Chapter 11: A Voice in the Static
The farmhouse had seen better days—if it had ever seen better days at all. The roof sagged in the middle like a tired old horse, and every gust of wind sent a shudder through the frame that made Ghost's teeth grind. He sat in the corner of what might have once been a living room, his back against a wall that smelled of rot and rat droppings, and stared at the phone in his hand.Three weeks. A three-week op that was supposed to be five days. Six, at most. The target had moved, then moved again, and then the extraction had gone sideways, and now they were here, in the middle of nowhere, waiting for a signal from command while the static of the broken radio filled the silence like a ghost's whisper.
Price was at the window, peering through the slats of the boarded-up shutters. He had his shirt off, the sweat drying on his skin in the cool night air, and the flicker of the single oil lamp cast deep shadows across the scars that mapped his torso. He was a man built of patience and duty, but Ghost could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw worked as he chewed on nothing.
"It's been two weeks," Ghost said. He didn't look up from the phone. "Two weeks since we last called him."
Price didn't turn around. "I know."
"He's going to be pissed."
"He's going to be more than pissed," Price said, a hint of dry amusement in his voice. "He's going to be insufferable. And then he's going to cry, and then he's going to yell at us, and then he's going to want to kill us, and then—"
"Then he's going to want us to hold him."
Price finally turned, his brow furrowed. "You've been thinking about him."
"Always." Ghost's thumb traced the edge of the screen. "Hate this. Hate being away from him. Hate not knowing if he's eating right, if he's sleeping, if he's—"
"Simon." Price crossed the room, his boots heavy on the cracked floorboards. He crouched in front of Ghost, his hand coming up to cup the back of his neck. "We're going home. Soon. The signal's coming."
"Feels like it's never coming."
Price's thumb stroked the rough stubble at Ghost's nape. "I know. But it will." He paused, his eyes searching Ghost's face."Call him. Hear his voice. It'll help."
Ghost looked at the phone again. The screen was dark, reflecting the flickering lamplight. His thumb hovered over the contact button, over the name he'd typed in simply as "James," the same name he'd typed a hundred times before.
"First ring's going to go to voicemail," he muttered. "He does that when he's pissed. Lets it ring out so I have to hear his message."
"Then call again."
The veteran's voice was patient. Ghost exhaled slowly, pressed the button, and held the phone to his ear. The dial tone buzzed once, twice, and then the click of the machine. James's voice filled his ear—young, cocky, a little breathless:
"Hey, you've reached Jimmy. I'm probably sleeping or ignoring you. Leave a message, and if you're Simon or John, I'm mad at you.So there."
Ghost's eyes closed. The message ended with a beep, and he hung up without saying a word.
"Voicemail?"Price asked.
Ghost nodded. "It's fine. He's mad." He pressed redial before he could second-guess himself. "He's probably sitting there, staring at his phone, watching me call. He'll pick up the second time."
The dial tone buzzed. Once. Twice.
And then the screen shifted, and James's face appeared.
He was flushed—cheeks red, his dark eyes glassy, and he was trying so hard to scowl that it made Ghost's chest ache. His black hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction, and he was wearing some oversized band tee that Ghost recognized as one he'd left behind. A gaggle of tattooed fingers was visible, his knuckles white as he gripped the phone.
"You said a week," James muttered. His voice cracked on the last word, and he looked away, jaw tight. "It's been two."
Ghost's throat closed. He could see the hurt bleeding through the anger, the way James's lower lip trembled before he bit down on it. He was trying to be tough. Trying to be the mouthy little brat he always was. But the pain was there, just beneath the surface, and Ghost saw it like a wound.
"I know, love." His voice came out steady, low, the kind of voice he used to talk people off ledges and talk his team through firefights. But this was different. This was James. "I know it's been two. I'm sorry.We're coming home soon."
"When?" The word was sharp, a knife's edge. "You said soon last week. And the week before that."
"I know." Ghost didn't flinch. He took the hit and let it land. "I know we did. And I don't have an exact date yet, but we're close. We're so close, love. I need you to hang on a little longer."
James's eyes flickered, the anger warring with something softer. "You don't get to call me love and expect me to just—"
"I'm not expecting anything." Ghost leaned forward, his elbow on his knee, his voice dropping even lower. "I'm asking. I'm asking you to be good for me until then. Can you do that?"
The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Price moved to stand behind Ghost, his hand landing on his shoulder, grounding him.
"Can you do that for me?" Ghost asked again.
James's breath hitched. His eyes were wet, but he blinked it back, refusing to let the tears fall. He looked down, then back up, and when he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.
"Yeah." He swallowed hard. "Yeah, I can do that."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Ghost's lips. "Good. That's my boy. Now—" His voice softened, losing the edge of command. "Have you been eating?Properly?"
James let out a wet laugh. "Define properly. I've had a lot of ramen."
"James."
"Fine. I had a sandwich yesterday. And a banana. That's, like, a whole food group."
Ghost shook his head, but the warmth was there, bleeding through the cracks in his armor. "We'll talk about that when we get home."
"You're coming home to a lecture, you know." James's voice had found a little of its bite again, but it was weak, fading. "I'm gonna yell at you for a really long time."
"I'm looking forward to it."
"Don't be a dick."
"I'm not." Ghost's thumb brushed the edge of the screen, as if he could reach through it, touch James's cheek. "I'm just saying I miss you. And I want to hear your voice more than I want anything else right now."
James was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was thick. "Miss you too. Both of you. Your ugly mugs."
Ghost huffed a laugh. "You love these ugly mugs."Unfortunately." James wiped at his eye, quick and rough, like he was embarrassed to be caught. "Look, I gotta go. I have a class in—" He glanced at something off-screen, then made a sour face."Never mind. I'm skipping."
"Go to class," Price said, leaning into frame. His voice was warm, but there was a note of command in it. "We'll call the moment we're on our way back."
James's face shifted, the anger finally cracking to make way for a genuine softness. "Promise?"
"Promise," Price said.
Ghost nodded, the motion small but unbidden. "Just be good. We'll be home soon. We'll make it up to you."
James smiled—small, fragile, but there."You better." He paused, then added, quieter, "Be safe. Please."
"We will," Ghost said. It was a promise he'd made a thousand times before, to a thousand different people. But this time, he meant it more than he'd ever meant anything.
The line went dead. The screen went dark.
Ghost stared at it for a long moment, then set the phone down on the floor beside him. He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
Price's hand was still on his shoulder, steady and warm."He's okay."
"He's not," Ghost muttered. "But he will be. When we get home."
Price knelt beside him, his forehead pressing against Ghost's temple. "We'll make it up to him. Promise."
Ghost turned his head, catching Price's gaze. There was a quiet understanding between them, the kind that didn't need words. They'd been through hell together—wars, loss, grief—and they'd found something worth fighting for on the other side. James was that thing. The messy, mouthy, beautiful complication that had made both of them feel human again.
"Let's finish this," Ghost said, his voice low and resolute. "Let's get home."
Price nodded, pressing a firm kiss to his temple before standing. "Alpha's coming in on a secured channel in two hours. We'll get the info we need, hit the objective, and move."
Ghost looked at the phone one last time. The screen was dark, but he could still see James's face, the hurt and the love tangled together like the tattoos on his skin.
"Hurry up, then," he muttered. "I've got a lecture to look forward to."
The lamp flickered.The silence hummed. And somewhere out there, in the dark, a war was still waiting to be won.