inviting Roscoe to step beside him.
Roscoe’s Southern accent fills the room as he commences with the pledge.
We dutifully repeat it, and my heart flutters with unrelenting excitement.
To finally be a part of the fight is a dream I’ve had since I knew there was a fight to be had.
And with our last words, the soldiers congratulate us with cheers and applause as we sign our names on the flag.
The evening continues as we work through the wine, and I talk to Kris and Ren as if we haven’t spent a day apart, laughing so hard that I snort wine from my nose more than once.
Leon engages us in a heated discussion about music, where we bounce off suggestions of songs and artists.
One of Ren’s older brothers runs off, returning with a guitar after hearing that Leon is a musician, and his dark eyes magnify with its arrival.
The polished walnut wood and the curves of its body run beneath his touch as if they are being reunited.
I nudge him as he gazes lovingly at it. “Play, Leon.”
“Ahh, I don’t know. I haven’t played in years.”
“Play, Leon!” Atlas barges into the circle, appearing behind me with two mugs for himself, and a purple wine stain on his toothy grin.
Leon twists the tuning pegs as he holds his ear close to the strings. He goes to readjust his cap, forgetting he’s not wearing it, and then raises his brows. “You ready?”
And with that, his fingers dance along the fretboard, sending out a curving tune that quietens the room. I study his hands, unable to comprehend how his effortless movements produce such a complex sound.
Zeke creeps into the circle surrounding him, his volume fuelled by his eighth mug of wine. “Queen! Play me some Queen, Leon!”
With a roll of his eyes, Leon smiles while transitioning into a familiar opening riff, but my breathing stammers as Leon’s mouth opens.
His voice is usually gruff and coarse, but I’m bewitched by his mellow melody.
I feel oddly proud of him, and then I realise I’m listening to live music, something that Joey would describe to me as being undeniably superior to recorded tracks.
I didn’t understand it before, but I do now, as Leon’s voice accompanied by a single instrument evokes emotion that I have never had the pleasure of experiencing from CDs.
And my heart hitches when the first person I want to talk about it with is Joey.
The requests continue as Leon performs song after song with everyone clapping and singing along.
I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself this much—only I do, but it is anchored to the guilt over Joey.
I wish he were here. The wine helps to numb the ache, pushing my longing for him beneath the surface, and I choose to dance with Kris and Roscoe instead, pushing through as the night goes on.
I grow tired, slumping into a chair as I watch my family and friends.
The dizziness urges me to relax while joyful celebrations play in my ear, slowly quieting as the temporary rest evolves into sleep.
The next morning, I am woken by a desperate thirst, but the sickening in my stomach is not complying with water.
Somehow, Leon is unscathed. Probably because he was so busy performing, he didn’t have a spare hand to drink like the rest of us.
He ended up carrying me home, dumping me on my bed and pulling off my boots.
He offers me thinly sliced seeded bread, lightly toasted and piled with a thick layer of olive oil spread.
The treat of melting butter is similar to the massaging of taste-buds, and I could have eaten more, but it isn’t meant to be, as someone interrupts me with a knock on the door.
A grinning Kris fills the doorway, wincing as he sees me. “Ugh, you look rough!”
I punch his arm. “Oh, and you look like a daisy… Actually, you look okay. Didn’t you drink?!” I squint as he steps inside, unleashing the burning morning sun upon my retinas.
“Oh, yeah, but I drink most nights. You must have fallen to pure amateur level since being away. Malcolm said the guys are living here?”
I pour him a mug of coffee from the smouldering pot. “Atlas is in a heap somewhere, Zeke’s having a second shower, and Leon’s getting dressed.”
“Ohhh, poor Atlas. Does he need some help?” He raises a brow, looking around the trailer.
“He’s married, Kris. How have you still not managed to find anyone in this current climate?”
“I find people. I just haven’t found one I like enough to keep around. Anyway, I’ve got to train you all. Roscoe wants a fitness report.”
I cough, choking on my tea. “Today?!”
He nods with a grin, and I cannot help but sneer as he takes pleasure in delivering such news to me.
Within the hour, Kris forces us to run around the perimeter’s chain-link fence, which must be over a mile.
It is far from easy, with the only positive being that anything after this will be an improvement.
Zeke kindly hangs back to run with me, and it takes all my strength to push past the urge to stop.
It’s been a while since we saw a wheezy Leon, and now we can see Atlas, grunting at us with middle fingers raised as we lap him.
Wine-scented sweat escapes my pores, leaving me confident that I won’t be rushing back to drink anytime soon.