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Maxwell rolled his eyes. “Fair enough.”
Garrett kissed Maxwell’s other temple and then released him to return to the house. “I’ll be done in a second. Just let me clean up a few things.”
A few minutes later, with the roof cleared of miscellaneous tools—and the few screws that had come in the box that Garrett hadn’t known what to do with—and his hands cleaned of grease, Garrett trotted down the stairs and into the kitchen. He found them all in their usual places: Maxwell curled up in his chair beside the kitchen counter, Oliver tucked into the window seat with one leg crossed over the other, and Mal’ik beside him on a proper dining room chair that always looked like it might give out under his bulk.
Maxwell threw Garrett a smile when he appeared in the doorway and held out an already open beer to him. “We’re celebrating Oliver’s upcoming trip to Klah.”
“We’re not celebrating.” Oliver lifted his chin and pursed his lips. “We’re acknowledging.”
Garrett dragged a dining room chair over to sit closer to Maxwell. “Why are you going to Klah?”
A slow smile tugged Mal’ik’s scars. “He’s going to meet my family.”
Garrett choked on his swig of beer, his laughter threatening to send the liquid out of his nose. “So we’re having a funeral.”
“Garrett!” Maxwell shoved his shoulder. “Don’t be mean.”
Mal’ik chuckled and set a hand on Oliver’s knee. “He’s already nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.” Oliver tossed his head and then took a prim sip of the high-end liquor he kept at their place for when he came over. “Why would I be nervous?”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Garrett put a serious face on, but he knew his twitching lips were giving him away. “I’m sure they always wanted their eldest son to bring a human war criminal home.”
“I’m not a war criminal anymore.” Oliver tapped his finger against the glass, and when his eyes dropped down into it, Garrett huffed and took pity on it.
“Turner, in all seriousness, you’re gonna be fine. They’ll love you.” Garrett gave Oliver a comforting smile when his eyes flickered cautiously back up to him. “You’re handsome, rich, intelligent, good with your words, and stood by your man when it mattered. What’s not to love?”
Mal’ik squeezed Oliver’s knee. “See, even Garrett thinks you’ll be okay.”
Oliver shrugged a single shoulder, but despite his cavalier attitude, Garrett could see it was looser than when the conversation had begun. “I never needed assurance.”
Maxwell slipped his hand into Garrett’s, and Garrett switched his beer to his other one so he could lace their fingers together properly. Maxwell shot him a sweet little smile and then turned back to their guests. “Will you visit Patrick while you’re on Klah?”
Ah, poor, punished Patrick. He’d kept his word just like Garrett had known he would. He hadn’t grabbed Sebastian or the uranium during their assault on Thule, even though he’d had ample opportunity to nab both. And the Klah’Eel had kept their word of being pissed about it.
“We will.” Mal’ik nodded, and his face fell. From what Garrett knew, he and Patrick had been best friends for years, and part of him blamed himself for Patrick’s descent down the military ranks.
“Apparently, he’s training the least promising new recruits from the least promising district of Klah with the least resources of any other brigade.” Oliver’s lips twisted.
Maxwell tilted his head. “At least he’s not in prison.”
Mal’ik’s face didn’t look like he found that very comforting, and Garrett had to assume there was some sort of nation-state soldier mentality at play that he didn’t understand. “No, but he should be leading strike teams on the front lines, not babysitting soldiers the army doesn’t believe in.”
“From what it sounds like, the front lines might be Klah before we know it anyway,” Oliver said lightly, and Garrett winced.
The Insects.
Garrett had tried—and mostly succeeded—to put his head in the sand when it came to crises outside of Tava, but reports of the strange new alien species probing around the sector’s border had reached even his ears. No one knew exactly what they wanted. But no one thought it would be good.
Garrett scowled and lifted his beer. “Can we please go back to mourning—sorry, celebrating—Oliver’s trip to meet the family?”
“Right.” Maxwell lifted his own beer and tilted it to the blushing blonde. “Good luck, Oliver. Have a nice time.”
“Don’t worry. No one will touch your disgusting drink while you’re gone.” Garrett chuckled and took a swig of his beer.
Oliver arched an eyebrow. “Sebastian might. He’d never admit it, but I think he secretly likes fancy things. You can replace Mal’ik and me with him and Hess.”
Garrett scoffed. “Yeah, for as long as they’re here.”
