Tommy turned to Blake, but he held up a hand. “Don’t you dare hug me, Tofu.”
“You’ve hugged me before.”
“Prove it.”
Rolling his eyes, he jerked Blake into a rough hug. Blake would deny that he squeezed him back.
Blake muttered, “Just…come back with your eyebrows intact. You’d look terrible without them.”
Tommy gave him one last squeeze before following a limping Judd out of the hangar and to their truck.
Phin watched him go, his face drawn. “’Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, ‘Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?’” His voice was a rich timbre, collecting in the beams of the hangar. “’And I said, ‘Here am I. Send me.’”
Blake didn’t know the context of the verse, but he didn’t think he needed to. Phin turned on his heel and got into the helicopter.
Gabriel clasped arms with Victoria. “You take care of mine, and I’ll take care of yours.” Her blue eyes were like ice.
He nodded, and she climbed into the cockpit.
Blake told himself he wasn’t going to cry anymore. That he’d said what he needed to say. Done what he needed to do. But now, faced with the prospect of this being the last time he’d ever see Gabriel, he faltered.
Like every time he felt weak, Gabriel swept him up in his arms and supported him. They didn’t speak. Blake buried his face in Gabriel’s neck and squeezed so hard he thought he might leave bruises.
“I love you, Blake.” Gabriel kissed the top of his head. “No matter what happens, I love you. Promise me you’ll remember that.”
He nodded, blinking back tears. “Don’t do any hero shit, please? Just…be a regular guy who stays in the back and keeps his head down, okay? Don’t go noble hero on me.”
Honesty sparkled in Gabriel’s hazel eyes. “Can’t promise that.”
“Fuck you!” Blake slammed his fist into Gabriel’s chest. He hit him again before collapsing. “I love you, too.”
Gabriel’s arms tightened around him, and Blake knew he was fighting himself. He didn’t want Blake to go. Wanted him safely back with Emily, Sara, and Irving. And he had fought him when Irving suggested he was the best suited for Team Chicken Flipping. He’d flipped a table before Phin pulled him aside and talked to him. Probably promised him some kind of military battle buddy code of honor.
Blake yanked himself away. If he didn’t do it now, he never would. His jacket caught on the Velcro from Gabriel’s plate carrier as he stepped back. He took a long moment to study Gabriel’s face—his masculine nose, stubbled jaw, thick brows, hair that flopped in front of his eyes. It needed a cut. Maybe he would try when they got back. It would probably be a disaster.
God,Blake hoped he had a chance to ruin Gabriel’s hair.
They kissed one more time. Just a quick press of lips, and then Blake was stepping up into the helicopter, throwing his bag under his seat.
The compartment was a big, empty space. Seats were bolted to the back wall, right in front of the engine block. They could see Victoria through a thin doorway, seated on the right. Hooks and depressions and, worryingly, dents were scattered across the floor and ceiling. Canvas Jesus straps had been fastened around the doorways and on the floor.
Blake threw himself into the seat and clutched the sides. They didn’t have seatbelts. Phin was beside him, a massive, seemingly impermeable weight. If he minded Blake leaning into his solid strength, he didn’t mention it.
Gabriel caught Blake’s eyes as he stepped back and slipped his helmet over his head. The buckles clattered under his chin as he lifted a hand. Blake didn’t have the heart to return the gesture.
Once Gabriel was clear and Phin checked that Blake was ready, he slammed his fist against the side of the helicopter.From the thin doorway, he saw Victoria sit forward, flipping switches. The helicopter coughed and sputtered before the engine caught.
The floor vibrated under Blake’s boots, and he had a split second to thinkit works!Before he felt the landing struts lift off the concrete.
Blake’s stomach dropped as the Huey dipped in an air stream. The ancient bucket of bolts rattled so hard he could feel it in his teeth. Between the rotors, the wind screaming through the open doors, the engine, and the thin sheet metal shuddering between screws, it was difficult to think. He would put his hands over his ears, but he needed them to cling to the seat.
Phin didn’t have the same issue. He was leaning back, legs spread, eyes alert. He scanned the horizon out the window, one hand gripping the lethal automatic weapon on his lap. Blake didn’t know what it was, but it was a hell of a lot bigger than the one Gabriel carried. It was heavy too, if the way he handled it was any indication. Phin’s pockets were bulging with extra rounds, and he had three knives belted to his person. And those were just the ones he could see.
Blake only had a pistol and two syringes.
“You’re not a combatant, Blake,” Gabriel had said when he slipped the holster around his belt. “Focus on the mission. Don’t engage the enemy. You hear me?”
He heard, he just wished he had something a little bigger. Like a riot shield.