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My eyes shoot to Droga, who smirks, plopping theatrically on the couch.
I frown, confused. “Don’t be ridiculous—”
“I’m not leaving, Crone. Not a chance. Gonna make sure you don’t do anything stupid. Your couch is fine.”
I want to interject, but there is this fuzzy feeling starting in my chest when I watch Droga kick his shoes off, a phone in his hands as he gets comfortable. “Sweetheart, bring me a blanket, will you?” he says without raising his eyes off the phone.
I stall for a moment, then realize he’s trying to be funny. Droga.Joking. Withme.
The feeling in my chest is like a roller coaster ride at the highest point.
Droga is reconciling with me—whoa!
I shake my head and try to swallow the fucking lump that’s back in my throat. Because for the first time in years, he’s sticking around.
I grab a blanket from the closet and toss it onto the couch.
“Just don’t jerk off on my couch,” I throw at him.
“Fuck off.”
“Corlo, good night.”
The living room goes dark, save for the dim glow from Droga’s phone.
I am walking away when Droga’s voice stops me.
“Hey, Crone?”
He doesn’t take his eyes off the phone when he says, “If something happened to you tonight, I would’ve lost the only brother I ever had.”
The words make me clench my jaw so hard that I feel my teeth grind.
“If you ever need to talk,” he adds, “you know where to find me. But for that, bro, you need to be alive, yeah?”
Bro…
I don’t answer.
The word rips me apart, and the open wound inside me finally gushes with all the emotions I’ve held pent up for years. They come like water through a broken dam, deafening me, making my mind spin and my heart pulsate, the lump in my throat expanding threefold, my eyes burning.
And I take it all to my bedroom where no one can hear or see the king of Zion finally on his knees.
4
KAT
“What do you mean he left?”
The air in the break room at the Center seems too still as my eyes burrow into one of Archer’s assistants.
“Mr. Crone left this morning, around seven,” she explains, pouring herself keto coffee with an indifferent look like it’s an ordinary day. Right, she doesn’t know about Archer’s episode the night before.
I got to work at around nine, wondering what it’d be like after the news of the Secretary of Defense being dead and all, absolutely sure that Archer would be around, on the phone, or in the conference room. I was hoping to see him, called Maddy this morning to see if Dr. Hodges had an update about him.
Instead, I get this news.
“He took the jet,” the assistant says with a quick smile. “With seven others from the Eastside.”
