Page 99 of The Sound of Him

“I’m going to leave before I fully break out into song. That’d just be awkward for the both of us.” I hitch my thumb toward the door like he has no idea where I would be exiting from. “Out this way. Here. To downstairs. Here I go now. Shit. See, I’m gonna have that song stuck in my head now. Maybe I should have let your bunny pick some music after all. Actually, no. The Clash is likely much better than hopping songs. Actually, for a fact, The Clash is much better than hopping songs. It’s The fucking Clash. Not exactly my favorite type of jam, but credit where credit is due, that band is good. So, yeah. Going. Now. Me. Remember, you can lock the door behind me if you want.”

He nods and gives me a thumbs-up, probably praying I’ll shut the hell up. Which is fair. I’m kind of praying I’ll shut the hell up too.

In fact, I should leave so that can happen.

I bite the inside of my cheek as I exit, determined to keep myself from falling into another ramble session. Travis is likely going to be here in a minute or two. I should hurry.

I manage.

Almost.

Just as I’m closing the door behind myself, I lose the battle to say an awkward, “Bye-bye now!”

Which means I get to spend the entirety of my walk downstairs thinking,bye-bye? Really, Ace? Are we toddlers now? Why are you like this? You are so fucking awkward, oh my word, get it together.

It’s almost a relief when I get to greet Travis. Only almost, though, because yes, my brain gets to switch fromyou’re an awkward idiot, but what it has to switch to isoh fuck.

Just…oh fuck.

Travis is in the living room, something wild in his eyes as he stands trembling like he’s a new survivor upon arrival instead of an operative who lives here. He’s still half-kitted out, despite having an 8 hour private flight to get changed. He’s covered in blood, his black clothes doing their best to hide most of it, but only able to do so much. There’s dried blood in rusty-looking spatters on his throat and the hinge of his jaw and below one ear.

His hand is hovering dangerously close to the holster on his hip.

Every ounce of exhaustion that’s been building up inside of me slams into me all at once. I waver on my feet, stomach turning with the kind of dizzy-nauseous feeling you can achieve by pushing your body to a breaking point. I feel delirious.

I should call in help. I need - there’s gotta be someone else - someone better - someone - Maison, I should get Maison -but, no, Maison and Travis are fighting and - and Jake, where is Jake, is he with Casey? - and why did the guys outside let him walk in like this? What the fuck happened? What the fuck isstillhappening?

“Trav?” I ask, keeping my voice low and soothing. I shove back the waves of exhaustion washing over me. I know how to do this. I don’t care how tired I am, my body can do this on autopilot. How many times have I talked Keaton off the ledge? I may not know what happened or what’s going through his head, but I know how to bring it to a halt. “You’re safe, Travis. You’re okay. We’re just friends here, yeah? You’re at the safehouse. You’re safe. I’m Ace, and Maison and Jake and Deacon and Doc Singh are here.Carteris here. Casey and Matt and Nolan and Bryce are here. Everybody is safe.You’resafe. Can you repeat that for me, man? Where are you, Travis? What is this place?”

He blinks a few times before his eyes focus on me. His hand wavers closer to his weapon before he lets it fall limp at his side.

“At the safehouse,” he croaks. “Safe.”

“Yeah, man. Exactly. Shake it off, alright? Whatever’s stuck on you, just shake it off. It doesn’t get to follow you here. Tell it to go the fuck away. You are Travis, you are safe, and none of it can get you here.”

He nods, moving his shoulders like he’s trying to physically shrug the weight off of himself. “Yeah. Yes. Can’t - can’t get me here.”

“That’s right. You’re safe, man. It’s all good. Mission is over, yeah?”

“Yeah. Over.” His eyes are fixed somewhere over my shoulder, darting back and forth like he’s analyzing a puzzle. It’s just a wall behind me. Whatever he’s figuring out, it’s in his head. I know he’s figured it out when he brings his gaze back to me, locking our eyes. “I need to see Carter.”

“Oh, well, now,” I say, mostly to buy myself time. If it came to the two of us, I'm fully aware Travis would win the battle. Not that I think Travis would fight me physically. Not if he was in his right mind. It’s just… I’m not entirely convinced he’s in that right mind at the moment.

“Please?” He looks at me, eyes wide, pleading. He looks like he’s in pain. Like he just survived something catastrophic and he’s begging me to help him. “I have to see Carter. I have to. Is Maison awake? Don’t wake him. Please, Ace, if he’s not awake, don’t wake him up. Not yet. Just let me go. Give - give me an hour, yeah? Or two? Give me two hours. If he’s sleeping, I’ll leave him be. I just have toseehim. You know? I need to see him. One last time. Please? I kept him and I can’t and I have to see him. Please let me see him one last time, Ace. I gotta see him.”

There are things we should do right now. He needs to decompress, talk out the mission, get down any details before things get muddled. He needs to eat. He definitely needs to shower. Then he needs rest.

I need some fucking rest.

But he’s telling me he needs Carter more than any of that, and I’m not going to be the one to tell him he’s wrong. Partly because it’s not my place. Mostly because I’m not sure if he’s wrong at all. I think the one thing that might be able to stop him from completely unraveling is the blue-eyed boy down the hall.

“Go ahead,” I tell him. Then, realizing something, “Wait. Your gun - is it hot?”

He startles, his hand moving toward his holster. An operative should always know if their weapon is ready to be fired or not. It sets me on edge that he hesitates. The feeling is only made worse when he actually has to remove the gun and check it before he can promise, “It’s safe.”

“Good. Keep it that way. Come find me if you need anything. Go see your boy.”

“He's notmine,” he says almost defensively.