“Whatever.” Curly sounded hurt that Wes wasn’t emptying his soul to him, but fuck if Wes had room to worry about his feelings on top of everything else.
“I’m headed to bed. Hope the kidney issue resolves quickly.” He jogged down the hall, hating that he’d just shut out his one real friend here, but he had no choice. This was a dangerous game he and Dustin were playing, one where the stakes kept getting raised, and someone was bound to get hurt—soon.
Chapter Eighteen
Dustin squinted into the sun which beat down on the barren valley with unrelenting intensity. They were on day four of a four-day training mission as they geared up for their next assignment, and the whole damn team was getting punchy.
“It’s a fabulous day for blowing things up.” Curly jostled Wes, who was trying to eat an MRE. Which Dustin was trying hard to not watch. Seeing Wes eat reminded Dustin of when Wes had cooked for him, and that led to memories he couldn’t have out here in the desert, where the mountains were the only thing that loomed larger than his dilemma over what to do about Wes.
“Let me at the C-4.” Not even glancing at Dustin, Wes waggled his eyebrows at Curly. They were practicing creating and removing obstructions on roads today—a not infrequent hazard they had to deal with in the field where they might need to lie in ambush for hours, waiting for a target, or alternatively, get somewhere in a hurry, clearing debris or vegetation or hostiles in an efficient manner.
Unlike the big explosions they’d done in training and on their last mission, which used a lot of C-4 all at once to clear an area, this trip was all about the precise strike—cutting a tree with a half-pound block, making it fall at the perfect angle to block the road and not hurt anyone in the process, using ribbons of C-4 to take out a girder, as they might on a bridge, and using identical charges on both sides of an abutment so a simultaneous explosion would crumple the concrete. They were also playing with det cord—the stuff that made the C-4 explode—lining ditches for ambushes. This sort of operation was what Wes specialized in, and as maddening as these past few days had been, not being able to talk to him, it was always a pleasure to watch the man work.
Dustin’s main role on the four-man demo team was to supervise, coordinate and double-check their work, while Wes was the real star who ensured that each explosion did exactly what they wanted. After they finished eating, they felled some trees—small ones about twelve inches in diameter, and it was fun, watching Wes come more and more into his element with each detonation. He’d been with the guy 24/7, and yet still longed for the other Wes, the guy who had been in his hotel room last week, the guy who had driven Dustin out of his mind.
“I’ve got to piss,” Curly announced before they moved to the ancient cement pylons and girders the navy had conveniently dropped in the middle of bumfuck nowhere here for their next challenge. Curly was fighting off some sort of kidney thing—the medics said he was okay to work, but he was downing massive quantities of water and complaining up a storm.
“Need me to refill your water pack? Mine is almost empty too,” Shiny offered. “I can jog back to base camp while you take care of business.”
“Thanks.” Curly pulled his hydration pack loose and handed it to Shiny, who also grabbed Wes’s before departing at a fast clip for the rest of the team. Curly wandered off in the direction of some scrubby trees, leaving Dustin alone with Wes with nothing to do but wait.
“You doing okay?” Dustin scooted a bit closer so that he could lower his voice.
“Yeah.” Wes nodded. “Mom called right before we left. Sam’s holding steady. Still no donor heart, but the medical team is optimistic. I’ve got my head in the game, don’t worry.”
Wish I had mine. “Not worried. Just...” Fuck. How was Dustin supposed to articulate the jumble of thoughts in his brain? I miss you. Miss talking to you. Tell me something. Anything.
“Gonna be online tonight?” Wes asked in low tones. They weren’t using com sets since they needed earmuffs for the explosions, and the rest of the team was busy with other projects.
“I shouldn’t,” Dustin said even as the urge to invite Wes over swelled inside him, a tsunami of need. But he needed to be logical here. Safe. “We do need to talk though—”
“I don’t want to talk,” Wes spat. “Because yeah, I already know what you’re going to say. And I can agree, but I don’t have to like it.”
“You think I do?” Dustin slid closer without really meaning to.
Wes made a frustrated noise. He’d leaned in, so that now their shoulders were almost touching. “I want—”
“Back,” Curly announced as he loped up. Fuck. Dustin moved away—not too fast, didn’t want to appear guilty, but he’d been beyond stupid trying to have a personal conversation with Wes out here.
“We ready?” Curly asked. His gaze shifted between the two of them. Not exactly speculative, but there was a curiosity there that Dustin hated seeing.
“Waiting on Shiny.” Dustin’s voice was gruff, and he turned away from both Curly and Wes to scan for Shiny, who sure enough, was jogging toward them.
“I’m here.” Despite the dry desert air, Shiny wasn’t even out of breath—the benefit of being young with boundless energy. And he was a good distraction from the tension with Wes. Keeping Shiny reined in and on task as they set up for the girder demolition fast became Dustin’s primary focus as they worked, sun beating down on them.
Over the years, the navy had provided all sorts of things for them to blow up at the bomb test range—military vehicles, boats, even a plane or two, so the derelict construction pieces weren’t that unusual of a challenge. However, he still needed to keep his head about him as Wes mapped out their strategy and Dustin divvied up the work. Timing was going to be critical, as always as they had a target time for the whole exercise as well as requirements for getting clear of the blast zone. Concrete and metal structures were always tricky, as debris could be a real hazard.
“Do we want Shiny to handle the hell box?” Wes’s voice was nothing other than professional as he questioned Dustin, but he didn’t meet his eyes. “LT wants him cross-trained, right?”
Frankly, Dustin would feel a lot more comfortable with Wes controlling the detonator, but he nodded. “Yeah. Good experience for him.”
“Fuck, yeah.” Shiny celebrated as they got the last of the C-4 ribbons and charges in place. Wes carefully reviewed the charge placement as well as the det cord and Dustin did the same—even as a test operation, there was no margin for error here.
“Time to book it,” Dustin ordered as Wes started the countdown. They were cutting it very close to the target timeline. All four of them started running, but Shiny and Curly quickly outpaced Wes and him. Dustin turned to yell at Wes over his shoulder. “Come on.”
Several things happened all at once—Wes stumbled over some rocks, Shiny and Curly reached the clear zone, and the ground trembled, explosion imminent. Wes struggled to right himself but there wasn’t time.
“Get down!” Dustin yelled, throwing himself over Wes. Kaboom. The girder and pylons blew in the distance, rocks raining down on them. As soon as the explosion ended, Dustin rolled off Wes, heart pounding hard. Please be okay. Please. “You hurt?”
Not content to look with his eyes, his shaking hands swept over Wes, looking for injuries.
“I’m good.” Wes blinked, then shook his head with a grimace. “Got my bell rang damn hard though. Ears still ringing.”
“Fuck. We need a medic?” Shiny ran up, Curly fast behind him. The LT was going to have Dustin’s hide for this timing miscue—didn’t matter that Shiny had been the one with the hell box, Dustin should have made Wes take it or done another double-check. Something had gone wrong, and it was his fault.
“Nah.” Wes sat up, still shaking his head, voice too loud, like he couldn’t hear himself.
That curiosity was back o
n Curly’s face, and Dustin realized too late that his hand was still on Wes’s thigh. He moved it away, hoping the damage wasn’t already done. As it was, Curly and Shiny had undoubtedly heard the naked panic in his voice when he’d thought Wes was in danger. But he’d be concerned for any of his men, right?
Somehow he couldn’t make himself believe that—the hammering in his chest, sweat rolling down his back, and muscle tremors didn’t feel like ordinary concern. Those brief moments when he’d been sure Wes was hurt were some of the longest of his life.
Even now, he was having a hard time not touching Wes, wanting to make absolutely certain that he was okay—didn’t matter what Wes said, Dustin was still worried.
“It was my fault,” Wes said quickly. “Det cord must have been too short. Don’t let the LT come down on Shiny.”
“It’s my responsibility.” And so are you, Dustin’s heart added. “I’ll tell the LT that.” He tried to give Shiny a reassuring look even as his concern remained with Wes. And it stayed there, heart and brain operating independently of his commands even as the LT and training ops personnel came to find out what had happened.
I’m not sure how much longer I can do this. Dread, sick and sharp, pierced him right in the gut. He simply wasn’t prepared for dealing with this avalanche of emotions, this overwhelming need to ensure Wes’s safety. He’d done his duty for well over a decade now, and never, not once, had he been as freaked out as he was right then. Something’s got to give.
* * *
Wes was so tired even his eyelids ached. Wasn’t a part of him that didn’t hurt—the fall plus Dustin landing on him had bruised him up pretty good, and what parts were unmarked were dog tired. Hell, even his toes inside his boots were desperate for a nap. But he wasn’t one of the guys who could sack out on the transport back to base—even this tired, sleep and him couldn’t seem to make nice. Instead, he stretched his legs as much as he could, cracked his neck, and watched Dustin.
He was still freaked out, that much was clear from the wide set to his eyes and the way his leg was jangling, even now a few hours after the blast gone wrong. Dustin had, predictably, insisted on taking full responsibility for the mishap, and while Shiny didn’t have a lot of fans in the team leadership, he’d avoided the worst of the LT’s wrath. Which meant that it was Dustin who’d endured an epic chewing out, one it had seemed like Dustin wasn’t even hearing, eyes continuing to return to Wes even as he and the LT had been talking away from the main group.
Under any other circumstance, he would have loved knowing that Dustin cared about him, worried even. But Wes was fine, other than the ringing ears and bruises, and Dustin needed to keep his head about him.
Around them guys joked and made plans to blow off steam once they were back on base, yelling to be heard over the roar of the transport. Not for the first time on the trip, his eyes met Dustin’s, but this time, he didn’t look away.
Chill, he ordered with a hard stare. I’m okay.
Dustin shrugged, an almost imperceptible movement. You scared me.
Wes sighed, blinking. I know. I’m sorry.
“You up for a beer after?” Bacon nudged Wes, getting his attention away from Dustin. “Curly’s all fired up about getting laid, but I wouldn’t mind kicking back a few.”
“Nah.” Shaking his head, he tried to sound regretful. “I’m bushed.”
“I’m going to sleep for a week. After I see my girl.” Curly inserted himself into the conversation.
“You’re so gone for her.” Bacon laughed and that set everyone off on teasing Curly until they landed.
Even as tired as he was, Wes still dragged his dusty ass to the shower, which as he’d predicted woke him up too much to sleep right away.
His phone was blinking with a message when he made it back to his room after the shower.
Did you let the medics do the concussion protocol on you before you headed out? Of course, that would be why Dustin reached out. Wes groaned before hitting the call icon next to Dustin’s name.
“Y’all want me thoroughly examined, all you have to do is ask,” he drawled when Dustin picked up. He didn’t turn the camera on, which was fine as Wes needed to be able to move around to put on some clothes while they talked.
“Don’t be an ass,” Dustin ordered. “You could have a concussion.”
“But I don’t. Trust me, I’ve been in worse situations.” Wes grabbed jeans rather than pajama bottoms.
“I know.” Dustin made a frustrated noise. “Hell. You’re a great operator. I fucking hate that seeing you down shook me so much. Why do I have to care so much?”
“Tell me and we’ll both know.” Wes tried for flip because the real answer—because we might love each other—was likely to make him choke up. Hell, the weight of all of it—Dustin’s caring, his own worries, all the twisted emotions they were both wrestling with—it was almost more than he could handle, especially on an empty stomach with no sleep.
Wes shrugged into a T-shirt. He grabbed a pair of shoes, his body already knowing where he was headed even if his brain rebelled. Dustin was the emotional equivalent of a C-4 brick, leveling every good intention Wes had. “We’ve got at least thirty-six hours before we have to report again. Ask me over.”
“Bad—”
“The worst,” Wes agreed.
“But man, I want it.” Dustin groaned. “God, I wish I didn’t need you so much.”
“Right there with you,” Wes admitted. “You’re not alone in this thing.”
“Good.” Dustin’s voice was gruff. “Maybe one last—”
“I’m not getting you out of my system, no matter how good the fuck is,” Wes countered. “That’s not how this works. And we’ll figure something out. I promise.”
“Gonna hold you to it.” Dustin’s voice was so weary that Wes wished he could reach through the phone, give him a hug.
“So is that a yes?”
“That’s a get your ass over here.” Dustin sighed. “No need to bring beer—I bought a six-pack on the way home.”
Wes grinned because he’d won, but a deep, unsettled feeling blanketed him. Never before had winning felt so much like losing. One more night. One more memory. It would be enough. It had to be.
He headed to his Jeep, wishing it were later—too many people still awake, too many potential conversations to avoid. He’d instigated this though, so he better deliver the goods. Finding his usual discreet parking space taken, he was forced to go one more building over, park between an ancient truck with a boat trailer and a MINI Cooper. And unlike his usual spot, he couldn’t slink over between a hedge and fence—he had to cut across the parking lot. He walked quickly—a run would be suspicious, but he hated being this exposed.
“Lowe.” Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Wes knew that voice. And he’d been so damn close to making it to the hedges and out of sight. He turned as Curly jogged up. Because of fucking course it would be him.
“Curly.” Wes tried for a “Don’t talk to me” vibe even as he greeted his teammate.
“What are you doing out here?” Typically forthright and nosy. “Only people I know who live out this way is my girl and the XO.”
“Oh, really?” Wes tried to school his face to remain neutral, but it was tough when sweat started pouring down his back. He wasn’t sure how successful he was, especially when Curly’s brow remained furrowed, considering Wes carefully.
“Yeah. You seeing someone around here?”
“Something like that.” Wes aimed for a disaffected tone.
“Do I know them?” Curly asked. The fuck? Where did the guy get the balls for being so all-fired curious?
“Nope.” Wes thought fast. “Just someone I met at a club.”
“Huh.” Curly didn’t look convinced. “Well, I guess I’ll let you to it. My girl’s place is over there.” He pointed in the same unf
ortunate direction as Dustin’s building.
“Ah. I’m um...over here.” Wes looked at the complex next to them. “Y’all take care now.”
He walked away rapidly, going up the stairs to the upper units, out of the sight line of Curly, hopefully. He waited a good ten minutes before leaving, heading back to his Jeep.
Can’t make it, he typed on his phone. Something came up. Sorry.
No way could he risk it now. He was not going to be the reason Dustin’s career went down, and he’d do whatever it took to make sure Dustin stayed safe, even if it meant sacrificing their night together. One last time. Yeah, that wasn’t happening now. He punched the seat next to him. No memories. No tender goodbyes. Only the bitter tang of guilt and remorse. He’d put Dustin at risk, and he had to be prepared to do the right thing, as much as it felt like he was coming unglued. His phone vibrated with a return message, but sinuses burning, he turned it off.
Chapter Nineteen
The LT demanded Dustin’s presence first thing Tuesday morning, so Dustin made his way to base, even though he’d rather have been anywhere else. It had been a shit few days, starting with Wes canceling on him with no warning, then going dark and ghosting him. Dustin was alternatively worried that something had happened with Wes’s sister and pissed that he was shutting him out. Nothing had worked to get Wes out of his head—not a spin out on the boat, not an impromptu visit to Apollo and Dylan, nothing. The visit had only made things worse, underscored what he’d never have in his own life.
The early morning air nipped at his arms and neck as he hurried across base to their office. He was cutting it close for time, which was something he never used to do. Fuck Wes and all the distractions that accompanied this...whatever it was that they’d had going.
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