by Victoria Sue
“Skiing.” Mrs. Pickering deftly rolled the wraps out and arranged them on a plate. The one-word answer wasn’t elaborated on, but her disapproval rang out loud and clear. Seb’s dad went on vacation, and he went somewhere Gray imagined was crowded. Not only did Seb’s enhanced status make that difficult, but Seb’s sickness and reluctance to go anywhere made the choice a near impossible one. Armitage would fly there.
Gray took the plate and the water, thanked her, and headed back upstairs. He paused just before he reached the door, thinking how many times his sister had tried unsuccessfully to get him to visit for Thanksgiving, and her phone call he still hadn’t replied to.
The room was silent when Gray entered. The bedroom door was firmly closed, and Gray sighed and put the wraps and water down on the table. He noticed Seb had taken his laptop into his bedroom and frowned. Had the thought of not going to the concert upset him so much, or did he just want some time on his own? He needed to eat. Decision made, Gray opened the door cautiously. If Seb was in bed or the bathroom, he would leave the water and go do some reading or something. The bedroom was empty, and the bathroom door was closed. Seb put the water bottle and one of the plates conspicuously on the nightstand and turned to leave. He paused at the door just as he heard a small sound from the bathroom. Then Seb coughed and cleared his throat. Then he cleared his throat again.
Was he sick? Gray listened intently but didn’t hear anything. Not the toilet flushing, and definitely no sounds of Seb being sick. The shower was equally silent. Gray was torn. Torn between respecting Seb’s privacy and knowing he had no way of getting his attention other than walking in there. He glanced at the bed where Seb had tossed his phone and the laptop. Gray didn’t like indecision. He wasn’t used to it, and in his experience, indecision cost lives. And which was more important? Pissing Seb off or making sure he was okay?
After another few seconds of absolute silence, Gray walked to the door and opened it. Seb sat with his back to the wall in the same manner he had the first night after he had been sick, but his head was bent and buried in his arms, which were resting on his knees. Gray took in the shaking shoulders and knew exactly what he was looking at. Seb was crying. Silently and privately, so no one would know. No, so Gray wouldn’t know. Gray was the only person in his rooms. He took a step back. I should leave. But it was so hard, and then Seb lifted his head. The immediate look of horror on his face when he saw Gray standing there told Gray he should have gone with his first instinct and left Seb in peace. Then Gray saw a crumpled piece of paper clutched in Seb’s hand, and he changed his mind.
“What is it?” Gray nodded to the piece of paper.
“The reason I can’t sing,” Seb snapped and practically flung it at Gray. Gray picked it up, unfolded it, and scanned the two typed lines on the plain paper.
You were warned.
Stay away or this time your father gets more than his tires slashed.
Gray read it a second time and cursed because he’d touched it without thinking. He knew better than that. He also knew the cops were dismissing it as a random act of violence against a nice car. The man who’d damaged the car had a hoodie covering his face, and traffic cams had caught a similar act of vandalism on a BMW. Seb scrambled up. “Wanna see another? Wanna see why I know Monsieur Dubois got hurt because of me?”
He swiped his arm angrily over his wet face, stumbled into the room, and yanked open the desk drawer. He pulled out a blue file and tossed it haphazardly on the bed. Three more sheets spilled out, and Gray stared in horror, recognizing the same plain paper and the same short typewritten messages. He picked up the top one with the edge of his shirt, being careful not to touch it.
Stay out of sight or you will have more than one scar on your face.
And another, but this time it was accompanied by a photograph of Mrs. Pickering browsing some stalls at what looked like a farmer’s market with the words:
Bad things can easily happen.
Then the last one with a photograph of the paint-sprayed car and the words:
You were told to stay away.
“You haven’t shown the cops these.” It was a rhetorical question.
“No,” Seb whispered miserably.
“The detectives need to see them,” Gray insisted. “There’s all sorts of tests they can run, not least DNA if someone was dumb enough to lick the envelopes.”
Seb looked at him incredulously.
“You’d be surprised how stupid people can be,” Gray said. He looked in the file. “Envelopes?”
“I only have the one from today.” He nodded to the trash, and Gray fished it out using the corner of his shirt again, so he didn’t touch it.
“Does anyone know?”
Seb hesitated almost imperceptibly and with a flash of insight, Gray knew. “Arron?” Seb lowered his head, which was as good as an admission.
Gray sat down heavily on the bed, and Seb sank down next to him. Gray tapped Seb’s shoulder, and Seb raised his head, misery stark in his eyes. “How long have they been arriving?”
“Five months,” Seb whispered. “There were two more that I gave to Arron.”
Gray swore quietly to himself. “What did Arron do?”
“He was going to talk to a detective friend of his but said if I stopped the lessons and just lay low for a while, things might smooth over. He said there’s a team of enhanced in Florida—SWAT or something”—Seb frowned—“who are making a lot of waves, and people are getting real nervous.”
“FBI,” Gray corrected.
“Yeah, they saved a judge. Arron says it means things are changing, but that it also paints a target on my back.”
Gray’s heart sank. Not for what had happened to Arron, because as far as he was concerned, the man had been a fool, but Gray didn’t like coincidences even if on the face of things the suicide looked genuine. He didn’t like that Arron seemed to be trying to keep things quiet. Or had he? Had the man told someone else who couldn’t be trusted, and it had gotten him killed? Maybe Gray was misjudging him.
Gray also didn’t like blaming this on some supposed hate group. Not that they weren’t powerful, because he should know and had the scars to prove it. He just wasn’t convinced someone would go to all that trouble to pick on some kid who lived like a recluse because of a scar on his face. He thought it was something much simpler. And in particular, fourteen million of them. He picked up his phone to call Rawlings. It might be an idea to watch both Mrs. Pickering and Seb’s dad while they found out what the actual fuck was going on.
The words to ask Seb why he hadn’t told him were on his lips, and Gray had to forcefully swallow them to stop them escaping. Seb had known him less than one week. He’d known Arron for nearly three years, and Arron had been killed. Seb was blaming himself. He was mired in secrets and enough problems that would drive most people nuts. He was also doing his best to protect himself and didn’t know who to trust. Gray didn’t blame Seb for not telling him.
Chapter Thirteen
TWO MORNINGS later, Gray closed the door behind Detective Carter, appreciating the man was less than pleased with Seb’s secrecy, even though he could understand he assumed Arron would pass it on if he saw fit. Carter confirmed they had not found any notes in Arron’s belongings, so he had either given them to someone else or they had been destroyed.
Seb begged Gray not to call Carter until after his father left for his ski trip to Deer Creek early that morning, and Gray one hundred percent agreed with that. Derwent was taking Armitage to the airport, then wouldn’t be back until evening. Danny was doing what he could on the computer, and Rawlings was talking to the FBI in case they could come up with any named groups in the area. Rawlings would also arrange for Armitage and Mrs. Pickering to be safe without them knowing.
Gray headed to the kitchen to follow Seb. He hoped Seb was hungry because, thanks to Carter and the rest of the phone calls, it was already nearly three in the afternoon, and breakfast was a very distant memory. They’d skyped with Ray Samms
earlier. Ray had been funny and helpful. Not that Ray said anything different from what Gray had said, but Gray liked the fact that his advice had been validated by a professional. Ray asked Seb to arrange to get blood tests done and was sending him to an independent doctor friend of his. Seb really seemed to like that as well. After the holidays when Ray saw the results, they would get together. Ray shared some general stories with Gray and then wished them a happy Thanksgiving and ended the call.
Seb was peering into the open fridge door and glanced at Gray as he walked into the room. “I think Mrs. P thought she was feeding most of Atlanta.”
Gray came to stand next to him, and he chuckled at the packed shelves. “What do you feel like eating?” He nudged Seb for his attention and repeated the question.
Seb grinned. “Well….” He drew out the word. “We can have a chicken stir-fry, any sort of pasta you like, salad, pot roast, or,” he said with a grin, “we could have french toast and bacon.” Seb picked up the pack and waggled his eyebrows. Gray’s stomach growled, and he clutched it.
Seb arched an eyebrow. “I take that to mean your stomach just growled. Lucky I can’t hear it.” He winked.
Gray held out a hand for the bacon, but Seb shook his head. “I got this. You take a seat.” Gray did exactly as he was told, then jumped back up and refilled the coffee, ignoring Seb’s chuckles. He sat back down again and watched as Seb expertly mixed the eggs for the french toast. Seb glanced at Gray. “Did you know Julius Caesar probably ate this?”
Gray paused as he was just about to sip his coffee, somewhat thrown by the question. “Huh?”
Seb nodded. “Early fifth century A.D. It was called pan dulcis, which was changed to pain perdu in the English court of King Henry.” Seb smiled. “Lost bread. Lost because it was a way of using up hardened or stale loaves. It’s called a ton of things now. French toast, German toast, eggy bread, but it’s basically the same as it was when it was eaten by Roman soldiers.”
Gray smiled. Seb was different today. Smiling, relaxed. He’d done the exercises this morning to put a flush in his cheeks, borne the brunt of Carter’s frustration with ease, and hadn’t shown any signs of a headache. In fact, despite the note, he was like a different person, much more relaxed. Was it because they had the place to themselves? He wondered how much constant pressure Seb was under, living here.
Derwent had called earlier and said he was staying out with friends, which again was totally okay with Gray. Seb expertly flipped the toast onto a plate and added a generous five pieces of bacon. He carried the syrup over and put the lot in front of Gray.
“I can practically feel my cholesterol levels tripling,” Gray mused, not giving a shit. Seb served himself and sat down opposite him.
They munched in silence for a few minutes, and then Seb looked up, swallowing. “I’m sorry I’m keeping you here tomorrow.”
Gray picked up his coffee. “I don’t have any plans. There’s just me and my sister now.” Seb gazed at Gray’s face, obviously waiting for more. Gray cursed to himself. He’d rather have kept the lid on this can of worms. He pushed at his empty plate. Straightened his fork. Put down his coffee cup. He picked it up again and realized it was empty, but he didn’t have the balls to avoid the question anymore and go refill it.
“I’ve barely seen Pink in four years. She—” But a hand on his arm stopped him, and he looked at Seb.
“Did you just say Pink?”
Gray scrubbed his face but smiled half-heartedly. “My sister is actually called Pauline after my mom’s older sister, who died when she was, like, three or four maybe? Anyways, Pink really hated the name. Said it wasn’t fair that I had a really cool color name and she didn’t, so Pauline became ‘Pink’ when she was around six. It got to the point where Mom and Dad had to actually add it at school because she wouldn’t answer to Pauline.” Gray shrugged and watched Seb push the last of his uneaten toast around his plate, knowing the next question that was coming.
“How come you haven’t seen her?”
Gray considered avoiding the question, but knew it wasn’t fair. “Because I killed her husband.”
Seb’s fork clattered down on his plate, and Gray waited for all the questions, the alarm, the fear, the mistrust. But instead Seb gazed at Gray and just waited. The waiting screamed louder than any words could have.
Aubrey.
Aubrey hadn’t just been in his unit. He had been Gray’s brother-in-law for all of seventeen months. “Pink was married to one of my best friends. He was in my unit, and he died nearly five years ago.” Gray had even introduced Aubrey to Pink when he’d had found out Aubrey had no family and they were on leave at Thanksgiving. He’d dragged Aubrey home with him because he didn’t want him to be on his own. Seven years ago Gray had still been into the family shit.
Seb still didn’t say anything. Gray shifted restlessly; the pressure to keep talking was enormous. Funny, despite him having training to do the exact opposite, the shy hopeful smile Seb had worn that morning made Gray desperate to keep it there. “When I got home I didn’t know what to say.” You couldn’t say sorry for something so awful. It should have been him. No one needed him.
“I can’t imagine,” Seb said quietly, but as Gray raised his eyes to look at Seb, he knew that was a lie. Not a deliberate one maybe, but a lie all the same. Seb knew. Every dark shadow in his eyes told Gray that Seb knew. It was something a person could only share with someone who had known such devastating loss. Others could sympathize, empathize, but it was never really the same.
Gray had stared into so many eyes with that same look.
And Gray couldn’t seem to hold it back, and all his shameful story came spilling out. How their small unit had been betrayed but how Gray had been responsible for giving the final go-ahead. He was in charge. It had been him. All him. Rawlings had tried to tell him afterward when he visited Gray in the hospital that he’d have made the same decision, but it didn’t matter. Aubrey had given up. Gray still believed if he had managed to keep him going out there, Aubrey would have come home with him and Danny. Battered maybe, but Pink would have been there for her husband, and his sister was a force of nature.
His niece, born one month after Aubrey’s death, would be exactly the same.
Except Gray had hardly seen her, so he couldn’t say.
“We lost our mom first. She’d been sick for a while, but I thought she’d gotten through it. I was deployed and on a job I couldn’t leave. As soon as it was through and I found out, I came home, but it was too late.” He’d even missed the funeral. “I never knew my dad was an alcoholic. He kept it hidden from everyone. I don’t even know if Mom knew, but he managed to hide it from me and Pink during the month I stayed before I had to return. We didn’t know anything was wrong until Pink tried to call him for a couple of days. When she hadn’t gotten a reply, she called his work, and his old boss told her Dad had been fired the month before. Apparently he’d been stopped by the cops and was over the limit, but he drove for a living, and losing his license meant losing his job.”
Gray fell silent. He’d forgotten how much it hurt. Forgotten how much he had let everyone down. He felt the slight squeeze of Seb’s fingers on his arm and focused on them and drawing oxygen into his lungs around his tightened throat. This touching thing had developed by surprise in a matter of days. He touched Seb, and Seb touched him, and it felt okay, which was odd and wrong. Dangerous in so many ways. Wanting to fuck a guy was one thing, but wanting anything else was a huge rabbit hole he was steering clear of.
He glanced down at where his hand was resting on the table and where Seb’s hand had slid over it, and he didn’t seem able to pull it away. Didn’t want to pull it away. He swallowed. “Pink lived in Knoxville then, but managed to get one of his old work colleagues to go check on him. He’d fallen down the stairs.” Gray rubbed at his eyes. Dad had been dead for hours, probably over a day, and no one knew. He’d lain there and died on his own because Gray was thousands of miles away fighting for other people�
�s fathers instead of making sure his own was safe. He would never forgive himself for that. He imagined Pink would never forgive him either. After that, war had seemed a safer option than facing what he’d lost at home.
“I’m sorry,” Seb whispered and squeezed Gray’s hand again before he withdrew his own.
They sat for a few seconds while Gray tried to close off the pain that threatened to overtake him.
“I would have loved a sister.”
Gray raised his eyes to look at Seb. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t been able to face Pink since he had gotten her husband killed and let his dad down so badly. He’d talked to her on the phone a few times, and she had visited him in rehab. Even when he had been unable to get to Aubrey’s memorial, she had come to him, but he hadn’t known what to say. He was a shitty son and an even worse brother.
“I have a niece.” Gray started in surprise as the words seemed to jump from his mouth without thought. He hadn’t meant to say that at all.
“Yeah?” Seb smiled. “How old is she?”
“Four and a half. She’s called Tabitha, after her grandma. My mom was called Tabitha, and her middle name is Anne, after Aubrey’s mom.” He’d seen pictures but had always made excuses that he couldn’t visit because he was working, until Pink had eventually stopped asking, until she had called last week.
“Do they live in Atlanta?”
Gray shook his head. He needed to say the rest of his shameful story, but what was the point?
“Do you have any other family? I’m sorry I never asked if you were married or had a girlfriend or anything.”
Seb lowered his gaze as if not waiting for the reply. Why? If Seb wanted to know, why wasn’t he looking at him? Gray played all the scenarios through in his brain. Told himself not to go there for so many reasons, and then thought about how he had lectured himself about giving Seb no reason to trust him. He touched Seb’s arm lightly and waited until Seb raised his eyes to look at him. “I’m not, no—but it would be a boyfriend not a girlfriend.”