Page 64 of Fortress
Plates in hand, the family and guests drifted toward long picnic tables set up on the other side of the house. Alice took a seat next to Matthew. As she munched on deliciously buttery corn on the cob, she surveyed the packed tables of familiar faces (the non-family guests had been politely herded to their own tables or cordially invited into the house's big dining room by folks who actually liked hobnobbing). Everyone who belonged here was present—well, nearly.
Some had died hunting. Sometimes they just died. Other times they left the life and wanted distance from anything thatreminded them of it. And some kept up the mission in a solitary fashion, without accepting that the family was there for them, doing the same thing.
As though he'd picked up some freaky mind trick from getting too close on one too many hunts, Matthew turned to her, a smear of mustard at the corner of his mouth. “So, the grapevine says you were hot on Jake Hawthorne's trail not so long ago. Close enough to count his teeth.”
Alice swallowed her mouthful of corn and wiped her mouth before answering. She considered pointing out the mustard, then reminded herself she was taking the day off from being nice. “Missed him by a couple hours at an Arizona hospital.”
“He'd been hit?”
“Not him—his freak. The one Jonah gave him.” Alice spoke quietly. This talk was right on the line between work and family, and she knew Aunt Debbie would vehemently disapprove of shop talk during the festivities.
“Hmm.” Matthew's mouth twisted, his eyes fixed somewhere down the table. “Jonah wants to check in with him now? I always thought it was weird he just let Hawthorne go off the grid like that. To be honest, I couldn't believe he actually gave him the freak, not after all—”
“That's something we can discuss later, Matthew, if you still have an opinion.”
They both jumped and twitched for their sidearms, before twisting in their seats to see Jonah behind them, smiling amiably as he held a sagging paper plate stacked high with grilled corn, sausage, and mashed potatoes.
“After all, we wouldn't want to upset Aunt Debbie. You know how she feels about business talk on holidays,” he pointed out. “Respect is important. So if you have any commentary on my decisions, we'll save them for the work week.”
“Yes, sir,” Matthew said.
Matthew was a smart-talking hothead, and it was a coin flip whether he'd offend someone in any given conversation. Alice had worked with him more than once in D.C., and she tended to grit her teeth and hope the good old boys' club would let his attitude slide. The matter-of-fact obedience he put into those two words now was new, though not surprising.
Some hunters new to D.C. treated Jonah with the brash ease they would give a paper-pusher who used to carry a gun. Alice often wondered when he would snap and shoot the idiots. But Matthew responded like he had already seen the gun.
Jonah walked around the table, set his plate down across from them, and took a seat on the picnic bench. “As for our cousin Jake,” he added, “don't worry. We'll find him when the time is right.”
A couple days after the holiday, Jake and Toby drove into town with a shopping list from Roger. The day was hot and dry, but it felt good to ride with their windows rolled down.
Once inside Total Stop Food Store, Jake's attention wandered to Toby more often than the next item on their list. From the salsa aisle to the coolers of beer, Toby's shoulders were relaxed, and he seemed almost oblivious to the other shoppers passing by. Jake knew that Toby's version of “oblivious” was very different from most people's (Jake could probably ask later and Toby would be able to tell him the shirt color of the guy buying peaches in the produce section), but he was as comfortable around strangers as Jake had ever seen him.
Jake looked down to hide his smile. As they pulled out of the parking lot to head back toward Roger's, he cleared his throat.
“So, uh, I was thinking. It's been about a year since—since we started this whole thing together.” Ten days short of a year, to beexact, but no need to make a big deal about it. Dates, numbers, anniversaries—those things could jinx you. Two decades of sitcoms had taught him that, and he could damn well believe it.
Before Toby, the only anniversary he'd observed was with Leon, and that date was November second: the day of the Liberty Wolf Massacre, and the day his mother had died. That connection made him . . . nervous. Just another reason to have this conversation now, rather than on the sixteenth.
Toby looked over, startled, and Jake rambled on. “Yeah, it just seemed like a good point to check in, see how you like this whole set-up we got. Or if you wanna shake anything up. 'Cause we could, y'know. If you want to go back to Boulder for a while, maybe stay put and look at schools. Or whatever.” Jake shrugged, as though it was all the same to him.
Toby studied him for several long seconds, which Jake did not find uncomfortable at all, before looking back at the motorway ahead of them. Then his gaze returned to Jake. “I like what we do,” he said at last. “Helping people, hunting evil. Sharing the road with you.”
Jake allowed himself a smile and a quick glance to make eye contact and measure the sincerity in Toby's face. “Awesome. I like all that too. But you know that. And sometimes—I mean, not so much anymore, but it used to be—the point is, you don't have to like what I like.”
“I know,” Toby said, and he actually sounded annoyed at Jake, which never stopped being fucking awesome. “I like lots of things you don't like now. Like Sarah McLachlan and The Smiths.”
Jake snorted. “Yeah, I'll be damned if I know where you got that from. But it's cool, you know, I ain't got a problem with any of that. I was just thinking—it's been a hell of a long time since I asked you a No question.”
Toby winced, even as he let out a short laugh that ended with his face turned away. Jake couldn't blame him. He'd usually rather stab himself in the thigh than reminisce about those early days. But for this one moment hewantedto remember. He wanted them both to realize how fucking far they'd come. They'd survived, in spite of all the ways Jake had fucked up and hadn't known what the hell he was doing, in spite of all the things Toby had expected that neither of them had been able to deal with.
After today, they could go back to never speaking of it again, and that would be fine with him.
Jake cleared his throat. “So, what's left on your bucket list? Anything you heard or read about that you want to give a whirl? Just give me a heads-up so I know which exit to take.”
Toby stayed quiet, considering the question with that tilt of his head that was somehow thoughtful, adorable, and sexy all at once.
The silence went on long enough that Jake's brain started churning its own list for what Toby might want. Hit up a Six Flags? No, Toby probably wasn't interested in being strapped into an open car and dropped from three stories up with half a dozen screaming strangers. A rock concert? That could work, if they went to one of the more open-air events and they could score a good seat far enough from the stage not to get suffocated by crowds. Would Toby want to try smoking a joint there? That wasn't like underage drinking, right? Maybe he'd make out with Jake there, the bass beating through their bones while the blue smoke lightened their bodies and left them indifferent to anyone and everything but the press of hands and lips and tongue.
Okay, that was probably a little too specific and outside Toby's current list of favorite things. If Jake featured at all in Toby's bucket list, it probably involved a private room. Maybe one with a bed.
