Page 23 of The Sound of Him

“Think about-”

“Fuck no.”

“They already met other operatives at the party, and now the security team at the house. Maison knows me - my face, at least. He knows me as Keats, the semi-retired operative. It wouldn’t feel out of context for me to show up.”

“Show up to a tightly secured safehouse in which no one who hasn’t been pre-approved should know the location of? With a pre-approved list they’ve already seen? A list you arenoton?”

“I’m sure we could figure something out.”

“No.”

“You see, I was thinking-”

“Keaton.”

“When you find Mica, Travis will need someone to be his second. Maison isn’t going to be healed enough, unless it takes longer than we expect to track him down. Even if Maison is healed, it’d be good to have him and Jake stay behind to help you out. Plus, you said that Jake is close to Casey, so he’d probably want to stay behind anyway.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“Which means we would have probably assigned him an outside operative anyway. We would have at leastconsideredit. Who’s to say I’m not one of them? Maison would back the story up if he saw me. You could, too.”

“I cannot be more clear about this, Keaton. You are not going to be setting foot in this safehouse. Absolutely not.” My stupid voice is fucking shaking at this point, panic battering in my chest. “Do you understand that? Absolutely fucking not.”

“I’m not saying the safehouse. I’m not saying I want to meet… anyone else. I get it. I know that I - that it wouldn’t be a good idea. I know I have to let…himgo. Iamletting him go. I’m…working on it. But I will let him go, I swear. I just want to meet Travis.”

I press two knuckles to my face, one at the corner of my eye and the other at the edge of my brow. That’s right where my migraines usually originate.

“It’s not even against Kell’s rules, really. He said I could keep doing short missions, right? Low-risk ones. Wherever this fuckhead is hiding, it should be easy enough to smoke him out. His entire social circle has been tugged out from under him. Whoever is helping him, it’s a skeleton team. Kellan would approve of that, don’t you think?” He doesn’t give me the chance to decide - or to share that decision with him. “Then I can just talk with Travis, you know? Ex-operative to sort-of-ex-operative. I can tell him I was an old team leader or something. Maybe get him to open up a little. See where his head is at. He’ll talk to me more than anyone at the safehouse, you can’t argue that. It’s always easier to open up about the messy shit with strangers. I could be that for him. I could help.”

How is this my life?

Ten years ago, when I begged Kellan to let me work tech on the main team of an operation, I knew it was going to be hard. I knew I was going to see things. I was going to see shit that fucked with my head, see shit that would remind me of dark closets, see shit that he and Keaton had gone a long way to protect me from seeing.

I knew we’d lose people, too. Plenty of victims, sure, but even losing teammates was possible if things went sideways enough.

They both warned me, but they didn’t have to. Iknew. Maybe I didn’t know everything, and Idefinitelydidn’t know that things would become quite this fucked up, but I knew enough. Of course I did. I was raised in their shadows, after all.

I didn’t know it’d feel like this, though. I didn’t know it’d be so heavy. I didn’t know I would be so alone in the position of holding everything together.

Maybe Keatonwouldhelp.He couldn’t make it any worse, right?It’s not like he’d be in the house, seeing the operatives, meeting survivors, feeding his obsession with Bryce. Hell, maybe talking with Travis would be enough closure for him to finally get this whole fucked up operation out of his system. Maybe he’ll even be able to let go of Bryce, trusting his support system with his safety. Maybe he’ll be able to move on.

Maybe I can get just a little bit of help taking care of these men I love, and help Keaton at the same time. Maybe I can finally stop being split so entirely. Maybe I could let the gap close, just a little.

“You there?” he asks, his voice so small it’s hard to remember just how big and strong he is.

“Yeah.”

“You haven’t said no again.”

I laugh, hoarse and low and not amused. “No, I have not.”

“You’re considering it, then?”

“It’s not really up to me, either way.”

“No, but he’ll ask your opinion. He always does if it’s about me.”

Oof.