I smile sweetly. “Oh, I’m sure you can come up with a few choice words, mostly four letter ones, right?”
He doesn’t take the bait. “If you don’t require something, then please return to your seat. We’ll be landing soon.” He looks away.
Another pang of sadness hits me so hard this time I stop breathing. I don’t know if it’s coming from me or him. Clairempathy, feeling strong emotions from others, is almost as bad as psychokinesis. I close my eyes and force the air in and out. “This has to stop, Will,” I whisper. “It’s affecting our work. This isn’t just about us, it’s about all the people we’re supposed to help. We’ve been lucky before, but if this feud doesn’t end we’ll start hating each other. Not trusting each other. I know you don’t want to, but we have to talk. We have to end this. Us. You and me. Please.”
“Will?” Nancy asks. I open my eyes as she steps in front of us, putting her hand on her hip. “Can I ask you about something? In private?”
Will glances at me, then begrudgingly nods at her. Gathering all my pride from the floor I stand up, internally shaking my head. Nancy smiles to herself as I take a step.
“Alexander?” Will says behind me. Everyone’s attention, including the two men supposedly sleeping, diverts to Will. “Tonight. Six o’clock in the billiard room. We will not be interrupted,” he says, voice set in granite.
I nod, and then with my head held high, I return to my seat.
Peace. I think we can all use some of that.
TWO
IN ANOTHER BEDROOM
THE ENEMY’S WAITING FOR me when I arrive at five minutes to six. We’ve both changed our clothes since arriving home. I’m in my skinny black jeans and tight V-neck powder pink sweater, and he’s in khakis with a loose green T-shirt. Dressy casual, perfect for a peace accord. I just wanted to look nice.
The Jaws pinball machine lights up in the corner as does the Dance Dance Revolution video game we all pitched in to get Nancy for her birthday in June. She and Irie spent hours getting the steps right. As far as I know Nancy hasn’t set foot on it since Irie’s death. I offered to be her partner before total war broke out, but she refused. Then, when she caught Oliver and me on it, items started vanishing from my room.
Will stands by the pool table with two cues in one hand and beer in another. Another bottle rests on the side closest to me. Mine, I guess. He’s expressionless as I step in. I smile nervously as I shut the door behind myself. I pick up the cool bottle of beer, taking a sudsy sip.
“Thanks,” I say.
“I thought we’d play while we talk,” he says as he extends the cue across the table to me. “You play, right?”
I take it. “Yeah. Oliver’s teaching me.” As the words leave my lips, I want to gobble them back up. If this is going to work, the O word must be used sparingly.
Will remains stony as he chugs his beer then sets it down. “Mind if I break?” He takes position and breaks. The balls clatter against each other and one goes in the far side pocket. “Guess I’m solids.” I take another drink of the beer as he shoots another one in. “So, Agent Alexander, you called this meeting. Say your piece.”
“Okay. I want the tension to cease. It’s not healthy for any of us.” He shoots another ball into the pocket. “We’re supposed to be one team, us against them, not us against us. You and I need to set the example. We need to work through our issues, and everyone else will follow suit.” There, I said it. Not so hard when you’ve spent the last fifteen minutes practicing those words in front of the mirror.
He misses the next shot. “Your turn.”
I line up my shot and take it. Ball in the side pocket. I look up at him. “Do you agree?”
Will squares his shoulders. “The only issue I have with you is your reckless disregard for orders. I’m the tactical team leader for a reason, and though you may disagree with my strategy, you must trust I know what I’m doing.”
Ugh. I knew it. This is going to be like pulling blood from a stone. Pointless. “Fine.” I set the cue down on the table. “I don’t want to play this game with you, Will.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m done playing games. We’ve been doing it for months, and I’m sick of it. Sick of the snide comments, the dirty looks, the complete discount for anything I have to say. I’m tired of you punishing me.”
“I’m punishing you?” he scoffs.
“Yes! And we need to talk about it!”
He tosses the cue on the table, sending the balls clattering all over. “I am not punishing you.”
“Okay, good,” I say. “Get it out. So tell me, why do you think I’m punishing you?”
“You know.”
“Dallas?”
“Of course Dallas!”
“Fine. Then let’s talk about Dallas. Are you still mad I didn’t tell you I was going? Because we’ve been over that. It’s my job. I did my job.”
“You lied to me.”
“Because you were having a fun vacation! I didn’t want you to worry about me. And you know that.”
“It was reckless,” he says.
“That’s part of the job description, remember?” I sigh and rub my temples as they throb. “You need to dial back the anger, okay? It’s giving me a headache, and I just got over the last one. Take deep breaths or something.”
Surprisingly, he does. He stands perfectly still and takes deep breaths. The pain ebbs to something more bearable within a few seconds. “Thank you,” I say.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”
“No. We have to.” I stop rubbing. “We have to get this all out no matter what. Meteor, Godzilla attack, we’re not leaving. Okay?”
With reluctance, he nods.
This is going to take awhile. I grab the nearest chair, lowering my tired body into it. That mile run has caught up to me. He follows suit, sitting across the pool table so all I can see are his shoulders and head.
“Dallas was messed up from the start,” I say. “Everything could have been handled differently. There’s enough blame to go around.”
“Then why do I get the impression that everyone, especially you, blames me for it?”
“We don’t,” I say. “Will, nobody blames you for Irie.”
“I thought we were being honest,” he says.
“I am. She was killed by a vampire, not you.”
“Wolfe—”
“Wolfe is grieving,” I cut in. “He’s just trying to act tough. Men deal with anger better than sadness, and being angry at you is just how it’s manifesting. Grief is abstract; you’re concrete.”
Will peers across the table at me, mouth set straight as this sinks in. After a second he looks down at the floor. “She was my responsibility, and I failed her. I couldn’t save her.”
He looks up, but this time I look down. “But you saved me. Twice.”
“I thought you’d forgotten that,” he says with a half-hearted scoff.
“Of course not.”
“Then why … ” He trails off and sighs.
“Why what? Say it.”
He folds his arms across his chest. “Then why the hell were you avoiding me? Why were you so cold to me?”
“Honestly? Because no matter how grateful I was for what you did to me, I couldn’t get over how you acted toward him.” There. The elephant in the room is no longer ignored. Let the fireworks begin.
“What are you talking about?”
Honesty. Total honesty. I can do this. “You and I, before Dallas, we were really close, right?” He doesn’t answer. “Well, from our …
dealings I’d formed, um,” okay, partial honesty maybe, “a high regard for you.” His breathing slows and his whole body becomes rigid. “I thought you were brave, and just, and … well, I thought you were one of those people whose moral compass always pointed due north. That, um, impressed me more than I can say. But when you refused to save Oliver, I guess that image became tarnished. I don’t trust a lot of people, but I trusted you to always do the r
ight thing.”
“I did show up,” he reminds me.
“Yeah, but because I was in danger, not him. You would have let him die and that, to me, is unacceptable.”
“You think if the roles were reversed he would have acted differently?”
“Yes.”
“Then I think you’ve given us both too much credit,” he says with a sneer. “Well, I’m sorry I didn’t live up to your expectations, and I promise not to say I told you so when your boyfriend fails to live up to them too.” He stands up, stalking toward the door to my right.
“We are so not done here,” I say.
He tries to open the door, but it won’t budge. He yanks and yanks, but it doesn’t move. His werewolf strength is no match for my power gripping the door. “Open this door,” he orders.
“No. Sit back down and let’s finish this.”
He smacks the door and steps toward me, those nostrils expanding again. “We’re finished.”
“Sit down, Will, or I’ll make you.” He knows I will. My glare is as serious as his, but I know he’d never do anything to physically harm me; this does not go both ways. He does as I say, resuming his dour, stony body language as he returns to his chair across from me. We’re silent for a few uncomfortable moments until I can find the right words. “I was chilly to you after Dallas, and I apologize for that. I was grieving, I was processing the whole op, and I was … tending to a sick friend. And yes, I was mad at you for not being the White Knight I made you out to be.” His shoulders and jaw stiffen even more. “But,
I still consider you a good, kind, brave man. I know when I need you, you’ll be there. Even in spite of all of this.” I swallow, buying myself a few moments before I have to say this last bit. “But, I am disappointed in you. Not just for that, but for the past few months. You instigated a lot of it, so it’s up to you to end it. The both of you. I’m positive the only way to resolve this whole mess is for you and Oliver to sit down and sort out your differences. I’ve said the same thing to him a dozen times, and I’m sure he’d be willing if you were.”
Will shakes his head. “You’re so naive. You’ve known him for what? Seven months?” He leans in, arms still crossed. “I’ve known him for seven years. Seven years of insubordination, of arguments, of … monstrosity. You think I have questionable morals? Let me tell you something about your boyfriend. Five years ago on an op in Des Moines, we were on a vamp hunt. One of our four witnesses was another old pal of his. On sight they got into a knockdown, drag-out fight. I had to pull them apart. A couple days later, this same vamp came to me saying he had information on your Oliver. Never got around to telling me what it was. The next day, we found his head in a field, and it wasn’t because of the vamps we were investigating. We’d killed them the night before. I’ll spare you the details of the case that brought him to the F.R.E.A.K.S. I’ll just say there was a girl in Virginia who grew up an orphan in part because of him.”
I attempt to maintain my composure, not letting him know that inside I’m wigging out. I knew Oliver had done bad things, just not so recently. I’ve never really given much thought to his past. It’s hard to reconcile the man I went ice skating with last week with a cold-blooded killer, but this is not the time to sort this out. Harmony is the watchword tonight. “Is that why you hate him? Because he’s a killer?”
“Yes.”
“Do you hate me? Because I killed my first man at age eight.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it? I’ve killed in cold blood. Marianna. Freddy.”
“But you regret it. You have a soul.”
“So does he.”
Will tosses his hands up. “Look, I thought this little get together was about you and me. I don’t want to discuss him.”
“Well, tough! Because we both know this whole thing is about him. And my relationship with him.”
“I don’t give a damn about your relationship with him.”
“Bull!”
“My only concern is how it will affect the team when he breaks your heart. I’ve lived though it before, and it is a pain in my ass. And he will break your heart. No question. You’re just the last in a long line of idiots who fall into his trap. You want to talk shattered expectations? I expected you to be smarter than that.”
“You know, I am getting more than a little sick and tired of having to tell you people this!” I meet his eyes. “We are not sleeping together! A man and a woman can be friends without having sex, okay? So once again I say—and pay attention this time—I never have and have no future plans of having sex with Oliver. None. Nunca. Did that get through your thick skull this time?”
“You’re in his room every night,” Will hisses.
“He’s a vampire. If I want to see him it has to be at night! I go into Carl’s and Andrew’s rooms too, you think I’m sleeping with them?”
“That’s different.”
“No, it’s not!”
“I’ve seen the way you two look at each other,” he spits out like acid.
“Will, I swear on my mother’s ashes, I have never slept with Oliver Montrose!”
The door opening startles us. His burning ears must have drawn him here. Oliver steps in with Grin Number Three across his face. This one hides the fangs and is reserved for slight amusement. Will is right about one thing: I do look at him a certain way. Most women do. Oliver is six feet even with a medium build. Under the blue jeans and tight black sweater are muscles from his time as a farmer. His thick, wavy brown with strands of gold hair hangs loose tonight, framing his glorious face. Pale skin, full red lips, straight nose, and hypnotic gray eyes all create the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on.
Will’s anger spikes to headache proportions as it always does when they’re in the same room. Oliver just keeps the grin in place as he glances at Will. “I can attest,” Oliver says, his usually faint British accent a little more pronounced, “that our fair Trixie has not yet succumbed to my advances.”
“Oliver, get out of here,” I order.
“No. Your honor has been questioned, I must defend it.”
“Get out!”
“No,” Will says as he stands. “I’m leaving. We’re done here. I have nothing else to say to you. Either of you.” He brushes past the still grinning vampire, not acknowledging either of us. He slams the door so hard the balls on the pool table clatter. Great. I hang my head in my hands. That could have gone better.
“Was it something I said?” Oliver asks.
Oh, that is it. I jump up and shove the jerk as hard as I can. “You stupid jackass!” I slap his arm a few times before he shrinks away.
“Stop,” he laughs.
I hit him once more. “This is not funny, Oliver. You ruined every-
thing!”
“My dear, from what I heard, the conversation was going in circles.”
“You were eavesdropping?”
“It was difficult not to. If one desires privacy, then one should use their indoor voice.”
“I was making headway.”
The grin finally drops. “You owe that man nothing. He is acting like a spoilt child, lashing out because he cannot have what he desires.”
I scoff. “What about you? You’re just as bad as him. Flirting with me whenever he’s in earshot? Challenging him at every turn? Goading him?”
“Well, I must receive my thrills somehow as you refuse to let me thrill you.” Grin Number One surfaces, full fang. This one is usually followed by me glaring at him, and now is no different.
“I am not in the mood.”
The grin grows. “You never are.”
I don’t smile. “Stop it. I mean it,” I warn. “You two need to sort yourselves out, or I swear I’ll never talk to either of you again.”
“Idle threat. You cannot keep away from me,” he says.
“Watch me.”
I push past him out the door. I expect him to follow, but he doesn’t. Smart man. With each step up the staircase, my anger rises. I a
m tired of being used like some pawn on a chessboard. By the time
I reach my bedroom, I feel like punching someone. There’s a noise in the room across the hallway, which happens to be Will’s bedroom. I’ve been listening for the open and close of that door before leaving my own room to avoid him for the past few months. Like a coward. I shouldn’t have to do that in my own home. I’m no coward.
I’ll prove it.
I pound on his bedroom door. “Will, open up!” Nothing. I pound again. “We are not done talking! You open this door or I’ll blow it to pieces! I swear to God I will. Open the fu—”
The door swings open with a seething werewolf on the other side. “We’re done.”
“The hell we are,” I say as I bump him on my way in.
I’ve only been in this room a handful of times, but it hasn’t changed. Dark blue sheets and comforter on a solid, no frills bed with a wooden headboard. Like every man he has a plasma TV taking up half the far wall. The deep green recliner sits off to the side with clothes strewn across it, almost as if he was trying on clothes for the meeting. My bed looks the same. The boxing dummy in the corner looks as worn as the recliner with bits of the foam gone. Simple yet masculine.
“You don’t get to walk out in the middle of a conversation,” I say as he shuts the door. “Nothing’s been fixed.”
“I have nothing more to say to you.” He rests against the door, folding his arms.
“You haven’t said anything to start with!”
“We don’t have to like each other, we just have to work together, okay?”
“No, it’s not okay. We live in the same house. Our lives are in each other’s hands. And … ” I close my eyes so I don’t have to look at him. “We were friends. Good friends, and I don’t have that many. So losing one … it kills me. And it’s for such a stupid reason.” I open my eyes and look at him. “I miss you. A lot. I miss the sparring lessons, and the trips to the coffee shop. I miss riding in your truck to Wichita, and your stories about DC. I miss learning to be a better agent from you. And eating dinner with you. And watching you smile at one of my crap jokes. And the way you try to protect me even when I yell at you for it. I miss that you do it anyway because you care about me. I miss you. Don’t you miss me?” He doesn’t respond, but his arms drop.
Death Takes a Holiday Page 2