Chapter 17
Monday
Greg resigned himself to another sleepless night, his brain unable to let go of his outburst the previous evening and continuing to second-guess his actions. Blythe found him in the kitchen the next morning looking haggard and worn.
Moving to start a pot of coffee, she casually asked, "What time did you get home last night? I didn't hear you come in."
Greg absently shrugged, his mind elsewhere. "Don't know," he mumbled.
"Is Declan awake?"
Greg sighed heavily before answering. "No. They've got him on antibiotics for an infection he seems to have gotten, but his temperature is still going up. The doctors wanted to give the medicine 24 hours to work. They didn't act like it was any big deal. He'll probably be awake by the time I get there."
"So why the long face?"
Greg looked down at the table. "I'm fine."
Blythe clucked her tongue softly as she moved around the kitchen. She had seen the state of his bed as she passed by his room. For the second night in a row she could tell that he hadn't slept - or if he had, he had slept badly. She sighed to herself, knowing that her son could be just as stubborn as his father when it came to expressing emotion.
"Want some breakfast?"
"No thanks. Declan's parents are meeting me at the main gate in a little while. I need to go get ready."
With that, Greg got up and headed to his room. He made his bed mindlessly, eyeballing the corners and folds that had been drilled into his head at an early age by his father. It was second nature to him by now, and took less than five minutes to go from a complete disaster to inspection-ready.
He showered and dressed, the smell of food drawing him back to the kitchen. Blythe had whipped up a simple plate of eggs and toast for him and set it on the table while ignoring her son's protestations. Mere seconds later the plate was empty as she watched the teenager sop up the last bit of egg yolk with the toast.
Greg thanked his mom, promising to call later, and pulled a sweatshirt over his head as he walked out the door. He walked to the main gate in the early morning mist, hands stuffed into the front of his sweatshirt, his long strides getting him to the base entrance in short order. He paced waiting for Declan's parents to arrive, trading the occasional sarcastic barb with the MPs while his mind continued to brood. He hoped Declan would be awake when they got there, if for no other reason than to break his mood.