Guarding His Melody

by Victoria Sue

  “Antivert, mainly, but I’ve tried a ton of different ones over the years. Some made it worse. I tend to just stick with migraine ones now.” He came back and sat down. “The aura and prodrome phase usually hits anything up to twelve hours with me.”

  “Prodrome?”

  “Like a migraine early-warning system. It’s different for most people, and for some the symptoms can hit much later in the aura phase, but with me it’s the smell almost immediately. At the moment I feel like we just stepped into a sugar cane factory.” He opened the palm of his hand and showed Gray two white tablets, which he then swallowed with the rest of his water. “I have to be careful, though, because of my age.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they work by restricting blood vessels, and my doctor complained there’s not enough research for using them long-term.”

  “Have you tried alternatives?”

  “I’ve tried just about every drug invented,” Seb replied.

  “No, I don’t mean that. I mean like we discussed—tai chi, you drinking enough water. Massage therapy.”

  Seb’s jaw fell open. “Massage therapy?”

  Gray nodded and took a breath. Suddenly the secrets he had kept for so long didn’t seem as important as the secrets he was learning now.

  Chapter Eight

  “MY SERVICE years are classified,” Gray started, “but when I got out, I had to research quite a few alternative treatments.” Gray licked his suddenly dry lips. “When I got out of Afghanistan, not just the Rangers.”

  Seb’s eyes grew wide. “You mean Special Forces?”

  Gray nodded. “After the official pull-out in 2014, there were groups that remained to help the Afghans.” Gray swallowed, and Seb passed him the water. He took a long drink, more to settle his suddenly pounding heart than because he was thirsty. “I can’t go into specifics, but basically my team was already running on empty. It had been a long deployment, a shitty war, and we were due to head home.” Rawlings had been there, but he was injured in a dumb accident and on his way home already. They were only supposed to be there for fucking three more days, so they had given Gray charge of the op. His responsibility. His fuckup.

  They were just there as backup to identify a target for the Afghans and let them deal, but it went wrong. To be fair, the idiot who had taken them didn’t know what he had. Had he known what their team had done in the last two years to fuck things up for them, they would have suffered a lot worse.

  Aubrey was their sniper. The smell from the guns always seemed to linger on him. The night before he died, Gray had held Aubrey while he cried, and not even because the beating had been bad, but because he had shit himself due to the crap they were given to eat. The degradation, the humiliation, had been the last thing he could cope with. Gray wasn’t sure what Aubrey had done to goad them when he had been dragged away the next day, but both Gray and Danny had heard the distinctive echo and click of the AK-47s.

  They had been moved so many times, all the hovels melded into one. Each beating worse than the last until Danny retreated so far into himself he stopped eating the little they were given. If they hadn’t been rescued, Gray knew Danny wouldn’t have lasted much longer. Who am I kidding? He wouldn’t have either.

  “Things went to hell, and I came out of it with PTSD, panic attacks, and claustrophobia.” Gray shrugged, not liking the way Seb’s eyes had darkened in sympathy. He was better now and some fuckers were a ton worse. “I was in better condition than Danny.”

  Seb tilted his head. “I thought you seemed to be friends.”

  Friends? Such a casual word for someone who saved your life. Trying to keep Danny alive had kept Gray alive. He wouldn’t have fought so hard and for so long for just himself.

  The claustrophobia from being put in the small dark hole for hours at a time at their last prison. Every time he tried to protect Danny, they wouldn’t beat him anymore; they would just push him into the dark space under the floorboards. When he came home, his body couldn’t cope with normal food for a long time after, and that’s when he’d gotten help from Ray Samms and had started experimenting.

  “Anyway, I was useless for most things for a while until I learned to adapt. Diet and exercise really helped.”

  Seb smiled at him.

  “I’m not just blowing smoke up your ass. I think you should try.” Gray exhaled slowly. He needed to hit the internet. He wanted to know more about Seb’s condition and everything about his enhanced status. “Just to be clear, you are certain it’s your enhanced abilities that are making you able to hear, not the operations?”

  Seb nodded. “I had two attempts at cochlear implants since I transformed.” He frowned. “But most of the operations have been in the last three years, and my hearing through the headphones started before then. Bone conduction seems to be a thing, but Dad’s new doctors are excited.”

  “If you’ve only had two attempts at cochlear implants, what have all the others been for?”

  Seb hesitated. “Because I got viral meningitis, the steroids they had to use may have actually damaged my hearing further. They had to investigate to see what damage there was.”

  Gray gazed at him in horror. Never mind biting his tongue; he was ready to chew through it. Did Seb realize what he was saying? The more Gray heard, the more he was sure Seb had been used for experimental research.

  “It was more complicated. The first surgeons who saw me wouldn’t risk the operation because of my history, because it can increase the risk of pneumococcal meningitis. That’s when my dad started research himself and got Dr. McKay. He’s spent years and probably millions of dollars trying to help me.”

  Gray understood. He didn’t agree, but he understood. He was convinced Quinn Armitage—while it might have started as genuine love for his son—was now completely obsessed with proving an idea no matter what the cost. Seb had had enough, but the guilt over what his father was trying to do was stopping him from saying it.

  “And I’m guessing you’ve tried to talk to your dad?” Gray stilled, watching as a brief look of resignation flashed over Seb’s face.

  “I’ve tried.” Seb pulled away and stood up. “I might go down to dinner. My dad used to insist we eat together when I’m well enough.” A pink tinge colored his cheekbones. “Andrew and the others always eat in the kitchen.”

  Gray smiled reassuringly. He didn’t expect to eat with Seb and Armitage and didn’t want Seb feeling bad about it. He wanted some computer time and was going to make himself some pasta salad. He didn’t need someone cooking for him. Gray stood up and nodded toward the desktop in the corner. “Do you mind if I spend some time on there while you have dinner? I can use my phone, but—”

  “No problem.” Seb assured him. “You can get onto the internet without a password, and if you wanted one, my dad would give you a laptop. All the rest of the staff have one.” He looked uncomfortable for another minute but then turned and disappeared into his bedroom.

  Gray stood and went downstairs, heading for the kitchen. When he walked in, Derwent was eating what looked like half a cow. Not that Gray didn’t eat meat, but he was careful. Derwent looked up as he came in. “Mr. Armitage doesn’t need us working the grounds now the cameras are in place, and he’s happy with just me staying here.” Derwent sounded belligerent, but Gray didn’t object. Innes was useless anyway, and he knew Fielding had to stay at her dad’s most nights. Gray was perfectly capable of protecting Seb inside the house.

  “That’s fine,” he replied. “What commitments are there for tomorrow?”

  Derwent relaxed a little. He’d clearly been expecting a standoff. “Keswick is in tomorrow for the morning only. He knocks off at one on a Friday unless Mr. Armitage needs him. We still have no funeral date, and Seb has a therapist appointment at three.”

  Gray’s head shot up from where he was looking in the fridge. “Therapist?”

  “Or doctor. I dunno.” Derwent shrugged.

  Gray bit back his irritation. His mom used to say you caug
ht more flies with honey, so maybe he needed to dial back on the vinegar a little.

  “It must be hard keeping track of all the doctor visits.”

  Derwent grunted noncommittally and took a swig from the bottle of beer on the table in front of him. “It’s not a bad job. Keswick tends to keep track of everything. You know what it’s like. They say jump….” He shrugged.

  “Yeah.” Gray tried to sound sympathetic.

  “So you’re probably not going to have much to do the rest of the weekend.”

  Gray waited for the explanation, but Derwent just took another bite. Gray stayed patient while Derwent swallowed. “Because it’s the weekend?”

  “No, Seb finds the therapy whatever pretty hard.” He wrinkled his nose. “He once threw up in the car. He generally sleeps most of the weekend, and we don’t see him.”

  Why? What the hell is the therapy?

  “But then, if there’s one thing I’ve learned doing this job, it’s that there’s no use trying to make sense of rich folks.” Derwent’s voice lowered as he said it, and Gray nodded, trying to fall into the role of coconspirator. It wouldn’t hurt. Derwent had worked here a long time.

  Gray sat while the kettle boiled for the pasta, but then Mrs. Pickering bustled in and smiled at him before going to the oven and grabbing a cloth to get out a large covered dish. She gestured to the oven. “There’s a smaller piece of baked salmon in there for anyone who wants it, or put it in the fridge and I’ll use it for a salad tomorrow. I’m going to put this on the table and leave them to it.” She glanced at the clock on the oven. “My sister’s picking me up.”

  Gray wished her a good evening. Derwent just carried on eating. He missed her eyes rolling heavenward. She pointed to the paper and pen on the table. “Write down anything you need. I’m going grocery shopping tomorrow.”

  Gray opened the door for her to take the dish into the dining room, then went back to making his pasta. He took the salmon out of the oven and left it to cool before he would put it in the fridge. By the time he was done making his meal, Derwent had finished and dumped his plate on the drainer, making no attempt to even rinse it.

  After he left, Gray rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher.

  Fifteen minutes later, he plated himself the tortellini salad with zucchini and peas he had made and headed back upstairs, intending to see what research he could do. He googled “enhanced” and was immediately shown a dozen news reports of the experimental FBI unit based in Florida. He was fascinated and read as much as he could. Then he started delving into the enhanced history, particularly the guardian laws. On the surface it seemed the parents of these kids had two choices. They could keep the children or simply turn them over to the state. Depending on the ability, the kids would go into a foster home or—Gray frowned—fuck, some of them were in secure accommodation. Locked up for the public’s safety. Abilities ranged from being physically strong to being able to blow things up.

  They all seemed healthy, though. One guy had damaged his spine when a forklift fell on him and two work colleagues. He’d tried to shield them both and been pronounced permanently paraplegic. He’d begun walking in less than four months, which certainly seemed to fit with Seb’s theory about his body repairing some of the damage on its own.

  Sickness didn’t seem to affect enhanced. They still broke bones, but they would heal in less than half the time it took other people. Gray sat back. So why was Seb so sick? He seemed the opposite of a lot of the documented enhanced. And most of them were huge. He clicked on a picture of the FBI team. With the exception of maybe one or two, they all looked like they bench-pressed trucks.

  Then Gray started to research the laws. The travel restriction still stood and likewise the passports. Insurance was impossible to get unless they were in certain jobs. The government had introduced a mandatory care order about ten or so years ago, so every hospital had to accept them even if they didn’t like it. There were plenty of horror stories about the treatment they got. Things were changing a little. Stanford University was doing a huge research program, which sounded cool, but there was still a long way to go. The biggest problem was that the variation in abilities and degrees of intensity made any sort of baseline impossible to establish.

  The guardianship Seb had mentioned was briefly noted. Simply put, if an enhanced child demonstrated abilities dangerous to the public or themselves, they would be taken—sometimes forcefully—from the parents up to the age of twenty-one in all states. The parents could petition to keep them if they could demonstrate they had the ability to keep them secure.

  Fuck. The suicide attempt. That must be what had given Seb’s dad guardianship, as it meant here. Although it was a stretch. Swallowing pills wasn’t an ability. Anyone could do that. It would depend on whether a judge went with the letter of the law or the spirit of the law. Gray knew it could go either way. In fact, he was honestly beginning to wonder if Seb’s dad was using what might be a loophole to get his son to agree to what he wanted.

  Gray wished he knew what to say to make Seb see his dad for what he was. A control freak at best and a greedy manipulator and abuser at worst, but the fact remained that Seb hadn’t known Gray long enough to trust him yet. If being a Ranger had taught Gray one thing, it was that a holier-than-thou attitude killed more people than guns did.

  His phone lit up with a notification, and he swiped the screen to unlock it. It was from Ray Samms, apologizing for not replying; he had been returning from a family vacation yesterday. Ray was definitely interested in helping and would even be willing to visit Seb. Gray sent a quick acknowledgment back and said he would talk to Seb.

  Now the massage therapy. He dialed Danny.

  “Hey,” he said when Danny answered the phone.

  “Fuck me.”

  “Not on the first date,” Gray shot back just as Danny had done. He heard the chuckle.

  “I thought it was a mistake when I saw your number. Since when do you not just text?”

  Danny was right. He wasn’t exactly eloquent on the phone. “I need to ask something… for Seb.” He knew what he was asking would be shit for Danny.

  “Fire away,” Danny said lightly.

  “I think Seb ought to try cranial massage therapy for his migraines.”

  Gray counted the seconds until he got a response. “I didn’t know he got migraines,” Danny said, sounding interested. Danny wouldn’t have been party to any of Seb’s medical history. Just knew he was deaf.

  “Yeah. He became deaf after he got meningitis as a kid. His vertigo is pretty brutal, and he gets bad migraines. I hate having to ask—”

  “I’ve still got Gemma’s number. We talk occasionally.”

  Gemma had been Danny’s fiancée. They’d met six years ago when Danny had broken his ankle when their Humvee had overturned. She was a physical therapist but had left the Army just after she and Danny had gotten engaged to go back to school to study alternative therapy. Cranial massage was one of her specialties, and from what Danny had told him at the time, she was good.

  Unfortunately Danny’s and Gemma’s relationship had been another casualty of their time as hostages. Danny had so completely closed off when they were released, he pushed Gemma away until after a year of trying she finally accepted it. It was why Gray hated asking, but he was pleased they were still in touch.

  “That’s good, Danny. How is she?” Gray looked up as the door opened and Seb came in. Gray stood and gestured to the door, but Seb waved him back down.

  “It’s Danny,” Gray mouthed, and Seb nodded, wandered over to the piano, and picked up his headphones.

  “Pretty good actually,” Danny replied. There was a moment of silence. “She’s getting married.”

  Gray closed his eyes in defeat. He knew Danny still loved her, and he had hoped they might have made it work. “I’m sorry.”

  “Hey, it is what it is. I want her to be happy, and Adam sounds like a good man.” There was another pause while Gray railed silently at how unfair it was. “I had
to let her go, Gray. You know that.”

  No, you didn’t, Gray wanted to argue, but they had worked through that, and Gray had to respect Danny’s decision. “I know,” he said quietly.

  “I’ll leave her a message. I don’t know if she’s in Atlanta, but if so, I’m sure she’ll be happy to help Seb and you however she can.”

  Gray watched as Seb pulled off his headphones and walked into his bedroom without looking at Gray. Was there something wrong? “That would be great.”

  Danny made some sort of agreeing noise. “Gotta go.”

  Gray thanked him again and hung up, staring at the closed bedroom door. Had something happened downstairs? No, Seb seemed fine when he got back. Was he upset Gray was on the phone? Gray walked to the bedroom door and debated what to do. Seb had nothing to alert him on this door if someone knocked, but then Gray heard the toilet flushing and opened the door anyway, worried Seb was sick. He stepped in through the open bathroom door to see Seb drying his hands.

  Seb tilted his head, probably wondering what Gray was doing just barging in.

  “I’m sorry,” Gray said. “I was just checking you were okay, and I knew it was useless knocking.”

  Seb’s cheeks flushed. “I’m fine. I was giving you some privacy.” He walked out of the bathroom.

  “It was just Danny, no secret. He knows someone who does cranial massage. She’s supposed to be really good.”

  “I heard,” Seb explained. “I’d put the headphones on, and you might have forgotten I could hear you talk. That’s why I took them off, in case it was private. He might not have realized you had it on hands-free, especially as he sounded upset about the woman getting married.”

  Gray stilled, glanced at his phone in confusion, and sorted out all the things Seb had just said. “Wait.” He grabbed Seb’s arm. “You heard Danny talking?”

  Seb flushed darker. “Yeah, that’s why I took the headphones off.”

  “Seb,” Gray said slowly, “my phone wasn’t on hands-free.”

  Seb looked at Gray’s phone.