Page 31 of Collision of Winters
“We’ll go when Quin gives the word,” I decided. “It shouldn’t be more than a day or two.”
His relief was clear as day. “Any updates, by the way?”
“Not in the last four hours.” I checked my watch, surprised to see it was so late. “Make that six.” Jesus. I’d literally sat hereand watched him work on his lists for almost three hours. “I’ll probably get another text around midnight.”
It was only half an hour till then, so we should get ready for bed.
Some distance would do me good. Unless he got afraid out here again, and…
“May, um—may I bunk with you tonight too, Sir?”
Yes. Absolutely not. Of course you can. Please don’t.
“You never have to ask, blue.”
I was going to hell.
I sat on the edge of the bed and reread Quinlan’s message, and part of me wanted to tell him about the progress we’d made up here. But his mind was understandably preoccupied with Chris’s assignment.
I’d wait.
The important thing was, Chris and the Beckett brothers were safe. Everything was going according to plan.
Kayden soon emerged in the doorway after brushing his teeth, and he was back to wearing only those snug briefs.
He was holding a glass of water too. “I noticed you always have a drink of water before bed.” He came over and set it on my bedside table.
“Thank you.” The last thing I needed was him anticipating my needs, goddammit. “I received an update. Everyone is safe.”
He exhaled with relief and went to his side of the bed. “Good. I hope the dickheads coming for Chris die.”
I pulled up a leg and twisted my body so I could look back at him. “Is that how you genuinely feel?”
His forehead wrinkled with confusion. “Um, yeah? Isn’t this a kill-or-be-killed situation?”
Well, yes, but I…I supposed I hadn’t considered that Kayden already thought in those terms.
“Most likely,” I conceded.
He shrugged. “And in my civilian opinion, I can’t think of a scenario in which I’d rather be killed than kill.”
He used that word—civilian. It wasn’t the first time. Over the years, he had often referred to himself as a civilian in discussions with Quin and me, because of our years in the service, and now I couldn’t help but wonder if that term came with a bit of resentment. If he’d truly wished for a career in the Army, chances were—to this day—he disliked being on the civilian side of life.
I scooted under the covers and got comfortable on my back, and I peered over at him. “You won’t be a civilian much longer.”
“Really?” The way he lit up… “Do you have ranks at Hillcroft?”
“Nothing official that’ll earn you a slot at Arlington when you die. We have job titles and—within the agency—two ranks. Junior and senior.”
He grinned and flopped down on the mattress. “I won’t be a civilian. I won’t be a freaking civilian. Oh my God.”
The boy could hardly contain his glee.
“What’s wrong with being a civilian?” I chuckled.
“Nothing. It’s just not the life I dreamed of.”
Fair enough.
