4. Chapter Four #3
“I think it’ll be good for him. Nolan is as removed as anyone here can really get from the worst of Maison’s mess, you know?
He’s like Switzerland. Not an operative who’s friends with Travis, or a survivor that’s close to Carter.
Maybe they’ll be able to lean on each other a little.
Plus, I caught Maison coming out of Adam’s office a while ago, so that’s progress, right? ”
I don’t mention that he looked like he was on the verge of a complete breakdown when I saw him. Some facts are better left out of Keaton’s overanxious mind.
That same overanxious mind that counters my optimistic update with the question, “Has he seen Deacon yet?”
“No, I don’t think so. But we expected him to be a stubborn idiot about that, remember?
I trust Jake’s analysis that he shouldn’t have any serious injuries from his time with them.
I trust his dedication to being here for Carter even more.
No way he’s hiding something that’ll kill him.
Everything else is… well, he’s an operative.
I know how you operatives can be about injuries. ”
That last part, said a little teasingly, at least gets him to let out a breathy almost-laugh. “Careful, Ace. You’ll sound like Kellan.”
“I would need to be far more exasperated to pull that off, but I’ll watch myself.”
It’s a light-hearted moment, something we don’t share often these days.
It doesn’t last.
“How’s Travis?”
“Travis is…”
“Don’t sugarcoat it,” he says when I don’t continue, the words probably meant to be authoritative, like an order. That’s hard to pull off when his voice is trembling, though. “Just say it, Ace.”
“It’s not bad. Not more than the others, really. Just hard to explain? I guess the best way to put it is that Travis is doing however Carter is doing.”
He exhales. When I close my eyes, I can see the cigarette smoke that’d be curling in the air. Then he asks, “And how is Carter doing?”
“Depends. He’s on a fucking seesaw. Poor kid’s emotions change by the hour.
By the half-hour, even. He’s pissed. Grieving.
In love. In hate. Sometimes he’s clinging to Travis and sometimes he’s doing just about anything he can to avoid him.
Travis feeds off of that. He pretends he doesn’t, but he’s kind of fucking awful at it.
Like, to the point where I’m not sure how this man pulled off such a massive, decade-long operation. ”
“Love will fuck with you like that.”
Only seven words, and yet so much fucking heartbreak.
“So, yeah,” I say like an awkward idiot, biting down on my lip to keep the rambling from starting. He’ll know for sure that something is up if I ramble.
Except he knows what’s up. We both do. We know who we haven’t covered yet. Who I’m avoiding.
“The search for Mica is getting close, I think,” I tell him a little desperately. “Seems like every operatives’ coping mechanism at the moment is digging through all my files, which is helpful. I have a feeling whatever hint of where he is might be something my algorithm won’t pick up.”
“And Maison and Carter?” he asks, completely ignoring my attempt at changing topics. At least he didn’t ask about Bryce… yet. “You think they’ll work things out?”
Yes.
No.
I don’t know.
God, I really fucking hope so.
“You know how it is with brothers. They’ll be okay.”
He hmms under his breath. I can see him again, bringing that cigarette to his lips and sucking in the poison. I used to think he was so fucking cool. I wanted to be just like him.
He’d laughed so hard the first time he caught me trying to smoke.
I’d thrown up a few seconds later. After he rubbed my back and got me a glass of water, he’d wrapped an arm around my shoulders and kissed me on the head.
At the time, I hadn’t noticed the sadness in his eyes when he’d said, “See, kid? Not so fun being me. You just be you, okay?”
“At least one of them isn’t a psychopath,” Keaton jokes dryly. “They’ve got that going for them, at least.”
“So do you. Or are you calling me a psychopath, Keaton?”
His voice is a little unsteady when he asks, “You calling me your brother, Ace?”
It’d hurt, if I didn’t know him so well. It’s not that he doesn’t feel the same. This man wears his heart on his sleeve too often for me to doubt that. He just needs the confirmation. He needs to hear me say it. I can do that for him as many times as he needs.
“Yeah, Keaton. I am. The best big brother, honestly. No offense to yours or anything, but… at least I’m not a psychopath.”
He laughs, the sound watery. I’ve always been good at getting him to laugh when he’s in his darkest places. It was my superpower. He was the hero, but I was always the one trying to bandage him up - at least, once I was old enough to realize there was a need for bandaging.
He laughs.
But then he cries.
I sit, quiet, and let him cry for a while. I’ve always been good at that too. At just being there, the anchor in the storm.
I don't rush him. Mostly because I think he needs the release. A little because there’s only one update left and I don’t want to give it.
I let my gaze wander to the part of the screen displaying the kitchen again. Bryce is there, getting the meal ready for everyone.
Keaton takes two more long drags from his cigarette before breathing out a hoarse, “Ace.”
“I know.”
I close my eyes, forcing myself to breathe.
He wants to know how Bryce is?
Bryce is angry. Bryce has already stolen a knife. Bryce isn’t sleeping.
Bryce is ready to burn the world down.
Bryce is ready to burn the world down and I’m afraid you’ll help him. I’m afraid you’ll let him burn you right down with it.
I start with a careful truth. “Bryce is hanging in there.”
He exhales, shaky, and waits.
I can’t help myself. I give him more.
“He sort of lost it at group therapy. Then again, most of them did. He’s finding his footing, though.
He’s taking charge. He’s definitely throwing himself headfirst into taking care of the others.
I think he’s having a pretty hard time with how many of the survivors hurried to leave.
He definitely begged a few of them to stick around.
I’m surprised he hasn’t asked any of us to break the rules and let him stay in contact with them or something. ”
“Probably doesn’t trust any of you enough to ask,” Keaton mumbles.
“That’s likely, yeah.”
“Just like Ellis didn’t trust us enough…”
I wince. I probably should have seen that this is where he was going. Sure, he wanted to tell me the survivor in Oregon died before it made its way through the system to me via the report, but that’s not really why he called. He wants me to tell him that Bryce won’t be next.
He wants me to promise him.
“You’ll have to call Deacon,” I tell him before he can even ask. “I told you, I’m not reading medical files anymore. It’s not my place.”
“Deacon hasn’t submitted anything to the system for him.”
“Then he probably hasn’t seen Deacon yet,” I explain.
I shouldn’t have to explain that, though. He knows Deacon doesn’t delay in submitting things. He’s the best at what he does, just like Adam is.
“It’s okay if Bryce hasn’t seen him yet. It takes some of them time to be able to trust the docs. You know that.”
“And then they go and fucking die in the meantime,” he growls. “Yeah, I know.”
I force myself to take a deep breath so I don’t say something that I’ll regret.
I’m careful with my words, treading lightly.
“I genuinely think that if Bryce was hiding something from us, it would have come out by now. Ellis never really left his room, remember? His friends would bring him food and whatever else he needed. Bryce is the opposite. He’s the one bringing food and checking on everyone. He’s not hiding.”
I mentally stutter for a moment, something twisting inside of me as my brain helpfully points out that it’s Matt who hides here. It’s Matt who Bryce brings food to and checks on.
Is Matt okay? He’s seen Deacon, right? Should I maybe check? Not read his report, not invade his privacy, just… make sure he’s been checked?
I shake my head, trying to reset myself. I can’t fall down the same rabbit hole as these other guys have. Keaton with Bryce, Travis with Carter, Jake with Casey. Even Maison, who started out obsessing over Carter, is getting sucked into Nolan’s orbit now too.
I’m the one that has to keep this all together.
“Bryce is walking laps around the house at all hours like he’s on patrol. Trust me, if that man is hiding an injury, it’s not a physical one. You’ve gotta give him - and Adam, if he lets him - more time to deal with the other stuff.”
“I just worry…”
“I know.”
“I actually had an idea I wanted to run by you.”
I groan, already knowing in my gut that this idea isn’t good. “No. Whatever it is, the answer is no. Fuck no.”
“You don’t even know what it is yet! I’m just saying, you know, you’re already there. In the house. Being friendly. Actual friends with the operatives, even.”
“Riiiight,” I say carefully, drawing the word out to show my suspicion. “What does that have to do with anyth-”
“I want to meet them.”
I choke on the rest of my sentence.
I nearly start to laugh once I recover. If it wasn’t the most terrifying thing I’ve heard in months, I would definitely be laughing. If I did it now, though, I’d likely fall into panicked fucking hysterics.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“No.”
“Think about-”
“Fuck no.”
“They already met other operatives at the party, and now the security team at the house. Maison knows me - my face, at least. He knows me as Keats, the semi-retired operative. It wouldn’t feel out of context for me to show up.”
“Show up to a tightly secured safehouse in which no one who hasn’t been pre-approved should know the location of? With a pre-approved list they’ve already seen? A list you are not on?”
“I’m sure we could figure something out.”
“No.”
“You see, I was thinking-”
“Keaton.”