“What aren’t you saying, brother?”
“I don’t think he’s resting in peace.” Finn held up a hand. “And before you open the dam on a bunch of ridiculous questions, no, the lights are not flickering. There’s not some veiled specter hovering around the ceiling.”
“I was imagining a wet pirate wrapped in chains, but whatever,” Tox grumbled.
“It’s just a feeling. Like this house used to be bright and happy, but there’s this shroud over it, you know? Like the old man’s sadness and pain are still here. Does that make sense?”
Tox faced his friend and put a hand on Finn’s shoulder. “Not one tiny bit. I will say this, though. When Miles and I were kids, we had that twin thing. I could sense shit happening with him even when he wasn’t around. He was a mouthy kid, and it got him in trouble, but I was big, so the bullies didn’t mess with him. This one day in like fourth or fifth grade, I was at peewee football, and all of a sudden, I felt this, I don’t know, like panic come over me. I took off running back to school and found Miles surrounded by these older boys. He already had a black eye and a busted lip.”
“You teach them a lesson?” Finn asked.
“They never bothered him again. Plus, I still had my football gear on, so none of them could get a punch in.” Tox grinned. “The point is, I don’t believe in ghosts, but I do believe that there’s weird shit in the universe that we don’t understand.” Tox walked to the desk and picked up the file. “So figure out what’s making this old man so grouchy and get the walls to stop bleeding.”
Finn’s half-smile broke wide at his friend’s casual act. They both knew why he was here, why this old man’s pain struck a chord. God, it was good to see Tox. Finn was always happy to see his old Teammates, but this time—It felt like the old days, the days when he wanted his friends around, when he felt like he had something to contribute. So, just like in their SEAL days, Finn asked a question.
“You want to shoot some shit?”
Tox’s answering grin said it all.
Thirty minutes later, Tox and Finn had shot nearly every old soup can, coffee mug, and beer bottle they had lined up on the fence at the back of the property line.
“You’re rusty, McIntyre.” Tox eyeballed his friend with his hands on his hips.
Finn checked his clip. “Yeah. I haven’t been to a gun range in a long time.”
Tox sighted a beer can. “Bishop Security’s is sweet. We can do some damage next time you’re in town.”
Finn gave Tox an assessing look. “Think we can still do it?”
Tox looked over. “Do what?”
Finn saw the moment when understanding hit. Tox’s eyes grew wide, his expression, mischievous. “The Music City Miracle?”
When they had first met in BUD/s training, Finn and Tox had bonded over their love of football and a play that had made their teenage hearts burst. During the 1999 NFL playoffs, the Tennessee Titans were down by one point with seconds to go. On the final play of the game, the fledgling Titans threw a desperation cross-field lateral that the receiver ran forty yards for a touchdown—the play now known as the Music City Miracle.
Six years ago in Rwanda, an op had gone FUBAR. Chat had been injured, and the warlord, whose army had them pinned down, was about to execute the American contingent they’d been tasked to rescue. The only one in range with a clear shot was Finn, and he was out of ammunition. He was racking his brain for a solution when a voice came over the comm.
“Think we can pull off the Music City Miracle?”
Without responding, Finn raised his arm straight in the air. The Sig came flying. In one seamless move, Finn had caught the weapon and fired, killing the rebel general with a perfect headshot.
Tox masked his smile with a rub of his hand across his jaw. Scanning the fence, he said, “Last tin can on the left?”
“Let’s do it.”
Tox turned and walked to the edge of the property, a good thirty yards from Finn. He cocked his arm and threw the gun. Finn caught it by the barrel, shifted his grip, and fired, the bullet missing the mark by a good ten feet and hitting a tree.
“Dude.”
Finn spread his arms out wide. “Hey, I didn’t shoot my head off. That’s something.”
If Tox heard the more profound truth in the joke, he didn’t acknowledge it.
Tox strode over and clapped him on the back. “The spy can’t fucking shoot. We gotta bring back the SEAL.”
“I hit every can,” Finn defended.
“That’s the distance I set the targets for Twitch, and she’s never shot a gun in her life.”