“No. Think about people like Roman. Harry. Littlejohn. Boomer and Deacon. Hell, Reese – is he drunk by the way?”
“Totally smashed.”
“I thought so. But take him for example: do you think he’s best buddies with anyone here?”
He tipped his head. “You should see him with Tenny.”
“What’s he like with Tenny?”
“I’m gonna let Mercy fill you in on that one.”
Her lips quirked with interest. “Hm. Well. You take my meaning.”
“I do.” He didn’t really think she got it, though.
She stilled a moment, rocker tipped back. “You aren’t thinking of leaving, are you?” She sounded horrified by the idea.
“No.” When that didn’t seem to ease her mind, he repeated, “No. Where would I go?”
She resumed rocking, but still looked troubled. “I didn’t realize it had gotten this bad.”
He glanced away from her pitying gaze, shrugging, uncomfortable beneath it. “It’s not. I’ve just got to figure some stuff out.”
Another silence descended, bristling with all the things neither of them were saying. He wished he could open up his head and let her take a peek; if she could see what he was thinking for himself, she’d have a better chance of putting it into words. Could even help him make sense of it, this tangle of feelings and absent purpose that left a foursome feeling mundane, and coaching a high school kid feel like flying.
“We care about you,” she said, low, serious. “You know that, right? All of us: Mercy, and me, and Mom, and Dad, and Aidan, Tango – everybody.”
“Yeah, I know.” He did know, and the knowledge did warm him.
But he wondered why sometimes, so often, really, that didn’t feel like enough.
~*~
Reese felt funny.
He’d been drugged before, when he was with his first handler. Sometimes after missions, when he couldn’t settle down, but usually for training purposes. You need to know how to fight it. How to keep your mouth shut when you’re under. Building up his tolerance, little by little, teaching him how to fight the sedation so that in the event of capture and torture he wouldn’t give up his handler’s identity or location.
He felt a little drugged now – woozy and sluggish – but mostly he felt warm. And unsteady. He felt like he stood on the deck of a boat on rough water, the ground shifting beneath his feet. His hands didn’t work the way they should – he couldn’t remember the last time he’d dropped anything on accident. He’d watched the bottle slip right through his fingers, his vision blurred and doubled, and shatter with a sound of breaking glass that seemed to come from down a long tunnel.
He had no idea how many beers he’d downed; didn’t remember getting up from the dining table and walking into the kitchen. He was aware that he’d said something he shouldn’t, blurted out something he never would have expressed, normally.
But the most overwhelming sensation of all was a deep, sucking well of sadness that yawned inside him, black and full of dread. Tenny hated him, and it was his fault, and that left his chest, and throat, and eyes stinging in a strange, terrible new way.
Mercy’s hand landed heavy on his shoulder, a comforting heaviness. When he propelled him toward the back door, its grip felt like the only thing keeping him upright. The floor tilted so crazily that Reese had to close his eyes, unable to trust them, his steps small, and shuffling, and graceless.
It seemed to take an hour, and his stomach sloshed dangerously, but then he felt the touch of cool, spring air, and smelled its freshness, and that helped, a little.
Mercy’s other hand gripped his other shoulder, and both of them pressed down. Reese folded, and found a chair beneath him. When he opened his eyes, the Lécuyer back yard swayed and blurred, its shadows distorted smears. He thought there was only one tree, with two bird feeders, but now it looked like two and four. He blinked, breathing shallowly through his mouth, but his vision didn’t clear.
A chuckle and the creak of a chair proved that Mercy had sat down beside him. “Drink the water. It’ll help.”
Water? Reese glanced down, and found that he held a glass of water – two glasses – between both his hands. Had he carried it outside? Without dropping it? Or had Mercy just given it to him.
He raised it slowly to his lips – Tenny would have laughed to see him like this – and took a tentative sip, teeth clacking against the rim. It was cold, and it tasted good, so he drank all of it down.
“Whoa, whoa,” Mercy said, plucking the empty vessel from his fingers. “Don’t make yourself sick. I think that’s gonna happen on its own, but let’s not help it along.”
Reese licked stray droplets off his lips, panting through an open mouth. “Sorry.” The yard seemed to pulse, swelling in and out, like it was breathing.
“Nothing to be sorry about. It happens to the best of us.”
Reese was sorry that he’d let his judgement become clouded. This was a slip; an inebriated operative was a vulnerable operative, and vulnerability lead to death.
But in this moment of dizzy confusion, he was most sorry about the fact that he’d spoken out of turn. It wouldn’t be good to let anyone know he was this upset; it might get back to Tenny, and then Tenny would make merciless fun of him, and there might not be any nights together anymore; no more girls to share, and, even better, the quiet minutes lying side by side, once the girls had gone, when it was just the two of them. When Tenny’s guard had come down, and his voice came out soft and full of doubt and question. Reese liked him like that best.
Something warm splashed on the back of his hand.
“Aw, kid,” Mercy said. “I’m sorry.”
Reese lifted his hand to his face; it was blurry, but he could see the gleam of moisture on his knuckles. He touched his face, and that was wet, too. Wet, and warm. When he licked his lips again, he tasted salt, and…
Oh.
Tears poured down his cheeks, a hot flood of them. He wasn’t sobbing or choking like people did in movies. But just like he hadn’t known to start this, he didn’t know how to stop it, and could only wipe messily at his cheeks with both hands, confounded.
Mercy’s big, heavy arm draped across his shoulders, and Reese found himself shifting into the solid presence beside him. He wasn’t himself now, couldn’t be trusted to be alert or capable, but Mercy was more than capable enough for the both of them. Mercy was safe. A thought that flickered through his addled brain in a way it hadn’t before. Not just to be respected, and listened to, and consulted professionally. Mercy was safe, and good, and Reese could lean on him now. Maybe any time that he needed to.
“The guys and I should’ve been doing a better job,” Mercy said, patting his far shoulder. “Fox is a lot of things that are good, but he shouldn’t be giving anyone any romantic advice. Who am I kidding, he hasn’t talked about this with you at all, has he?”
Reese wiped his face, and thought of Fox sitting cool and distant on the picnic table, corrected their form, pushing their boundaries, riling them up. Always testing. He found he couldn’t put any of that into words at the moment, so he didn’t try.
“And Tenny’s fucked up,” Mercy continued. “He’s got his own issues. Someone else should have sat you down and had the talk. I should have sat you down. Reese, before you and Tenny started – whatever it is you started – had you ever been with a woman before?”
Reese shook his head, which proved a bad idea when the world around him swayed. He closed his eyes, and gave up on trying to wipe his face; the tears kept coming, and there didn’t seem to be a way to stem them.
Mercy sighed. “You remember when you were in Texas, and you called me?”
He wanted to nod, but shaking his head had been a bad move, so Reese managed a choked, “Yes.”
“And remember how you said you hated Tenny? I’m guessing you don’t anymore.”
Even fainter, more tremulous, his voice an awful traitor: “No.”
“He’s more like you than
anyone else around here, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“You guys butted heads at first, but it makes sense that you’d end up getting along. That you would – care about each other.” A pause, and Mercy’s voice shifted. “He hasn’t forced you to do anything, has he?” Sharper. Worried.
Reese didn’t dare attempt explaining that first night, walking into his room and finding Stephanie sitting on the end of his bed, in that red dress, and Tenny with his arms folded. Watch me. This is how you do it. “No.” Nothing about that night, or any since, had been forced.
“You kissed him?”
Reese’s nose was getting stuffier and stuffier. He sniffled, and swiped ineffectually at his wet face again. “He kissed me first.” When he closed his eyes – which he did to stop the night from spinning around him – he could still see the way Tenny’s eyes had widened, and his mouth had gone slack, damp and pink from being pressed against Reese’s own. The way he’d closed his eyes and turned his head. That soft “shit,” his jaw clenching. “He kissed me first,” he repeated. “And now I don’t know…” Anything. He didn’t know anything.
“Was there a girl with you when you did it? All three of you together?”
“No. Just us.”
“Ah,” Mercy said, patting Reese’s shoulder again. “I think I see.”
Reese struggled to sit upright – somehow, he’d slumped down and was more or less lying against Mercy’s side – and blink the moisture from his eyes. The yard spun around him, Mercy’s face a blur when he finally managed to get it in his sights. “You do?”
He thought Mercy smiled. “Yeah. I’ll go have a talk with Tenny, and–”
“No!” Sound echoed off the concrete of the patio, and Reese realized he’d shouted. His pulse jumped and kicked; his stomach squeezed painfully. “You can’t. Don’t. He’ll know I told you.” And then he would really hate Reese.
Mercy squeezed his shoulder. “It’s alright.”
“Don’t tell him.” He’d never given an order like that before. It startled him. “Please.”
“Okay, okay. I won’t.” Mercy frowned. “But you can come talk to me about it, if y’all’s…situation…is bothering you. Maybe when you’re sober.” He breathed a laugh, and then grew more serious. “You’re not in trouble, Reese. Okay? It’s okay that you and he – but you’re upset tonight, and that’s not cool. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Hurt? “He doesn’t get the best of me when we spar,” he said.
Mercy laughed. “Shit, kid. You’re something else.” He slapped him hard on the back – hard enough that Reese felt a belch gather suddenly at the base of his throat.
No, not a belch.
“Let’s have some more water and then get you set up on the couch.”
“Okay,” Reese said, turned, and vomited onto the concrete.
~*~
“What was that?” Leah hissed when Ava settled on the sofa beside her.
Ava picked up her wine glass and fired a mildly questioning glance over the rim. “What was what?”
Leah glanced toward the hallway; when Ava and Carter slipped back in the front door, Carter had cast a fast glance toward the sofa where Leah was sitting, then ducked down the hall, presumably to the bathroom.
She fixed Ava with the sternest look she could manage – she’d been told it wasn’t that stern at all – and said, “You and Carter sneaking off for half an hour.”
Ava’s brows went up. “Sneaking off? I said I would talk to him, remember? About how he was doing?” She paused, and it looked like she tried not to smile. “You were the one who brought it up to me on the phone: that he seemed sad.”
Oh. Right.
“Afraid I’m moving in on your turf?” Ava asked, all innocence.
Leah gave her a play shove, face heating. “No. I don’t have any turf. There’s no turf.”
Ava laughed.
“And even if there was, I wouldn’t want to be on it.”
“You sure?” Ava asked, grinning. “I think he’s very familiar with turf. He could give you the grand tour.”
“Oh my god, shut up.” But Leah laughed, too, feeling as flustered and dumb as when they were in high school, teasing one another and laughing breathlessly as they made fun of their vicious classmates.
Across from them, sitting with her legs curled beneath her in Mercy’s recliner, Sam swapped a look between them. “Wait,” she said, smile dawning. “Are Leah and Carter–”
“No,” Leah said.
“Not yet,” Ava said, the traitor, “but they could be.”
Movement caught her eye, and she turned to see Carter on his way back to the kitchen, paused at the mouth of the room, gaze skimming across them.
Had he heard?
God, she wanted to sink down between the sofa cushions and disappear.
Carter hesitated only a second, and then continued on, without speaking.
Leah’s pulse beat like a trip-hammer. “Shit, do you think he heard?”
Ava and Sam both gave her I don’t know looks.
“Thanks for the help, guys,” Leah huffed, getting to her feet.
“You’re going after him?” Ava whispered.
“I have to make sure he didn’t get the wrong idea.”
Following him into the kitchen filled her with a burst of fluttering nerves, but her parents were both of the mindset that it was best to get painful things over with quickly. If she didn’t seek him out before the night was over, she’d be twice as nervous the next time she saw him.
The kitchen was spotless – the last of the dishes drying on a rack, counters wiped, leftovers put away, dishwasher chugging quietly – but occupied by more than Carter, unfortunately. Aidan and Tango stood at the window, peeking out through the gap in the gauzy curtains.
“Ugh,” Aidan said, lip curling. “He puked.”
Tango clucked in sympathy.
Carter was filling a water glass at the sink, and Leah took a moment in the threshold, trying to decide how to approach this. She couldn’t just ask him outright, and she definitely didn’t want Aidan and Tango to overhear.
She still felt like she was back in high school, but now in a much less fun way.
He shut off the tap and turned; noticed her. His expression tensed, a flicker of worry evident in the groove between his brows – then smoothed. He smiled a little sideways. “Want some?” He lifted the glass in offering. “Don’t want to end up out there puking with Reese.”
“Sure, thanks.”
He pulled down a second glass, filled it, and passed it over. When their fingertips brushed, her pulse fluttered because she was being an absolute idiot.
“Thanks,” she said again, her voice looser.
He took a step closer, his head angled down – everyone always had to look down at her, even when she was wearing heels – and the concerned groove made a reappearance between his brows. “Everything okay?”
“I was actually on my way to ask you that after your little porch heart-to-heart.” His breath caught a moment, before he let it out with what looked like purposeful slowness. “Ava wasn’t giving you shit, was she?” she asked, inspiration striking, suddenly. She didn’t like the idea of lying, but she could bend the truth just a little to keep from making an ass of herself.
His brows lifted. “No…” But he didn’t sound emphatic.
She leaned in even closer, dropping her voice. “She said she was worried about you. I told her not to harass you about your relationship status.”
He frowned, gaze flickering through a whole sequence of emotions. “Everybody sure is worried all of a sudden,” he muttered. “I’m not the one getting shitfaced at other people’s parties.”
She darted a glance toward the window; Aidan and Tango ducked into the mudroom and she heard the back door open; heard Aidan ask if help was needed. “Reese?”
“Totally having a crisis.”
“About his sister and that Roman guy?”
He leaned a shoulder against a
cabinet face, and she could see him loosen across the shoulders, warming to the topic: namely that it was no longer him, she’d wager. “Nah, this is about his – well, whatever Tenny is.”
She sipped water, recognition sparking. “That was the dark-haired guy who helped him bring you to the office the other day, right?” She cringed internally for bringing up the getting-punched incident again, but he didn’t react.
“Yeah, and who helped him scare those kids outside of Bell Bar.”
“Oh, right. Wait. Are they together?” She felt her brows go up. No one had ever told her outright that certain things didn’t go on in one-percenter clubs, but she’d read as much in the few books and articles she’d paged through over the years out of casual interest, checking to see if the so-called experts and academics knew what they were talking about.
Carter shrugged. “Who knows. I don’t care, and I don’t think Ghost would either. But Reese is, uh, not acting like himself tonight.” He made a thoughtful face. “Maybe that’s a good thing, though. I’m not sure he actually has a personality.”
Before she could check the impulse, she leaned forward and swatted his arm, a little bump with her knuckles like she’d done with Ava a moment ago, an automatic, chastising gesture. “Hey, be nice.”
Carter grinned, flashing teeth, the smile going all the way to his dancing blue eyes. “I am being nice. I didn’t say he was a fucking robot.”
“Oh my God.” She reached to shove him again.
And he caught her hand, palm and fingers closing over her fist. A light touch, the gentlest of restraints, and no doubt just as automatic as her own gesture had been.
It froze both of them. And it shouldn’t have, it really shouldn’t; this was what friends did. Tease, and play, and give each other shit. Nothing about his hand encompassing hers should have sent a frisson up her spine, nor compressed her lungs, but that was exactly what happened.
Their eyes locked. His had gone wide, and surprised, the pupils expanding even as she watched. She wondered if her own did the same. She wondered what the hell was happening. She could smell his cologne again, its grownup cedar notes now undercut by the faint yeastiness of beer.
Homecoming (Dartmoor Book 8) Page 19