Riley’s eyes were sheened with tears. “But if you hadn’t taken me, what would she have done? Left me in a dumpster?”
“Riley—” Trevor had tried to take him into his arms, but Riley pushed him away.
“You gave me a chance, Dad, and when you were my age, you put your entire life on hold for me. I can’t ever repay you, but what I can do is make you proud.”
Trevor pulled him close, not letting Riley resist. “You don’t have to repay me, son,” he said thickly. “I love you, and I’d do the exact same thing again tomorrow, the exact same thing. I don’t regret one minute of my life with you. I just—I want more for you than where I’m seeing you heading. If I’m hard on you, it’s because I care, Riley.”
“I know, Dad,” Riley whispered, then pulled away and strode off, wiping his eyes.
A few weeks later Trevor had driven him to the airport in Denver to catch his flight to Georgia and boot camp, and ten weeks after that, flew there himself for graduation. He’d been so full of pride that day, watching Riley march in formation, his face serious and determined.
The sound of jets roaring overhead jolted Trevor out of his memories, and he looked around the parade field for Riley, not seeing him. As he trudged toward the parking lot, Trevor spotted him off in the distance helping to load the storage bay of the charter bus with rucksacks and stacks of equipment.
For a minute he considered going over there for one last goodbye, but in the next instant thought better of it. Riley had said his farewells, and now he needed to switch from son mode to soldier mode. Trevor had to let him go. Even as he watched him, he noticed how Riley all of a sudden seemed older, more focused, his mind on his upcoming mission.
For the next year Riley belonged to the United States and the war it was waging in a country thousands of miles away.
So Trevor turned his back and left him, and it was the hardest thing he’d ever done.
Chapter Three
August 2007—Nine months before
“The wheels on the bus go round and round!”
Jesse opened his eyes blearily to glare at Smitty, who was mumbling the chorus over and over in a slurred voice, chin down, his head swaying side to side with the motion of the fucking train, not bus. Jesse wanted to tell him to shut up, but decided it was too much effort and settled for belching loudly in displeasure.
God, they were all so drunk.
He pressed his cheek to the cool glass of the train window, gazing out at the Italian countryside as it flashed past. It had seemed like a good idea to take the train to Rome for one last blowout before going downrange, but now, nauseous and headachy, not to mention broke as fuck after buying round after round for their table, well, the whole thing pretty much sucked ass.
Smitty was singing; Jesse was trying not to hurl; Enriquez was passed out cold in the seat opposite Jesse, his head down on the table of the club car. And Riley—Riley was the most sober of the bunch, although that wasn’t saying much. He was across the aisle with a girl on his lap, the two of them making out like there was no tomorrow.
And maybe there wasn’t.
Jesse closed his eyes, the excitement and fear that had been a part of him for days flowing through him once again in a shivery wave that ratcheted his nausea into the danger zone. He opened his eyes again, taking deep breaths through his nose, trying to stave off the inevitable.
Afghanistan’s Korengal Valley—the Valley of Death itself. In forty-eight hours, his company would fly into it, and the chance some of them would be flying back out in body bags was pretty high. It was considered the most dangerous posting in all of Afghanistan, and Jesse had heard stuff about eighty percent casualty rates, firefight after firefight. The enemy was running around in flip-flops and clutching ancient, rusty guns but they knew the region like the backs of their hands...
It was a good place to get your combat infantry badge—or get dead.
The girl on Riley’s lap giggled, and Jesse rolled his head to the side to look at them. They were snuggling and whispering and kissing, oblivious to the rest of the world. Jesse envied Riley the brief escape from reality he was enjoying.
He caught him looking and winked, which made Jesse smile despite himself. Riley didn’t acknowledge him much anymore, and Jesse couldn’t deny he’d fucked everything up the night of that party. He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, it was just...
Riley’s dad, Trevor, at that party. Shirtless, in a pair of loose cargo shorts that hung so low they revealed the dimples right above the swell of his ass. Jesse didn’t go for older guys and Trevor had to be, what, early forties, so Jesse hadn’t taken much notice of him when he’d answered the door. He’d been too intent on handing over his keys and getting to the beer.
But when Trevor had come out to grill, an older man was with him, just as lean, but with salt-and-pepper hair. They were laughing and talking, and as Trevor flipped the burgers, the guy put his hand on Trevor’s lower back, stroking his fingers over skin that had a slight sheen of sweat to it from the heat of the grill. Trevor tilted his face up and they’d kissed, lingeringly, before the gray-haired guy gave Trevor’s ass a little pat and went back into the house.
For the rest of the evening, Jesse watched them closely, taking in all their interactions, the little spat they’d had over something, the makeup kiss...just like any other couple. As the evening went on, Jesse’d gotten more and more pissed, not because of hatred or homophobia like he’d made everyone think, but because of sheer fucking envy. Trevor and his boyfriend were out and proud, happy, with no reason to hide who they were to anyone.
He’d wanted to punch something—or worse, burst into drunken tears. He’d chosen his path. The military had a policy against allowing openly gay people to serve, and most days he dealt with the reality of that. But seeing what he wanted for himself someday so out in the open, so in his face, had made him terrified that everything he was feeling was written all over him. Fear and alcohol had taken over his mouth, and even though ruining his friendship with Riley hadn’t been part of the plan, he’d certainly managed to do just that.
Jesse heaved an unhappy sigh, shoving the memory of that night out of his mind. Deciding he’d better go take a piss before they got to the station, Jesse got up to lurch through the club car toward the bathroom. As he did, he found himself locking gazes with a handsome Italian man, part of a group of college-age tourists and locals that Jesse and his crew hooked up with to party in Rome.
Jesse noticed this guy right away, because he was hella beautiful, but hadn’t thought much of it. Until now. There was an unmistakable look of interest in the dude’s eyes as he checked Jesse out, too. Tensing, Jesse glanced away immediately, not wanting to encourage him. If his career and livelihood were on the line, he was gonna play it one hundred percent safe and assume everyone he met while on the job or around his teammates was straight. No stupid risks.
Jesse kept on moving, shoving into the tiny bathroom at the end of the car with a little more force than necessary. After finishing, drying his hands and pulling the folding door open again, his heart leapt at the sight of the guy standing right outside the little cubicle.
“Um, excuse me,” Jesse mumbled. With a quirk of his lips, the man stepped back a little, just enough for Jesse to squeeze by. When he did, their chests brushed together, the warmth of the dude’s skin even through their shirts making Jesse ache to pull him closer. God, it’d been so fucking long since he’d felt another man’s body pressed to his.
Legs shaking, Jesse made his way back to his seat, a quiver low in his belly. It’d been months since the last time he could sneak away from the Army base in Colorado Springs and drive up to Denver to go to a gay club. He’d made good use of his time there, hooking up with two other guys and having one of the hottest nights of his life. Jesse had staggered back to the barracks at dawn covered in hickeys and bruises, to Riley’s vast amusement. (Jesus, Jess, give me that girl’s number! She worked you over but good.) And God, that memory had sustained Jesse throug
hout the lonely months ahead.
The train rumbled on, and Jesse drifted, his cheek resting against the cool glass of the window. Riley and the girl fell asleep in an ungraceful heap with her still sprawled across his lap, and Enriquez got up at one point and staggered to a nearby trashcan, puking into it before bitching loudly about needing a cigarette. Club car employees side-eyed them all but didn’t comment, no doubt used to the intoxicated American servicemen back and forth on this route.
When they at last pulled into the station and got ready to disembark, Jesse searched for the Italian man, finding him at the back of the group waiting to get off the train. They locked eyes again, but this time the man bit his bottom lip suggestively and gave Jesse a furtive wink. Arousal made Jesse’s balls tighten, his nipples tingle. He deliberately turned his back on the guy. If anything was gonna happen, they’d need to bide their time. It’d have to be planned out carefully, with zero risk for Jesse.
Laughing and chattering in a mixture of Italian and English, the group made their way toward the center of Vicenza. Farmers’ market by day, at night the town square rang with the sounds of buskers and conversation. A couple of people made a liquor run to a nearby bar, and soon the alcohol was free-flowing again.
Jesse moved around the fringes of the group, talking, drinking, until he found himself not far from the man, who was dressed in a black shirt unbuttoned halfway to show a smooth chest with nice pecs. His hair was long, brushing his collar, and it looked silky to the touch. A dark stubble shadowed his square jaw, his lips sexy and full. In short, he was hot as hell, and Jesse couldn’t wait to get his hands on him.
The man sidled closer, until they were both standing at one of the small bistro tables dotting the square. Everyone had split off into casual little groups by now. Riley was leaning against a wrought-iron railing nearby with his girl plastered against him, his hands roaming over her hips and ass as they gave each other lazy kisses and talked with the people around them.
“My sister, she likes him,” the man murmured, nodding toward the couple. “They will have a good time tonight, yes?”
Jesse snorted. “I used to share a room with that dude, and I can tell you that girls definitely had a screaming good time with him.” He winced. Brain-to-mouth filter not engaged, idiot! Not the most diplomatic thing to say to someone’s brother, that your sister was one of many visitors to a man’s bed.
But the dark-eyed man laughed. “Good. That’s all Carlotta is looking for tonight, a ‘screaming good time,’” he said. “She’s mad at her lover, and wants to get back at him. Your friend, he make her scream tonight, and forget her troubles, she’ll be happy.”
Jesse shook his head in amusement. “No worries on that score.”
They fell silent and sipped their drinks, and the man took half a step closer. “My name is Pietro.”
Jesse swallowed hard. “You can call me Jess,” he rasped, shifting from foot to foot as arousal burned through him and his cock swelled in his jeans.
Pietro hummed. “If you want, I know a place we can go—to get some more wine.”
Jesse appreciated the guy’s discretion with all the potential listening ears around. “Good. I’m running low, gonna need it soon.”
Pietro’s eyes held some serious heat. “What kind do you think you’ll want?”
A busker wandered by, his saxophone soulful and loud, and Jesse took advantage of the distraction and noise cover, leaning toward Pietro, his elbows on the table. “You on your knees,” he growled. “Making me come. Hard and fast.”
Pietro licked his lips, and Jesse stared at them, at the plumpness, the pink velvet of Pietro’s tongue, wanting to feel them both wrapped around his aching cock.
“Yes,” Pietro hissed, stepping back away as the musician moved off. Jesse glanced at Pietro’s crotch, noticing a thick bulge there before Pietro gave himself a casual adjustment and moved closer to the table to hide it.
It was agony for Jesse to have to wait, to act like he was just here to drink with his buddies. He laughed too loud, and made drunk, obnoxious catcalls every now and then to women who walked by, even as he hated himself for it. A blonde American girl out with a group of friends stopped to talk and flirt with Jesse, and after a while his arm was around her waist and her full breasts were pressed against him. He traded increasingly suggestive comments with her, all the while aware of Pietro’s slim body and amused dark eyes from across the table.
“I’ve got to go, handsome.” The girl ran her hands over Jesse’s chest and shoulders. “I have an early class. But call me?”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he lied as the girl coyly produced a pen from her little bag and made a big show of writing her number on Jesse’s palm. When she was done, he tilted her chin up and gave her a light, lingering kiss, tasting strawberry lip gloss. As she walked away, she trailed her fingers down his arm.
“Don’t forget,” she said, her voice playful, and Jesse promised he wouldn’t, elation burning through him. Firm cover in place, thanks to this sweet little blonde. Nobody would ever question him now. He and the girl called goodbyes to each other, Jesse letting his eyes wander over her as she walked backward toward the street and her friends. Smitty, strolling by just then, clapped Jesse hard on the back.
“Nice,” he said with approval. “Get some, man.”
“I intend to.” He turned to Pietro.
“Wanna go make another liquor run with me?” Jesse asked loudly. “I’m sure you know where the best deals are, because in case you’re wondering, I ain’t rich.”
“Si,” Pietro replied, pushing away from the table. “I know a place a few avenues over, not far.”
Nobody paid them the least bit of attention as they strolled away, hands in their pockets. Jesse followed Pietro along the dark, crowded streets, and soon they left the throng behind as they made their way deeper into the labyrinth of the city.
Pietro walked with purposeful strides, leading Jesse into a quiet alleyway, making a couple of turns until they were in the small courtyard of what looked like an abandoned church.
Along one wall there was a small alcove with an old bench in it, as well as the remains of some candles. A praying bench? Jesse hesitated, then shrugged; beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he was damn close to begging. When Pietro entered the alcove and turned to say something to him, Jesse grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled Pietro against him, slamming his mouth down over his.
Their kiss was rough, carnal, wet...teeth clashing, tongues dueling. Jesse moaned at the arousing feel of Pietro’s stubble rasping against his cheeks. God, how stupid could he be? He shoved Pietro away, scrubbing the back of his hand over his mouth. “Shit.”
“What is it, bellissimo?” Pietro tried to insinuate himself back in Jesse’s arms. “I want more of your kisses.”
“Whisker burn.” Jesse pulled Pietro to him again but avoided his seeking mouth. “Can’t go back around the guys with swollen lips and whisker burn. How would I ever fucking explain that?”
Pietro stopped trying to kiss him and nodded, and Jesse, using his grip on the front of Pietro’s shirt, shoved him to his knees. “Besides, I have a better use for this sweet mouth.” With one hand he ripped the buttons of his jeans open, reaching inside to pull out his cock. Pietro’s eyes darkened even more, and he licked those damned lips again before peeking up at Jesse though long, thick eyelashes.
“Mmm, I love American soldiers,” Pietro whispered against the tip of Jesse’s dick. He gave the head a small lick.
Jesse moaned. “Why?” he managed to gasp out, threading the fingers of one hand through Pietro’s thick black hair.
“Because,” Pietro said, letting the swollen tip rest against his lower lip, “you have to hide it, and that makes you need it.” With that, he opened his mouth and took Jesse deep.
With another moan, Jesse threw his head back, giving himself over to the pleasure. “Yes. Fuck, yes, I need it,” he growled. “Make it good for me.”
Pietro made it good. No
, it was better than good, it was amazing, but in the back of Jesse’s mind the same old fear still lurked. What if somebody sees? What if somebody reports me?
What if this is all there is?
Despite the orgasm bearing down on him like a freight train, tears clogged his throat. Was this all he had to look forward to, furtive blow jobs in alleys or random hookups in gay bars? What if he wanted what Riley’s dad and his boyfriend had: a home, a relationship, a life? Why couldn’t he have that and serve his country, too?
As those thoughts swirled and chased themselves around behind Jesse’s closed eyes, Pietro danced his tongue along the sensitive ridge, his hand coming up to cup and massage Jesse’s aching balls. Jesse exploded down his throat with a low cry, digging his fingers into Pietro’s scalp. When the spasms eased, he yanked Pietro to his feet, unbuttoned his jeans, and jacked him roughly until Pietro jetted into his palm.
Panting, his knees weak, Jesse pulled away. He swished his hand gingerly through the brackish water in a nearby fountain and wiped his sweaty face on his T-shirt. “How do I look?”
“Buono,” Pietro answered, his breathing still ragged. “Sexy man.”
Jesse smiled. “Thanks. But I meant—”
“I know,” Pietro replied, interrupting him. “You look—how do you say, normal.” He waved his hand at himself. “Me, not normal. Yes?”
Jesse looked him over. His mouth was swollen and abraded from the blow job, his eyes bright and glittering, a flush burning high on his cheekbones. “Umm,” he began, and Pietro shook his head.
“I know. I will just leave from here,” he said. “So your friends won’t—” Pietro waved his hand, looking for the word.
“Suspect. So they won’t suspect. And grazie, Pietro.” He put his hand on the back of Pietro’s neck and pulled him close, brushing their lips together.
“I will show you how to get back to your friends, and then I will leave,” Pietro said. “Please to tell my sister I went home, Jess.”
Keeping a Warrior Page 29