by L. A. Witt
“Just need a break for a few minutes.” She took a swig, then peered into the bottle with a scowl on her face. “What the hell? When did this one get empty?”
Clint and I both laughed.
“They have a way of doing that, don’t they?” he said.
“Little bastards,” she muttered.
“You want another one?” I asked.
“Hell yeah.”
I rolled my eyes. “Drunk.”
“Shut up. I am not.”
“Uh-huh.” I glanced at my soda, and realized it was getting pretty low too. “You know, I could use one myself. I’ll go get them this time.” I started to stand, and something in my back . . . moved. It wasn’t a spasm. It wasn’t a twinge. It wasn’t even really pain—just that ominous shift of soft tissue that meant things were going to get bad.
Kimber gently grasped my arm. “Dad?”
“You okay?” Clint asked.
I swallowed. “I think it might be time to call it a night.”
Instantly, Clint was on his feet. “Do you need a lift?”
I closed my eyes and exhaled. As much as it killed me to admit it, I needed someone to drive us home tonight. Swallowing my pride was the best option I had right then, so I turned to him. “You don’t mind?”
“No, of course not.” His keys were already in his hand.
“I’ll go get my coat.” Kimber let go of my arm. “Do you have the claim ticket?”
“Yeah.” I took out my wallet, fished out the ticket, and passed it to her. “We’ll meet you outside.”
“Got it.” Ticket in hand, she hurried toward the coat check.
I leaned on the chair for a second, cautiously stretching my back to gauge how bad this was going to get and how fast. Pretty bad and pretty fast, if the rapidly spreading tension was anything to go by.
“We should get out to the car,” I said, concentrating on not letting my rib cage move more than it absolutely had to while I was talking.
“Good idea.” Clint walked ahead, clearing a path for me as he went. As soon as we were outside, he turned around. “Why don’t you wait here, and I’ll bring the car up?”
Without speaking, I nodded. I could have kissed him right then even if I hadn’t been fantasizing about it for ages. I wasn’t in the mood for anything that didn’t involve sleep or pain pills, but he was a saint for being this considerate. Or maybe I’d just spent too much time with people who weren’t.
Moments later, Kimber appeared with her coat over her arm, and Clint parked at the end of the walk. Thank God I didn’t have to put on a coat. The dinner jacket I was wearing was warm enough anyway, and the motions would have been too painful.
With my daughter’s help, I eased myself into the passenger seat of Clint’s car. Then she got into the back, and Clint pulled away from the curb so carefully and smoothly, he must’ve had experience driving with someone who was in a lot of pain. At the stop sign at the end of the road, he stopped just as gently.
“Which gate?” he asked.
“Gate two,” Kimber said. Though she’d had quite a few drinks tonight, she was sober enough to direct him back to our house, so I left her to it. Meanwhile, I closed my eyes and concentrated on breathing without snapping my ribs off my spine.
After we’d left the base and were on the highway, she asked, “You have some of the strong stuff at home, right, Dad?”
“Of course.” I turned to Clint, half expecting a raised eyebrow over what I meant by strong stuff, but when he glanced my way, the only thing that registered in his expression looked like genuine concern.
I closed my eyes again.
And while she continued directing him toward our place, I sent up a prayer of thanks that he’d come back to the Navy Ball tonight.
By the time I walked into my kitchen, every muscle from my shoulders to my hips was cable tight. Taking off my dinner jacket took way more work than it should have, and not just because I needed to lose five or ten pounds before the next time I put it on. Kimber helped, carefully tugging it off my shoulders and down my arms while I held my breath and tried not to collapse from pain. Thank God she lived with me, or I’d have been sleeping in my uniform tonight. Wouldn’t have been the first time.
She put the jacket over a chair while I toed off my dress shoes.
“Need me to get the cummerbund too?”
I glanced down. Shit. I’d forgotten about the little bastard and its buckle behind my back.
“Here.” She stepped around behind me. “I’ll get it.” A second later, the cummerbund went slack.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Need anything else?”
“Only if you’ve got some elephant tranquilizers and a handful of morphine.”
Kimber laughed quietly. “Sorry. Fresh out.”
“Damn it.”
Her forehead creased. “You’ve got your drugs, though, right?”
I nodded, gesturing toward my bedroom. “Yeah. I’m good. Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome. Let me know if you need anything else. Besides, you know, elephant drugs.”
I chuckled as much as the pain would allow, which wasn’t much. “Will do.”
“Okay. Good night, Dad.”
“Good night, kiddo.”
She headed down the hall, and I went into the master bathroom to get that coveted Percocet.
I took the top off and looked inside.
Oh fuck. Was I really down to my last four?
I rattled the bottle, jostling the pills inside, and sure enough . . . only four.
Well, that posed a hell of a dilemma. Tough it out and save the pill? Or take it now and hope I could get my hands on some more before I ran out?
Fuck it. I’d figure out how to get more later. After all, when I hoarded pills for a rainy day, this was the kind of rainy day I had in mind. As it was, I’d be sleeping in my tux shirt and trousers because I couldn’t maneuver enough to take them off.
Yeah. This was one of those desperate nights.
So I chased the pill with some water, went to bed, and let the Percocet carry me away.
All the way home, I worried about Travis. It was a good thing his daughter was with him. Though she’d been drinking tonight, she still had her wits about her, and she’d be there if he needed anything. I wasn’t sure I could have left him completely alone.
Not that he would’ve given me much choice. I barely knew him, but I could already tell he was one of those people who would knuckle through rather than ask for help. Which meant the pain must have been bad tonight. He’d been obviously uncomfortable for most of the evening, especially toward the end, but then there’d been that palpable shift. When he’d tried to stand, but halted, something in his eyes had changed, and he’d gone from I’ve got this to I’m fucked.
My blood had immediately gone cold. A million worst-case scenarios had run through my mind, and I’d looked to Kimber to gauge her response. Though she’d been concerned and knew her dad needed to get home, she hadn’t panicked. Apparently this was something that had happened before. I was still worried, but took it down a few notches when she didn’t freak out.
Now that they were home, he’d hopefully taken something good and strong.
What a crazy night. The whole evening had been a weird mix of emotions. I’d been nervous as fuck about coming out to my command. Relieved that no one had batted an eye. Also relieved in a weird way—if also hurt—when I’d walked away from Logan’s apartment. Guilty like I’d led him on and used him to come out, even though I hadn’t. Giddy when I’d shown up at the Navy Ball to find that Travis was still there. Off-balance because Travis had causally let it slip that he wasn’t as straight as I’d assumed.
I had to wonder now . . . what would have happened if Travis hadn’t had to cut the evening short?
I shook my head and pushed that thought away. He’d been there with his daughter, for God’s sake. Nothing would have happened.
As I pulled onto my street, I wished I’d at least gott
en Kimber’s number so I could text her and make sure he was all right. Except she was probably asleep by now. And he’d be fine. It wasn’t a big secret that he had some old injuries. Some days, his limp definitely seemed worse than others. He’d walk slower. He’d break a sweat on the short trip to and from the vending machine. He’d glare at the stairs leading up to our offices, but in the couple of months I’d been here, I’d never once seen him break down and use the elevator at the end of the hall. Stubborn fucker.
I also hadn’t seen him in this much obvious pain, though. How and why he’d hung on so long at the Navy Ball, I had no idea. All I knew was when I came back from cutting Logan loose, Travis had still been there, and I’d finally had the opportunity to talk to him.
It was a start. There was no telling if I had a snowball’s chance in hell with him—for all I knew, he had a boyfriend who hadn’t wanted to come to the Navy Ball—but the simple fact that he was interested in men and had given me the time of day was promising enough to leave me grinning.
You’re pathetic. You know that, right? And you just broke up with someone.
Eh. Whatever.
I parked outside my apartment and headed inside. After this roller coaster of an evening, I was fucking exhausted. Not ten minutes after I walked through my front door, I collapsed in bed.
And for once, I slept.
The next morning, I felt so strange, I had to lie there for a while and figure out what the hell had changed. What was missing.
Oh. No dreams.
I closed my eyes and exhaled. I’d actually made it till morning without waking up in a cold sweat, or shaking, or sick to my stomach. I’d been so utterly wiped out, even my PTSD-addled brain had completely shut down and let me crash for an entire night.
It wouldn’t be a trend. Tonight, the dreams would be back, and it would be another long, rough night like usual. I expected it, especially after my breakup had added some fresh stress to the pile. But damn if I wasn’t going to bask in how great it felt to have had a good night for a change.
So of course I made the mistake of checking my phone. Six voice messages from Logan. Awesome. There went my pleasant mood.
Without bothering to play them, I tossed my phone on the nightstand and went to take a shower. I didn’t need that shit right now. Or ever, but I supposed we still had to tie things up and be done with each other. As content as I was to let last night be the end of it, I owed him more than just walking away while he was too drunk to know what was happening.
After my shower, I sat down to hear what he’d shouted into my phone. As if to prove exactly how hammered he’d been, each message was harder to parse than the one before. He hadn’t known me long, but long enough to know there was no point in leaving me a message—most of the time, I didn’t open them.
Or maybe that was what he’d hoped. Maybe he’d been drunkenly venting and figured I’d ignore the actual messages and go straight to calling him back. He probably hadn’t expected me to play them and actually hear him telling me what an asshole I was, or how he could see why my ex-wife had gotten tired of my tiny dick.
Way to win a guy back, idiot.
Apparently I had made the right decision last night. And dumping someone by text wasn’t my style, but after one too many colorful voice mails on my phone—one of which made a slurred reference to my kids, for God’s sake—I made an exception.
Have a nice life, Logan. I’m out.
I sent the text, and felt . . . nothing. Maybe some relief, but not much. Our brief and messy excuse for a relationship was already cool in the grave as far as I was concerned, and sending him that text was one more shovelful of dirt on top of the casket.
Leaning back on my pillows, I exhaled. It said a lot that I didn’t find myself pining over him at all. Maybe I was still numb. Or maybe I should’ve done this sooner, and I’d already gone through all the post-breakup emotions before I’d even dropped the hammer. All I knew was, his messages boiled my emotional response down to if it’s gonna be like that—good riddance.
And there was also . . . Travis.
Quietly crushing on him from down the hall at work was one thing. A little one-on-one while he was looking sexy as fuck in his dress uniform? The same night he’d let it slip he was into men? Some extended eye contact that might or might not have been my imagination? Holy shit.
And now I had to wait until Monday to see him again? Fuck.
In an effort to keep myself busy and pass the time until then, and maybe to exorcise my now-ex-boyfriend, I spent the weekend cleaning my apartment from top to bottom. There wasn’t an inch of tile grout that didn’t get scrubbed, and I even managed to unpack a few more of the boxes still stacked in the second bedroom. Amazing how much could be done to the surfaces in a thousand-square-foot apartment, but it kept me busy until late Saturday night. And as a bonus, I worked myself hard enough to earn another dreamless night.
Sunday, there wasn’t a speck of dust left in the apartment, so I tackled my car. Then unpacked a few more boxes. Then ironed my freshly washed uniforms.
And finally, it was Monday morning.
And I was back at the office.
And . . .
There he was.
His back was to me, and he was poring over a report or something with the CO as they headed down the hall toward her office. He was walking much better than when I’d dropped him off on Friday night. He was still limping, but that was normal.
He was in uniform, of course, and even though I’d seen him a million times, I couldn’t stop staring. The blue digital camouflage uniforms were not my favorite thing about the Navy. There was something about the uniform that seemed to strip away all semblance of individuality. Which was sort of what uniforms were meant to do, but this one in particular seemed to erase everything. Facial features, skin tones, even eyes—they all seemed to turn generic when people wore these uniforms. I’d had coworkers I didn’t recognize in their civvies because I’d only seen them in blue camouflage.
Travis, though . . . I couldn’t mentally blend him into a crowd if I wanted to. No amount of camouflage dulled a single thing about him. After seeing him in his dress uniform? Jesus.
I pulled my gaze away from him, and realized I’d just checked out in the middle of a conversation with two coworkers.
“Sir?” Petty Officer Vincent cocked his head.
“Um.” I hoped my face wasn’t as red as it felt. “Could you run that by me again?”
They both glanced past me, then at each other. Vincent smothered a laugh, and Turner didn’t even try to hide his amusement as he held up the folder we’d been discussing. Right. New training procedures.
I coughed again. “Make sure I’ve got copies of that for the next department head meeting. And we’re going to need a classroom for next week.”
Turner nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll have the copies on your desk before lunch.”
“I’ll schedule the classroom,” Vincent said. “Are you doing two classes or one?”
“Two. And dear God, don’t put us in room four in the afternoon again. When the sun reflects off the water, it’s blinding.”
He laughed. “Yes, sir.”
They went off in separate directions, and I glanced around in case Travis had reappeared. He hadn’t. Like me, he had work to do, and I guessed he’d gone to the CO’s office or a meeting or something. Probably just as well—he was distracting enough without even being in the room.
So, I headed to my own office to take care of the stack of papers growing in my inbox.
Our offices were at opposite ends of the hall. Though we were on the same floor, we were in different departments. Travis supervised a few dozen officers and civilian contractors while I ran the training department. Sometimes I wished I did work for him—at least then I’d have the occasional excuse to stop into his office. On the other hand, I’d probably make a complete ass of myself. Go in to ask a legitimate professional question, get tongue-tied, say something dumb . . .
Yeah. This
was for the better.
In my own office, I managed to focus on my tasks. It wasn’t the most exciting gig, and I was happy for that. My blood pressure was still through the roof after my previous assignment. Flying remote aircraft from an air-conditioned room and blowing shit up had seemed like a cool job on paper, but it turned out to be dangerously high-stress and ultimately traumatic enough to turn my whole life on its head.
These days, instead of flying aircraft on the other side of the world, my days were spent pushing paperwork, setting up presentations, and teaching classes that bored me more than they did the students. A few years ago, that would’ve been my idea of hell. Now? It kept me sane and employed. Might never get promoted again thanks to some incidents surrounding my divorce, and a good night’s sleep would be rare until I died, but I had a job. For that alone, I happily embraced daily death by PowerPoint.
Didn’t hurt that I had a seriously attractive coworker who didn’t seem to be far from my mind these days. I squirmed in my chair. What I wouldn’t have given just to . . . touch him. Lock a door, find a bed, make out until my lips were raw. My brain started sliding into one of the many fantasies I’d had about him, and the funny thing was, I almost never saw us tearing up the sheets. Just thinking about kissing him was enough to—
Someone knocked on my office door, startling me away from the schedule I’d been working on. “Come in.”
The door opened, and . . . Oh dear Lord.
“Hey.” I smiled, thankful my desk and uniform both camouflaged my hard-on. “How are you doing?”
Travis smiled back. “Good. Good. I, uh, wanted to come by and say thanks again for getting us home after the ball.”
“Don’t mention it. You look like you’re feeling better.”
“God, yeah. Much.” He tilted his head to one side, then the other, as if to show he had some mobility again. “Like I said, it’s one of those injuries that likes to come back to haunt me. Could’ve picked a better night, though.”
I was curious, but didn’t press, and anyway, he wasn’t done.
“Listen, the reason I came by . . .” He shifted his weight. “Let me buy you lunch or something. I really feel like I owe you for the other night.”