The Dirty Martini

by George, G. R. ; George, Renee;

  Chris grinned and winked at Marty. It was enough to make the man retreat. Marty sidestepped out of his trapped position and put his hand on the door handle. “Ha, ha. Very funny. Well, you seem to be doing better, and I gotta go.”

  Chris reached out and touched Marty’s sleeve. “Thanks, by the way. For…you know.”

  “You’re welcome.” Marty stopped before going back inside. “Do you have someone to stay with you?”

  “Are you offering?” Chris was teasing again, but there was also an edge of seriousness in the question.

  “Jesus, you don’t let up.” Marty shook his head. “If you have a head injury, someone needs to stay with you overnight. Just in case.”

  Chris didn’t have anyone. He lived alone. He had no family in the city, and the family he did have hadn’t talked to him in years…Until today. He’d been surprised when his mother had called. The news of his father’s death had made him completely numb. He didn’t even know why he cared. The man had hated Chris. He’d made a point to make sure that Chris knew exactly how much.

  Chris wasn’t one to wallow in things he couldn’t change, but to the question: Did he have someone? The answer was a pitiable, “No.”

  “No what?”

  “I don’t have anyone who can stay with me.”

  Marty nodded—a new resolve in his gaze. “All right. I’ll talk to Jay. You can stay at his place tonight with us.”

  Chris grinned again and raised a questioning brow. He hadn’t had an offer this good from someone this hot in a very long time.

  Marty rolled his eyes. “On the couch.”

  Raising his hands in surrender, Chris nodded. “Got it. The couch.”

  Chapter 4

  You Want?

  “How could you tell him he could stay here?” Jay paced back and forth in his bedroom. He jabbed his finger at Marty. “I only have a one-bedroom apartment. You know that right?”

  Marty couldn’t explain his impulsive decision to take care of Chris. Maybe it was in his nature to help people. Maybe it was his training as a Ranger—no man left behind. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the tremor than ran through his body when he’d put his hand on Chris’s exposed chest. Whatever the reason, the deed was done. Chris was in Jay’s apartment, and he’d be staying the night.

  Marty narrowed his gaze. “Keep your voice down. He’s just in the other room. Besides, he doesn’t have anyone else, Jay. You’re his boss, so how come you don’t know this?”

  “He’s a good worker, but he’s not the easiest guy to get to know. We talk work stuff, not personal stuff. Besides, you met him all of two hours ago. It’s not like you know him.”

  “His father died.”

  “What?” Jay flinched. “Shit. I didn’t know. He got a call from his mom earlier, but he came back out to work the bar like it hadn’t been important. He’d been fine when I left to meet with my distributor.” He rubbed his palm over the top of his head. “God, I’m a dick.”

  “Yah, you are.” Marty smiled at his older brother. He’d always admired Jay’s ability to admit when he was wrong, something Marty could stand to work on.

  “I’m supposed to go out with Harv tonight, but I can call it off. Besides, I want to spend time with my little brother.” Jay squeezed Marty’s arm. “It’s been way too long, man. I wish you would’ve let me come see you in Germany or at least when you started your physical therapy at the Washington VA. You look great.” Jay’s gaze moved to the scars on Marty’s neck before flicking back to his face.

  Marty looked around the large bedroom, anything to avoid the sadness in Jay’s expression. “You should go out with your doctor. If I came between the two of you, Mom would never let me hear the end of it. It’s like her fantasies are all coming true with you and Harvey.”

  Jay laughed and sat on the edge of his bed. “It’d be funnier if it wasn’t so damned true. She worried I’d never be more than a bartender, and while I know they’re proud I’m making my business a success, Mom still thinks I need stability.”

  “So, you guys serious?” He knew Jay really liked Harvey Grace. You don’t send a picture of someone you didn’t really like to your soldier brother halfway around the world, but he wanted Jay to talk. Anything to stay off the subject of Afghanistan, Iraq, Germany, and physical rehab. Marty had a big decision to make at the end of the week, and he needed time to think before he could talk about it.

  Color rose in Jay’s cheeks. “I don’t know. I think so. Fuck. It’s hard.”

  Marty grinned and threw up his hands. “I don’t need to hear about your sex life.”

  Jay laughed and chucked a pillow at him. “Asshole.”

  “Like I said…” Marty ducked the next incoming projectile. “Really though. I want to meet him. You seem happy, brother. Happier than I’ve ever seen you.”

  “I am happy.” Jay’s expression sobered. “I just don’t want to jinx what we have by trying to put it in some category or box.”

  The doorbell rang. They heard Chris yell from the living room, “I’ll get it!”

  Marty followed Jay out of the bedroom, and ran smack into his back when Jay suddenly stopped. Standing in the middle of the living room next to Chris was an older man wearing charcoal gray slacks and a light gray T-shirt. The combination complimented his graying hair, light blue eyes, and showed his fit shape. Marty instantly knew it was Harvey Grace. He looked just like his pictures. The light in his eyes and the smile on his face as he stared at Marty’s older brother—it told Marty everything he needed to know about the man.

  Harvey made a beeline for Jay and kissed him. Nothing overtly passionate, but it held a weighted possession.

  Harvey was the first to speak. “You have a house full. You should have told me you had company. We can reschedule if you like.”

  There was no way Marty was going to let Harvey get away from his brother. “I’m Marty Lincoln. Jay’s brother.”

  “Oh,” Harvey said, his eyes widening. “The soldier. Jay’s told me a lot about you. He’s really proud to have you for a brother.”

  Marty’s chest swelled. He’d always been proud of Jay, but to know Jay was proud of him…It meant something. “I can say the same thing about you.” Marty grinned as Harvey’s expression registered that bit of information.

  Jay whacked Marty in the gut with the back of his hand.

  Marty laughed it off. “You guys should go out. There’s no sense in me ruining the evening for you, just because I decided to show up unannounced.”

  “I won’t hear of it,” Harvey said. “We should order in some food, and have a few drinks.” He looked meaningfully at Chris, who’d been quietly standing to the side and out of the way. “For four?”

  Chris looked at Jay expectedly. “I can go, Jay. I’ll be fine.”

  Jay walked over and put his arms around Chris and the young blond stiffened in his employer’s embrace. Marty heard Jay say, “I’m sorry about your dad.”

  Chris shrugged it off. “It’s okay. Really. I’m okay.”

  Jay looked at Harvey. “Definitely dinner for four. Chris fell and hit his head a work earlier and your intern, Ricky, told him he needed to have someone around tonight just in case he gets symptoms of a concussion.”

  “Dr. McNeil is right.” Harvey walked over and checked the lump on Chris’s forehead. “You’re probably fine, but better safe than sorry.”

  Marty took in the scene, wishing he had the same confidence as Jay. Wishing he had the guts to really live his life. He’d wanted to be a ranger for as long as he could remember. It had been his dream from a young age, and through hard work and dedication, he’d achieved his goal. Now, his war injuries guaranteed the dream was over. He didn’t have a clue what he would do next, and with only one week left to decide, he wasn’t any closer to finding an answer.

  Why couldn’t he get it together? Even Chris seemed to have it together…Okay, maybe not Chris. The guy hadn’t talked to his parents in four years. How lonely, having no love and support from the people who wer
e genetically predisposed to loving and supporting you. Then to have his father die before they could reconcile…Marty shook his head, suppressing the urge to give Chris a comforting pat.

  Leg aching, Marty sat down. He didn’t want Jay to know he was hurting, so he tried to be a nonchalant about it, but he caught Chris watching him when a sharp stab made him wince. Chris raised a brow in question. Marty shook his head, hoping he wouldn’t ask aloud. Instead, Chris shrugged and eased down in the chair opposite Marty.

  “Whew. Head’s still a little swishy,” Chris said. Jay and Harvey instantly turned their attention away from Marty to Chris.

  When Marty raised his brow in the same questioning manner, Chris shook his head and smiled. Marty gave him grateful nod. He hated how much attention his scars and his limp drew from strangers. Their pitying stares made him feel “less than” at times. Although, he didn’t know what was worse, the pity or having them ask what happened. The night of the ambush, he’d actually been at a mobile base for a weekend break before his team’s next mission. His buddy Mike Wares had gotten a bottle of bourbon from somewhere, and they’d sat behind the concrete wall of a bomb damaged building when the mortar rounds began exploding near the camp.

  A different kind of pain lanced Marty. He’d survived. Mike hadn’t. And every time he played the scene in his mind, the outcome never changed.

  “Hey.”

  Something wet and cold brushed Marty’s forearm. He blinked, reality crashing in around him.

  Chris, his hazel eyes wide, filled with heat and promise, handed Marty a bottle of beer, the one he’d used to get Marty’s attention. A soft smile played on his lips. “You want?”

  A singular jolt of pleasure ran through Marty as his fingers brushed Chris’s when he took the offered bottle. He leaned forward to hide his arousal. Oh, he wanted. Definitely.

  Chapter 5

  Good Night, Marty

  Chris stretched out on Jay’s sofa and counted the slow swipes of the ceiling fan blades. He’d been here once, the prior December for a Christmas Party, but he’d been one of many guests. Now he was in Jay’s apartment, an overnight guest, and Jay wasn’t even home. He’d gone back to Harvey’s so Marty could take his bed. Marty. So fucking hot. Jay had said he was straight, but some of the looks the soldier passed Chris during dinner had said Marty might be interested in walking a crooked line.

  It had been less than twenty minutes since Marty had last checked on him. His head and his pride hurt from passing out. Although, waking up with Marty’s hand on him had made the incident almost worth it.

  Had his father’s death really affected him that much? A part of him didn’t want to care. The man had turned into the equivalent of a sperm donor ever since Chris had confessed his sexuality. But the other part of Chris—the part that remembered being a little boy thrown in the air by his father, going fishing with his father, and seeing the pride in his father’s face when he hit a ball into left field—the part that remembered being a son—felt indescribable loss. His dad had created a void in his life—a void, now that his dad had died could never be filled. He hated himself for caring, but he batted away the loathing. He’d done enough of that over the years. No more recriminations.

  His mother had begged him to come home. Chris hadn’t had the guts to tell her to go to hell, but he hadn’t said no, either. He’d simply hung up and had gone back to work. The last thing he remembered before he passed out was his lips tingling and the room going dark as if someone had dimmed the lights. Then he awakened with the very tall, broadly muscled Marty Lincoln stroking his chest.

  Chris scoffed. Checking his breathing. Right.

  The substantial heat in Marty’s eyes as he dragged his warm fingertips across Chris’s skin said the man was checking something all right, but it hadn’t been Chris’s vital signs. God! Just thinking about the Marty’s touch made Chris’s dick hard. He rubbed his palm over his growing erection.

  Stop that, he admonished himself. Marty would be up again soon to check on him. The soldier took his duty seriously and had been up every hour on the hour to wake Chris and make sure he didn’t have a concussion.

  The scars on Marty’s neck were a biting reminder to Chris that Marty, who was his age, had seen a side of war and combat that most people would never experience, let alone understand. Chris certainly didn’t. The idea of putting country or anyone above his own self was a concept Chris had rarely, if ever, practiced. He’d learned long ago that if he didn’t choose himself first, no one would.

  Thanks, Dad, he thought as the pain of the loss began to sink in again.

  “No!” Marty’s shout cut through the apartment. “Mike!”

  Chris shot up from the couch. He hurried down the short hall to the bedroom and pressed his ear to the door. He heard the muffled sounds of protest on the other side, along with the sound of bed sheets shifting with the friction of movement.

  “Marty,” he called softly. When he didn’t get a reply, he cracked the door open and peeked in.

  The moonlight streaming in through the window illuminated Marty’s tangled form in a pale blue light. The man had kicked all the covers off the bed except the tail of the sheet wrapped around his ankle. He had an arm draped over his eyes, and his broad chest shook with a heaving breath.

  “Go away,” he said, Chris’s first clue that Marty was aware of his presence. “I’m fine. Just a dream.”

  Marty rolled onto his side away from the door, and Chris could see the deep runnels of scars on his right thigh. He grimaced. The memory of Marty’s pained expression when he’d sat down earlier played in his mind. No wonder the soldier hurt.

  Absently, Chris rubbed his own thigh. He studied the planes of Marty’s body—the wide shoulders, narrowed waist, muscular round ass, and even his scarred leg were a testament to his training. The man was a specimen of perfection. Men like this—built like Marty—only existed in magazines and movies.

  “Why are you still in here?” Marty asked, snapping Chris from his thoughts.

  His face warmed with shame. “Who’s Mike?” he asked. Marty had shouted out his name in his sleep. “Was he a…boyfriend?”

  Marty rolled over to bring the full weight of his gaze down on Chris. His amber eyes were like dark, glittering gemstones—an indication of tears. “No.” There was no hesitation in his response, only the deep, hollow tone of grief. “Not a boyfriend.”

  Chris shrugged off a shiver of regret. Marty had been nothing but kind, and Chris was asking him about a subject he obviously didn’t want to talk about. “Did something happen to him?”

  “Please go back to bed, Chris.” Marty’s voice, thick with emotion, deepened.

  Chris changed the subject. “When was the last time you had a good night sleep?”

  “Two years, four months, sixteen days.” Marty tilted his head to get a better look at the alarm clock on the bedside table. “Seventeen days.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “Is that when…” Chris gestured to Marty’s scars. He shook his head when Marty didn’t respond. “Of course it is. I’m stupid. It was a dumb question.”

  “It’s okay,” came Marty’s whispered reply. He rolled back over, putting his back to Chris. “Go try to get some sleep. I’ll see you in an hour.”

  For a moment, Chris grieved with Marty. He might not know exactly what Marty lost, but he knew enough to know it was all encompassing and paralyzing. His own sorrow over the loss of his father made him impulsive. He picked the covers off the floor and drew them over Marty’s body until they were up by his neck.

  Marty didn’t move or try to stop him. Chris didn’t want to be alone. His father’s death had affected him more than he could have imagined, and Marty was hurting as well. Neither one of them had to be alone. Not now. Not this night. He crawled in bed behind Marty, almost bracing for a punch in the mouth he knew might come. Instead, Marty shifted to the middle of the mattress and gave Chris room to lie down.

  After a few
minutes, the even sound of Marty’s breathing, along with the heat of his body so close, lulled Chris toward sweet sleep.

  “I’m sorry about your dad,” Marty said in a quiet even tone.

  Chris felt a fresh pool of tears forming in his eyes. His voice choked, but he managed to say, “Thanks. I’m sorry about your friend.”

  “Thanks.”

  Chris resisted the urge to put his hand on Marty’s back, to offer more comfort. He’d already stepped over so many lines. Marty had his own demons, ones that Chris might never understand, but he’d still managed to show more compassion to Chris, a perfect stranger, than Chris had ever showed to anyone. It made him feel ashamed…again. No. He wouldn’t play with Marty, not as he had other men in the past. The young soldier deserved better. Much, much better. “Good night, Marty.”

  “Good night.”

  Chapter 6

  Don’t Be Sorry

  Marty’s watch beeped, waking him from the first deep sleep he’d had in months. At least the deepest sleep not drug induced. He blinked, taking in the time. 3:00 a.m. Fuck. It had been almost three hours since Chris had crawled in bed with him, which meant three hours that he hadn’t checked to make sure Chris was okay. Although, if the soft snores against his back were any indication, the bartender was just fine.

  The weight of Chris’s hand rested on Marty’s back. He turned gently, easily, trying not to wake Chris from sleeping. When Chris had come into the room earlier, Marty had been dreaming again, reliving the battle.

  Neither he nor Mike had even been wearing shoes. They’d been drinking enough to be buzzed, but not enough that it slowed down their training or reflexes. The two of them had manned a machine gun nest at the edge of the camp.

  Marty squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to forget, to erase the scene from his memory, but closing his eyes only made the battle more real. Chris’s soft snore helped. It drew attention away from the horror. He watched as the blond’s sensuous mouth pushed out air in a gentle pah when he exhaled. Aside from the lump where he’d hit his head, Chris’s face was seriously sweet and handsome—almost heart-shaped but for his square, masculine jawline. Only Chris’s swollen lids betrayed his peaceful expression. He’d been crying.