Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“You went after him again, didn’t you?” he asked, holding the smooth hand against his cheek. He’d woken up to an empty bed last night and hadn’t even had to guess where Clover had gone.
The spark in Clover’s eyes died a little, and Tank hated to be the cause of it, but there was no other way but to confront the matter.
“I couldn’t let him drive.”
“You know you shouldn’t drive when it’s not absolutely crucial. Especially not at night,” Tank grumbled, pulling Clover in to rest his cheek against the boy’s warm stomach. He smelled of soap and washing detergent, and Tank found the scent so comforting he let his eyes close, even if just for a brief moment. That scent was normalcy, something he deeply missed. “He’s getting worse, and none of us can do anything about it. You should let him handle his own shit.”
Clover sighed, and Tank noticed the hair at the back of his head was a bit damp, so he must have driven off in the morning as well. Their campsite was fifteen minutes away from a gas station that had a shower available, and Tank could hardly blame Clover for wanting to be clean after a tough night. At least in daylight, it was much safer for him behind the wheel.
“He will get better when we have a new lead, that’s always the case. We just need to keep him occupied. To be honest, I think he’s itching to move somewhere new.”
Clover’s back and thighs still bore the scars of the beating he’d been through at Apollo’s hands, but here he was, worried about Pyro’s wellbeing and making Tank breakfast. In some ways, Clover had taken on many of Boar’s roles, slipping into shoes he desperately tried to fill. He wouldn’t. Not because he wasn’t good enough, or because his cooking repertoire was so much smaller, but because Boar couldn’t be replaced.
Tank’s gaze drifted off to the sofa that could be converted into a double bed. A place meant for Drake, not that the bastard had ever slept there, all too eager to self-flagellate by living on the floor of his van. Tank had invested in a mid-sized trailer so the three of them could share quarters, but that had been a spectacular failure, since Drake seemed intent on isolating himself from the people he called friends even when he was around.
Tank had made numerous attempts to reason with him, explain that all of them—maybe with the exception of Pyro—carried some of the blame for what had happened, but Drake would cut him off every time, going rigid as if he were about to blow up.
Tank had stopped trying at some point, in hope that by giving Drake space, he’d help him sort things out in that complicated head. But that hadn’t been the case either.
If Drake had been anyone else, Tank would have lost patience long ago. He did think Drake needed to get over himself and focus on actions and supporting everyone else affected by Boar’s absence, but Drake’s life hadn’t been normal, and Tank supposed the torture and captivity had opened wounds that needed more time to heal than the physical ones.
Clover gave Tank a minty kiss and added more bacon to the pan. “Any word from Drake?” Clover asked casually, but wouldn’t look at him, and the question, while expected, hurt, because no, there was no word from Drake.
“You shouldn’t worry about him either. He’s made his own bed.”
Clover started beating eggs in a bowl. “I know, but he’s probably hurting. I hoped maybe he spoke to you.”
This had to be the part Tank hated most. Not only did Drake isolate himself, disappear, but he’d abandoned Clover when the boy had needed the most support. Drake should have been the one to offer a helping hand, but instead, he wouldn’t even touch Clover, as if the boy was now a leper. When questioned, he couldn’t explain what that was about, but Tank suspected the captivity they’d been through together had wrecked their bond. Maybe Drake had been beaten in Clover’s presence and now didn’t feel worthy of love or some shit? Tank could only speculate, because neither of the stubborn mules would talk about what happened, which left him with no tools to help them.
He hated being useless, much more so when it was the people he cared about most who suffered.
Clover poured the egg mixture into the pan and put the lid on, leaving the omelette to rise, and Tank didn’t know what else he could say before settling on, “you’re putting too much strain on yourself. Neither of them is in a place where they can appreciate it.”
“Since I do it for praise, maybe one day they will, and then I will reap the rewards for years to come. They will have to grovel at my feet and shower me with gifts to make amends.”