Chapter 13
MAX
I’m just glad she didn’t see it. Her hand is shaky in mine, her face so pale, like she’s close to throwing up, and what a useless man I would be if I made things even more difficult for her. So, no yelling.
Something is going on between Logan and Rockwell, and this time, it’s more severe than Logan’s usual problem with authorities.
Sure, Rockwell is our superior, but we’re all friends.
Something resembling a slightly dysfunctional family on most days, but there’s no way I could ever tell Logan that his behavior toward Rockwell was indeed a bit disrespectful.
In a silent attempt to straighten things up a little, I bow down to pick up the papers Logan sent flying.
My eyes linger on the heavily redacted documents, and Rockwell snatches them out of my hand without a word of explanation.
They land in a drawer with more folders before Rockwell slams it shut and leaves the office with Charlie in tow.
“You know what that’s about?” I ask Sam, who doesn’t react. “Something about the old task force?” I try again, but all I get is a flick of his wrist.
Fine.
Nice to see that I’m still sitting at the kids’ table next to Charlie. That I’m still Max, who can’t be trusted with grown-up shit because I am apparently something lesser. With a frown, I wonder if this will ever change.
While my classmates went to parties or tried out everything the local drug dealer had to offer, I rebelled by joining the military. My childhood was filled with love and affection, but I always felt like something was missing.
I wanted to be taken seriously, to show my worth. Still, the qualifications barely made a difference, as did the blood on my hands. My box got bigger, now adorned with medals and badges, but at the end of the day, it’s a box I somehow can’t escape.
Pulling Lily after me, I leave Rockwell’s office and stop briefly once I spot him and Charlie in the hallway.
“She’s sleeping in my room,” I state.
“I would prefer it if we got a separate room—“
Yeah, and I would prefer to be informed about the weird things going on, I think as Lily and I continue to walk to the stairwell.
Lily is quiet as a mouse, or maybe my thoughts are just too loud because as we reach the third floor, I hear her calling my name.
“Max, I’m sorry,” she says, out of breath and her eyes filled with tears. “I am so sorry for the chaos I caused. I should leave. This is only going to get worse.”
“I don’t want to hear any of that,” I say, pulling her in for a hug. “If one of the others, even for a moment, makes you feel like this is your fault, you tell me. Immediately. Okay?”
Lily nods, her face nuzzled against my chest, and I hope she knows that those aren’t empty words. Her husband is responsible for the situation she’s in. Hell, I am responsible, but Lily is the last one to blame.
Things had already been off before she stepped into my life, but at least Lily doesn’t confuse me. For her, I am an adult, someone who gives her a sense of safety, and it feels fucking good to fill this role for once.
We walk the rest of the way to the storage room in silence, and with every step, Lily gets more antsy.
“How big of a problem would it be if I stayed here?” She asks, and I sigh. “It’s comfortable, and I’m sure you’d prefer not having to share your room.”
Trying to hide my disappointment about her statement, I pick up her things before turning her way. “I wouldn’t have offered it if I had a problem with it. But if you don’t feel comfortable sharing a room with me, I can sleep over at Logan’s.”
Damn, the thought of her not wanting me near hurts more than I’d expected.
“Oh God, no, Max, that is not what I was hinting at,” she says hastily, putting her hand on my arm. “I just don’t want to be a bother. Well, more of a bother than I already am.”
Letting out a forced laugh, she tries to blink away the tears in her eyes and tucks the pillow I hand her under her arm.
“You are a blessing, not a bother,” I say, kissing the top of her head. “Now, let’s get out of here before Rockwell finds us. I’ll come back for your bed later.”
I grab the rest of her things and maneuver her out of the room. In a perfect world, she wouldn’t have to carry anything, but both of my hands being full is already a bit of a safety hazard.
People rarely believe me when I tell them most of my injuries didn’t happen on missions.
I don’t have a ton of gory stories about gunshot wounds or frenzied enemies trying to beat me to a pulp.
No, most entries in my medical record come from missing a step or three on the stairs, the occasional wild night with Logan, and accidents in our shared kitchen. I’m no longer allowed to flambé.
We arrive in my room, and Lily keeps on standing in the doorway, tightly clutching her pillow. I put her stuff on my bed and hope the message is clear enough.
“No way,” she protests, throwing her pillow past my head onto the couch. She wants to do the same with the blanket, but before she has a chance to do so, I grab her wrist. My fingers dig into her skin, and she lets go of the blanket, staring at me wide-eyed.
“I won’t discuss this,” I say, and for a moment, my voice sounds like it belongs to someone else. “Not today, baby. We can argue as much as your heart desires on any other day, but not now.”
A pout flashes over her lips, and I pull her closer.
“If you want to sleep on the couch so badly, we can share it. You can be my weighted blanket,” I whisper, turning her pout into a small smile.
There was a submissiveness in her gaze when I scolded her, and until now, I never saw the appeal in it.
Preferred to be the one who gets the orders, who gives up control and breaks for someone else.
But Lily is so damn soft, and I’d be lying if I said I don’t like the idea of taking the lead with her.
She sits down on the bed, and I immediately pull her back up because I still need to show her around, or rather show her where she’s allowed to go.
Logan can’t be heard or seen anywhere, which means he’s either at the shooting range or spooking around on the training grounds like a bad omen.
Rumor has it that not even a week after Cantrell welcomed Logan on base, he generously offered to help with corrective training.
I think it’s his way of mentally decompressing, and unsurprisingly, it also helps to keep the recruits in check.
Tales of Mr. Cabrera’s creative punishments even crossed base borders, told like scary campfire stories in the mess hall.
Lily keeps on holding my hand as I lead her through the building. I knew I’d get to touch her all the time.
The second floor houses our private rooms, the shared kitchen, and the living room area.
However, since I want to save this for last, we return to the stairwell and head down to the first floor.
Past all the meeting rooms no one uses because we prefer our own offices, down the long hallway until we reach our private armory.
Not that Lily needs access to it, but along with the large armory at the back of the garage, it’s usually a tour highlight.
Unlike Ruby, Lily does not get giddy upon seeing our Javelin and stays nervously plastered to my side instead, as if she’s worried about setting anything off by breathing the wrong way.
As we walk back to the stairwell, I look through the small windows on the office doors, almost tripping over my own feet when I see Sam, Rockwell, and Charlie in the captain’s office. The fact that Charlie is involved in whatever is going on feels like getting hit in the face.
Charlie, whose middle name should be pacifist. Who stays back on every single mission because he’s better at working behind the curtain—his words, not mine. The very Charlie who fucked up more things than I could count in the short time he’s been with us.
His father and his lack of a backbone were the reasons he had to join the military and task force Phoenix, specifically because Rockwell and his dad are friends. Every other unit would have kicked him out after a week, and I still suspect he somehow conned his way through basic training.
It’s not that I don’t like him or that he is an incompetent person; quite the opposite, actually.
If he wants to, that is. Sometimes, it’s refreshing to spend time with someone whose moral compass is still intact, but nothing can distract from the truth that this isn’t the right career for him, and seeing that Rockwell trusts him more than he trusts me hurts.
Because I never fuck things up, at least not on the battlefield. I was among the youngest and most talented recruits in my platoon and completed all three levels of EOD training in record time while pursuing my bachelor’s degree in leadership and strategic studies.
So I may be too loud, too bold, too happy—still don’t get that one—but when it matters, I have my shit together.
“Hungry?” I ask as I lead Lily to the kitchen in our rec room, pulling a bar stool out for her.
“Starving,” she answers with a smile as she sits down.
“Pasta?”
“Mhm,” she mumbles, and by now, the smile on her face looks a little too forced for my liking.
“You know I won’t yell at you if you want something else, right?”
“Maybe something green?” she asks, playing around with a strand of her hair.
“Pesto Genovese?” I suggest as I look through our mostly barren pantry.
“And maybe something less pasta-y,” she adds, and I stifle a laugh.
“Pizza it is, then.”
Charlie has this habit of buying a batch of fancy frozen pizzas at the start of the month, and since it’s his fault the kitchen is empty, I feel entitled to take one. He can eat with Sam and Rockwell since they are now best friends.
“Did you know that tomatoes are botanically a fruit?” Lily starts, filling the silence around us as I put the pizza in the oven.
“A fruit, and red too,” I say, clutching my chest. “I’ll buy you a whole rainbow bouquet of vegetables and fruits to make it up to you, baby.”
She laughs when I turn around to look at her, and for a moment, she makes me forget about the chaos all around us.
Lily is fast asleep in my bed. Not a single sound comes from her, and I wish she’d snore, or at least breathe a bit louder, because with how she’s lying there, unmoving and so goddamn quiet, I’m fighting the urge to get up and check if she’s still alive.
Cracking my stiff neck, I try to find a bearable position on the couch before I reach for my phone. The message I sent Logan hours ago is still unread, so he’s either pissed or busy. Or, the option I don’t want to think about, he disappeared.
It’s constantly at the back of his mind, just like the packed duffle bag that’s daunting me whenever I open his closet.
A constant reminder of that night in Mexico when dying and letting him go felt like the same thing, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d be convinced simply thinking about the day he’ll leave could kill me.
A sound at the door makes my muscles tense up. In theory, we’re in a very safe space, but now that I have to protect Lily, I’m on high alert.
Moments later, I’m standing next to the door. By the time the handle moves and a familiar scent reaches my nose, my gun is already pressed against the intruder’s side.
“Put that fucking thing away, or I’ll have you gagging on it,” Logan hisses, pushing me away to demand entry to my room.
With a sharp inhale, Lily sits up straight. She rubs her eyes, and I wonder when Logan and I will get her to a point where she wordlessly packs a little bag and goes out into the night.
“Get up, sweetheart. You two are coming over to my room.”
I raise my eyebrows, and Lily stares at Logan, unmoving.
“I don’t like to repeat myself.”
“Thought you’re not a fan of sharing your bed.”
“Did I say that anyone’s going to sleep in my bed? No. So get fucking moving.”
Logan turns around and steps out into the hallway, clearing his throat when he doesn’t hear the telltale sound of Lily and me gathering our stuff.
“I’m going to count to three, and then I’ll drag you to my room. One…”
I scramble to collect my necessary things for the night and tell Lily to do the same. Fast. Because, unlike my mom, Logan doesn’t start all over again when he reaches three.
Soon, we’re standing in Logan’s room, or rather the two floorboards that can still be accessed. His bed is in its usual place, but his couch and dresser were moved to make space for an inflatable mattress. Mine, I realize a few sleep-deprived seconds later.
“How did that get in here?”
Logan gives me a pissed look. “You, bed,” he tells Lily, pointing at the inflatable mattress. “You, couch.”
There’s a dirty grin on his face, and I accept my fate with a groan. At least his couch is bigger than mine.
“Don’t get comfortable yet. We need to talk. Alone.”
Lily keeps herself busy by making her bed, and after stealing one of his sweaters, I follow Logan out of the room.
“Why did you bring us over?” I ask as he closes the door, locking it. “Why—“
He shushes me and pulls me toward the stairwell. I spend the elevator ride up to the fourth floor with brows so furrowed it’ll cause wrinkles, and it’s only when he drags me up the emergency staircase leading to the rooftop that my expression softens.
We used to come up here often. With the whole gang, we’d call it our five-star rooftop bar while we sat in cheap camping chairs, grabbing beers out of a cooler as laughter filled the night. Not as colleagues but as friends, and somehow, it feels like a lifetime ago.
“Bad gut feeling,” Logan says, lighting a cigarette.
“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“That it isn’t safe here.”
“I’m pretty sure I can keep Lily safe, not to mention we’re on base.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he snarls.
“Do you know what’s going on with Rockwell and the others?” I try to switch the topic. “I mean, apart from whatever pissing contest you two seem to have.”
I guess I’m too loud for his liking because Logan puts his hand over my mouth.
“Quiet, you idiot. What’s between me and Rockwell is exactly that—between me and Rockwell.”
“I think it’s something about the old task force,” I say when Logan finally removes his hand from my mouth.
“Stop putting your nose in shit that doesn’t concern you, Max. Be happy you’re not involved, and don’t worry your pretty head about it.”
Something is up. It’s the way he smokes, two long drags without a breath of fresh air in between.
“All you need to know is that it has nothing to do with you. No one is mad at you. You did nothing wrong apart from the shit you pulled with Lily, so please stop asking questions and focus on keeping your puppy alive and out of trouble.”
“If you say so,” I grumble, keeping my emotionally charged speech to myself. It’s pointless either way.