Page 71 of Ship Happens
His eyes widen, and his frustration shifts to sheepishness. “Oh, I didn’t mean . . . You thought that . . . Frankie.”
“Save it.” I hold up my hand. “We are going to dinner with Ice Pick and Amber, and we will have a nice time. Got it?”
Maverick pinches his lips shut and nods, and Ice Pick finally emerges from the elevator. As a trio, we start toward the dining hall. Ice walks a few feet ahead, occasionally glancing back to see if we’re still following him.
“Do you guys really have to tag along? What if you embarrass me?” He stops just outside the open doors and glances at his watch. “I told her I’d meet her at eight, and that’s in fifteen minutes. Could we hang out afterward?”
He has a point. Maverick and I are like parents attempting to chaperone their tween’s first date. It’s not a good look for him, but it’s an even worse look for us. I look up at Maverick.
“I guess we could eat at a different table?” I say.
“Or in our room,” Maverick mutters. I give his side a sneaky pinch, and he jumps. “We’ll eat at a different table,” he says to Ice Pick.
Knowing this is the best he’ll get, Ice Pick turns and heads into the dining hall.
Once he’s out of earshot, Maverick whispers, “I didn’t mean what you thought I meant. This isn’t just a fling for me.”
I firm my grip on his arm and rest my head on his shoulder. “And maybe this isn’t just a fling for them, either. Let the poor guy have some fun.”
“I’m just worried about him. Ice is one of us, but he’s different. We have a support system of close friends, but we only see him on these trips, really. He goes missing the rest of the year, and we only know he’s still alive because we’ll see news blips about his kills in Texas.” He shakes his head and swallows. “If he gives up killing, how will we know he’s okay?”
Now I see that this goes deeper than I realized. He’s worried about his friend, sure, but he’s more worried about losing the friendship. If Ice Pick gives up killing...they may never see him again.
I consider how that translates to my situation. By giving up my career, I’ll be forced to say goodbye to my colleagues as well. A momentary flame of regret flickers to life before my brain douses the fire in a spray of reality. My colleagues were sent to die, and I was collateral damage. The man I trusted, the man I admired and viewed almost as a father figure, sent me to my death. So no, our situations aren’t so similar after all, but that doesn’t mean Ice and I shouldn’t come to the same conclusion.
That sometimes change is a good thing.
I grip Maverick’s hand and give is a solid squeeze. “Sometimes we have to let people we care about make the scary decisions. We have to trust that they know what’s best for them.”
“And you thinkhecan tell what’s best for him?”
I follow his gaze to a line of people standing alongside the buffet table. Ice Pick mills about with his plate piled to the brim. A Swedish meatball rolls from the edge and splats on the carpet in a spray of wetness. He bends at the knees, plucks it from the carpet, and puts it back on his plate. Then he licks his fingers.
“Okay. Maybe you’re right. But maybe it’s best to let things run their course. I mean, what harm could it do?” I squeeze Maverick’s hand again. “Let him have this. For me.”
He looks prepared to concede as we step into the dining room, so I shut my mouth and leave it right there. Nothing is more annoying than someone who keeps on once they’ve made their point.
We grab a warm plate from the station and stand in line. When I say the plate is warm, that’s a gross understatement. The ceramic feels as if Satan dragged his fiery asshole over everything my fingers touch. Maverick and I play hot potato with the white disks, looking as foolish as everyone else.
“It looks like we’ll lose feeling in our fingertips by the time we reach the mac and cheese,” I mutter, and he struggles to keep a straight face as he stares down the line.
Ice Pick has reached the end. He grips a drink in his left hand as he makes his way to his table. Unfortunately, he chooses this moment to glance at his watch, which sends the entirety of his sweet tea to the floor. I internally cringe and hope Amber wasn’t here to witness this.
But then a blonde appears at his side, materializing out of thin air. With wildly apparent mother-hen energy, she begins helping him. She takes the plate from his hand and ferries it to their table before returning with a clump of napkins, whichshe uses to pat the damp area near the bottom of his jeans. Instead of looking frustrated or embarrassed, she’s all smiles and sweetness.
But that’s when I notice the bracelet on her wrist, and my world comes crashing down. Ice Pick has made a huge mistake. Because as it turns out...he’s fallen for a fed.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Maverick
Frankie and I place our plates on the table, and Ice Pick’s gaze flies to my face as we slide into the booth seats directly across from him and the fuckingfed. When Frankie told me what she suspected, sitting at any other place in the dining room was no longer an option.
Frankie knew Amber was a fed the same way she knew the woman on the pirate ship was a fed: the bracelet. Her director gave it to her as a gift before she left for the assignment, and it appears she wasn’t the only recipient.
“Change of plans, buddy,” I say as I pick up my fork. “Looks like we were able to join you after all. Why don’t you introduce us?”
Ice stutters and stumbles over his tongue, but Amber holds a dainty hand toward me. “I’m Amber. It’ssonice to finally meet some of Chad’s friends.”
