Page 205 of Piece Us Together

The admission feels like a bomb, set down between us, just waiting to explode.

But it doesn’t.

His eyes soften, his smile warm but a little sad. “It’s about time. Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

The words catch in my chest, a hook into my heart thatyanksuntil I can’t breathe.

This time it’s him holding me as I sob. He pets my hair and my back and tells me, “That one was blue!” and, “I love you,” and, “Oh, that one’s silver,” and, “Get it together, big brother, thegrand finale is coming soon,” and, “I love you, you know?” and, “I think she’d be proud of you. Mom. She’d be so proud.”

I tell him, “She’d be proud of you too.”

We both end up missing the finale. It doesn’t matter. There will be other shows. Years of them. And we’ll watch them together as brothers.

It’s simple, in the end. Quitting. Without being locked into an operation or post-operation clean-up, it’s really just giving Keats the heads up that I don’t want him considering me for missions anymore. He’s not in town, gone to wherever the hell it is he goes between visiting us and working missions. I call him.

I’m still in the car, the vents pumping hot air. I can do that. I can make this call while warm, not needing the needle-sharp winter air to punish me. I’ve been getting better at that. At recognizing when something doesn’t need to be as hard or as painful as my default assumption.

I don’t realize how late it is until Keats answers with an almost panicked, “What? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Woah. Hey. Nothing is wrong. I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

“At three in the fucking morning?”

“Uh. Yes?”

He sighs heavily. “You know, I want to complain some more, but the longer we talk the less likely I’ll be able to fall back asleep, so let’s skip ahead to what you want to talk about.”

“Fair enough.” I glance out the window. My headlights are cast over the pathetic snowman we all tried to build yesterday. We only managed to make his base and a very lopsided stomach. Then Hunter had said, “As much as I love this, we could go inside and make some hot chocolate and warm each other up naked on the rug in front of the fireplace.” Nolan had nearly knocked the snowman down in his haste to get inside first.

I close my eyes. I see us tangled in three blankets and multiple limbs, Hunter’s head on my thigh, Nolan’s head on my chest, as I watch the flames dance. It always seems to come back to fires, with me and Nolan. The first place we found safety. The place we figured out our safety was in each other.

“I want to quit.”

“Quit?”

“Yeah. The missions or whatever. That life, I guess. I need to be done, Keats. I—Iwantto be done.”

“Sure. Yeah, man. Alright. You don’t need my permission for that. I’m not your boss anymore.”

I frown. “You were never my boss.”

“Exactly.”

Exactly?I shake my head. He must still be half-asleep. Hopefully he at least remembers this in the morning so I don’t have to repeat it all.

“I won’t bring up missions anymore. I won’t even tempt you when I have one by sharing details. You want out, you’ve got it, man. I’m happy for you. Really. You deserve to put the guns down. You deserve to rest, Maison.”

My eyes water. I have a hard time swallowing, my throat aching even after I finally manage to. “Thanks, Keats.”

I hang up and take a deep breath. It feels cleansing. Monumental. It feels like my life shifts into place, into where it belongs. My body, however, belongs in the warm bed where Nolan and Hunter are waiting for me. I turn the car off and head inside.

I’m back in my childhood home. It’s always this home, with its blue walls and big windows that let in sunlight during the day and horrors at night. The wood floor creaks.

The only light is coming from outside. There’s a spotlight, coming down from the sky like a helicopter is up there doing a missing person’s search. In the center of the spotlight is Carter. He’s tied to a St. Andrew’s Cross. Nolan is at his feet, body crumpled and unmoving.

I break my knuckles first, knocking them on the window, trying to get the attention of the monsters outside. Blood drips from them. I just switch to hitting the sides of my hands against it instead. People start to look over as those bones shatter. They don’t stop, though. They just grin at me. Laugh at me. Move around so I can see the show better.

I use my shoulders against the door. My feet. My hips. I slam my whole body against it, over and over, but the only thing that breaks is me.

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