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The group starts to dwindle as families peel off, needing to get their little ones to bed. The group grows a little more boisterous, the jokes a little more colorful, the alcohol consumption a little heavier.
I find myself smiling, having to catch myself because the grin was more in response to the sound of Drake laughing at a joke Shadow told rather than the actual joke itself.
Instead, I focus on the difference in it, wondering as I listen, if this is his real laugh or if the one he uses at the bar is genuine because there’s a striking difference between the two.
I watch as Legacy lifts a beer to his lips. I’ve never seen him drink before, but he must be growing more comfortable around everyone to let loose a little. For some reason, Drake isn’t drinking, but then again, I’ve never seen him drink either. All the other times I’ve been around him have been when he was working or just getting off from work.
I dart my eyes back to the fire, knowing I can’t get caught watching the man drink a bottle of water.
“To this day, he still can’t eat shrimp!” Shadow all but yells, drawing another round of chuckles from everyone as he good-naturedly smacks Kincaid in the chest with the back of his hand.
Kincaid nods his affirmation, a slow shudder going up his spine with the memory.
“We had a platoon sergeant,” Bishop begins, but I lose interest in his story as I try not to get caught looking over at Drake.
I can’t seem to help myself, although I’d rather be doing a million other things than letting that man control any part of me.
I groan internally. Control parts of me? I catch myself biting my lip, and once again have to look away, but my eyes then land on Ugly who I find watching me with a smirk on his face. I wonder if I could make it to the other side of the campfire to punch him before someone stops me.
I’m calculating the chances when I think I hear my name.
“What?” I ask, looking over at Kincaid.
“I asked Drake if he got the problem with his tent solved.”
“I haven’t,” Drake answers, his water bottle making a crinkle sound as he answers.
So someone said his name not mine?
“I suggested he could stay with you,” Ugly says, ever so freaking helpful, the noisy bastard. “Since you’re the only one with a two-person tent.”
That isn’t exactly true, but I am the only one with a two-person tent and only one occupant. Cannon and Rivet’s tent has a separate bedroom, but I don’t see them standing up to volunteer their space.
“I’m just going to get the real camping experience,” Drake says.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
“That’s ridiculous,” Kincaid says.
“It’s no big deal,” Drake assures him.
It really isn’t a big deal. Every Cerberus member around this fire has slept with their face in the dirt more times than we could count on our fingers and toes. Drake spending two nights in a sleeping bag, surrounded by people willing to defend him from anything that could harm him, is better than what we’ve suffered through.
“Nonsense,” Kincaid continues. “I’m sure Boomer doesn’t have an issue with you bunking with him.”
How could I deny Kincaid? It isn’t exactly an order, but refusing will draw more attention than just letting it happen.
There’s a part of me that’s thrilled with the idea of being closed inside a tent all weekend with the man, but I shove it down as quickly as it tries to rise inside of me.
I almost open my mouth to suggest him sleeping inside one of the SUVs, but the group has already moved on to a different topic.
“When we were on leave once in San Diego,” Legacy starts.
I lose focus once again, hating that Drake is such a distraction that he’s preventing me from bonding with my new teammates. I can tell the conversation has been adjusted to include him. More so, the topics of conversation are different than they would be if it were only Cerberus members around the fire. Conversations in the garage have a heavy feel to them, but we’ve made adjustments before when Cannon was around.
We know not to talk about work or any of the grittier things we faced in the military. It’s not that we think those experiences are too gruesome, Cannon is an adult after all, but those things just aren’t talked about with civilians.
That doesn’t mean we don’t share some stories which is evident by Legacy’s recollection of his first encounter with a certain red-light district. Several of the guys give a knowing chuckle, and I try to smile. I might’ve gone to strip clubs with guys from my platoon, but I never sought companionship in places like Legacy is talking about.
“So the tent issue is settled?” Kincaid asks an hour later as he stands to head to bed.
