by Andria Large
“Hey, it’s fine. I understand,” she says gently, rubbing my arm. Tucker told her my story, so she knows I’m a widower.
“I can’t do this…. It’s probably better if we don’t see each other again. I don’t want to lead you on.” I sigh, buttoning my shirt.
“Really? Are you sure? I mean, I thought we were hitting it off. Are you sure this isn’t something we can slowly ease into, maybe after getting to know each other a little better? I like you, Dennis,” she says, a desperate edge to her voice.
“No, no, I don’t think I’m ready for all of this. I thought I was, but I’m not. I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have. I’m sorry. I gotta go,” I say somewhat quickly and open the door.
I start for my car in the driveway.
“Call me if you change your mind,” she yells after me.
I turn when I reach my car and give her a tight smile and a sharp nod before getting in and pulling the hell out of there. Fuck. That was not what I was hoping for. I thought maybe if I could get laid, I could begin moving on. Apparently not. I race back to the condo, needing to just get home where I feel safe. I am not entirely comfortable being out in public. I feel like people are staring at me for whatever reason. I know it’s all in my head, but my head is fucked-up.
I park in my spot in the garage next to Tuck’s crotch rocket. The bike is sweet, but it scares the shit out of me. He is a good driver, wears a helmet and all the protective leather gear, but it’s still not enough for me. Those things are dangerous as shit, but he won’t give it up. Loves it.
I take the stairs to help work off some of my irritation. I’m annoyed with myself for what happened with Arianna. Why can’t I get over Zara? Okay, not get over her per se, but move on. Why can’t I move on?
I shove my key into the lock and open the door of our condo. A small entry hallway leads right into the living room. We have it set up with the couch facing the door so Tuck can see when someone comes in if he’s sitting there. We realized shortly after moving in together that we needed to change the furniture around. Since Tucker can’t hear the door open and close, I scared the shit out of him multiple times before he got fed up and turned the couch.
He is sprawled on it, one arm tucked behind his head as he watches the flat-screen TV in the corner. It’s on mute, but he has the closed-captioning running. He glances over at me, sees the look on my face, and frowns. He sits up, his wild, dark brown hair a mess as usual, and his bright blue eyes scan me from head to toe.
“What happened? You don’t look too happy,” he says.
I drop my keys on the table next to the door and use sign language—which I learned from a buddy while in the service—to talk to him, because I don’t feel like speaking out loud.
“I ended it. It wasn’t going to work out,” I sign, heading into the kitchen for a glass of water.
He gets up and follows me. “What? I thought you guys were getting along?” he asks in confusion.
I turn to face him so he can see my mouth when I talk because he can read lips really well. “We do get along, but I feel nothing for her, and I don’t want to lead her on. I don’t want her to think there is a chance it will go anywhere, because it won’t,” I say, watching him as he observes my mouth.
He sighs in resignation and nods. He knows; he understands. I knew he would.
“In another place and time, maybe if Zara never came into my life, Arianna would have been perfect for me. Now, though, I have nothing to give her.”
Tucker nods again and leans his hands on the island counter, the muscles in his arms bunching under his skin. He’s wearing his trademark tank and sweatpants. It’s what he wears when he’s not in his shirt and tie for work or his leathers when riding his bike. He will occasionally wear jeans and a T-shirt if we go out somewhere, but it’s rare. He likes to be comfy.
“It’s a shame. She really likes you,” Tucker says.
I blow out a breath and rake a hand through my hair. “I know. That’s why I needed to end it now before she fell in love with me or something.”
“You did the right thing,” he agrees.
“Thanks,” I say quietly, grateful for the reassurance.
“Right, so… wanna finish watching the game with me?” He nods toward the living room.
“Definitely,” I reply with a smirk.
TUCKER
I’M RUNNING again. Why the fuck am I always running? Duke is in front of me and Chuck is behind. The street is filled with smoke from all the burning buildings and vehicles. We’re trying to get the hell out of here and back to the Humvee. The mission is being aborted, and we need to vacate ASAP. My chest is heaving with the force of my breaths and from carrying the extra fifty pounds of equipment each of us hauls.
Chuck screams in pain, and I skid to a halt, as does my heart. I turn to see him clutching his left thigh with one hand as he tries to continue to run. Blood is seeping from between his fingers. Fuck, he’s been hit! I scream Duke’s name as I head back to help Chuck. I do my best to fight the panic and terror bubbling up inside me. There’s a lot of blood coming from his leg. I have a horrible feeling we’re not going to make it out of here alive.
“All right, man, you’re gonna be okay. I got you,” I yell to Chuck as I drape his right arm around my shoulders.
“Fuckers shot me!” he squawks, almost in disbelief. It would have been comical if the situation wasn’t so dire.
Duke is a few feet in front of us, watching our backs as we fight to make our way down the road as fast as we can. I can see the Humvee and the rest of our squad waiting for us. Almost there.
The three of us are about fifteen feet away when it happens. An RPG hits the Humvee. Duke, Chuck, and I are blown back. The explosion is so loud that the pain in my ears is instant.
The weight on my chest is almost unbearable. What the hell happened? Why do I feel like I have two hundred pounds of dead weight lying on top of me? I blink open my eyes and come face-to-face with Chuck’s lifeless hazel eyes. I scream. Or at least I think I scream. I can’t hear myself. Actually I can’t hear anything. A moment later, Chuck’s dead body is rolled off me, and….
Dennis’s face comes into view? His mouth is moving, so I know he’s talking, but I can’t hear anything. He grabs my flak jacket and shakes me, his mouth still moving. Wait… that’s not right; Dennis wasn’t there that day. It’s supposed to be Duke who grabs me.
I wake suddenly, arms flailing. Warm hands grab my bare shoulders. My eyes flip to the man leaning over me. Dennis. Shit, I had another nightmare. I clutch his forearms, close my eyes, and blow out a harsh breath. Fuck, that was a bad one. So vivid, I felt like I was back in Iraq. I could smell the burning flesh and taste the metallic tang of blood in the air. I shudder at the thought.
Dennis pats my face to get my attention. I open my eyes and stare at him through the darkness. His expression is one of sympathy and understanding. He knows what my nightmares entail, always the same one over and over. I told him about that day, about how I wouldn’t be alive if Chuck hadn’t moved in front of me at the last second. He took the brunt of the explosion and the large chunk of shrapnel that came flying at us. “Survivor’s guilt,” that’s what my therapist calls it.
“You were screaming,” Dennis says. I can’t hear him, but I read his lips.
I always wonder what his voice sounds like. If it’s deep, yet soft, like I think it is. I’ll never know. The doctor said back when it first happened that they could fix my hearing, but I chose not to. It’s my penance, my way of dealing with surviving when my friend—my brother—died for me. The least I can do for him is live with the disability I was given.
I nod jerkily.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah… yeah.”
Dennis tightens his hands on my shoulders for a moment before he slowly lets them slip away. He is still sitting on the bed next to me, but I feel the loss when he lets me go. I rub my face roughly before raking my hands through my hair.
�
��That was a bad one,” I say, looking over at him in case he responds.
“Do you want me to stay?”
I swallow hard as I nod. My whole body is still trembling, and I just don’t want to be alone right now. This wouldn’t be the first time we spent the night in the same bed. Many times in the VA hospital when one of us had a nightmare, the other would climb into the bed and offer support. I haven’t met many men who are willing to share a bed with another man, but Dennis doesn’t mind, and he seems to need it as much as I do.
Dennis takes off his prosthetic and leans it against the bedside table before scooting under the covers next to me. I roll onto my side, my back to him. No words are needed; he turns and plasters his chest against my back and wraps his arm around me, patting my chest a few times. He keeps his hips at a distance, which makes me smile to myself. Dennis might be comfortable snuggling, but he’s still a straight guy, and straight guys keep their dicks away from another guy’s ass.
We both take deep breaths and settle down into the bed. I can feel Dennis’s breath on the back of my neck. I can’t help but think about how lucky I am to have met him. He’s turned out to be the greatest friend. It helps that we’re both fucked-up and understand that about each other. I slowly start to drift off, knowing I’m safe in the arms of my best friend. The rest of the night is nightmare-free.
My internal alarm wakes me the next morning. I’m up at 6:00 a.m. every morning, always. The warm body beside me reminds me Dennis is still in my bed. I sit up and look at him. He’s on his back, one hand tossed over his head while the other rests on his chest, over his heart. His dark hair is mussed, and his jaw is covered in stubble. His full lips are parted as he breathes. I glance down the rest of his body. His chest is bare, showing off his lean, muscled form. The sheet covers him from the waist down. One foot is peeking out from the bottom of it. His other foot is propped against the bedside table. I can’t imagine what it’s like losing a limb.
Dennis seems to handle it pretty well on the outside, but I know he’s struggling still with coping. He feels like less of a person, less of a Marine, less of a man. He can’t do certain things or get a job he wants in law enforcement because of it, and also because of the mental issues he’s acquired. He doesn’t have the best prosthetic available either. He doesn’t complain, but I know he’s sometimes in pain if he’s on his feet for too long. To get another, though, would cost him several thousand dollars he doesn’t have. And he will never ask anyone to lend him the money.
I glance back up at his face. I usually don’t notice whether another guy is handsome or good-looking or whatever, but for some reason, I think Dennis is an extremely handsome man. His mahogany hair has grown out some since we left the VA hospital and he got back from his little fling as a bodyguard for Ace Vaughn, one of the guys in the boy band his brother-in-law is in. He always seems to have a five-o’clock shadow, whether he shaves or not. And his eyes… his eyes are a medium green, and I’ve noticed some flecks of gold in them. Which kind of freaks me out, because I don’t usually pay such close attention to another man’s eyes.
Dennis’s mouth tilts down into a frown, and his brows knit together. He stirs in his sleep, shifting under the sheet. He grumbles incoherently as he stretches out his large body. He cracks his eyes open and glances over at me lazily.
His eyebrow rises wryly. “Are you watching me sleep?”
I feel my face warm. I see his chuckle, so I give him a gut shot. He scrunches up and uses his hands to sign, “Do you want me to piss in your bed, asshole?”
I laugh as he rolls over and sits up. He puts on his prosthetic and pushes to his feet. He’s wearing only his gray boxer briefs that hug his round ass. And why the hell am I checking out his ass? Jesus fucking Christ, I must be losing my mind. I scrub my hands roughly over my face. When I look back at Dennis, who is limping his way to my bedroom door, he reaches around and scratches his ass crack, nice and deep. That’s just… great… exactly what I need to see. I shake my head. That’s what I get for checking out another man’s ass.
DENNIS
I STARE down at the drunken idiot in front of me, my arms crossed over my chest. He’s screaming at me because I won’t let his already wasted ass into O’Reilly’s Pub, where I’m head bouncer. Okay, I don’t like to boast, but I’m not a small dude. I’m six-four and built. I’ve been told many times that I’m very intimidating. Not only because of my size but also my tendency to give people my “Marine” face. Tuck says I look cold and hard when I have that face on. Obviously this guy, who is maybe five-six, one hundred thirty pounds, is not at all bothered by the fact I’m much larger than him. He’s too drunk and belligerent to realize he’s seriously outsized.
My patience is slowly waning, and I’m about to let this little fucker have it. Apparently one of his friends, who has been trying to get him to calm down, notices I’m not going to take much more, because he grabs the guy around the waist and hauls him away. His other friends apologize like crazy before following them down the street. It’s people like that who make this job suck ass. I have no other choice, though. I’m not qualified or physically and mentally able to do any other job. I don’t have computer skills like Tucker, and I really have no training other than being a Marine. I mean, I went in when I was twenty-two, but I didn’t go to college. I worked dead-end jobs to feed my sister and me because my parents weren’t doing it. As soon as she turned eighteen and was able to get out of their house, I joined, fulfilling the need to make something of myself. Plus, I can only do so much with my insurance-issued prosthetic. I can’t even walk without limping.
I check my watch—1:50 a.m. Almost closing time, thank God. They should have already done last call about five minutes ago. I glance through the window to see people at the bar paying their tabs and people at tables gathering their things to head out. When I turn back around, I see Tucker walking toward me, a big grin on his face. I smile in return as he comes up and gives me a man hug—you know, the “clasp hands and bump shoulders” kind.
“Hey, man, what are you doing here?” I sign to him when we part. I’m happy he’s here.
He shrugs nonchalantly. “Was in the area. I’m hungry. Thought maybe we could go grab a burger.”
My stomach rumbles at the thought of a juicy, delicious burger. “Hell yeah, I’m down,” I agree, letting him read my lips this time.
Tucker gives me a lopsided grin, his crystal blue eyes shimmering in amusement. I look him over; he’s actually wearing jeans and a button-down shirt. Really nice. I blink at him before raising an eyebrow in curiosity.
“Were you on a date or something?” I ask.
He blushes slightly and glances down at himself. He looks back at me and says, “I wouldn’t so much call it a date.” His grin turns mischievous.
And that’s when I notice his hair is more ruffled than usual and his lips are pinker and a bit swollen. I smile knowingly and nod, giving him a playful punch in the shoulder.
“Nice, man. Was she hot?” Not that I really care what she looks like, but it seems the thing to ask.
Tuck hums. “Very.”
“Sweet. All right, let me go kick the rest of these people out so we can get going.” I make sure not to turn away before finishing my sentence.
Tucker chuckles and nods. He shoves his hands in his front pockets and waits on the sidewalk for me. I go inside, hurry the few stragglers out the door, and make sure the owner knows I’m leaving, then head out.
Tucker and I walk to the end of the block, where there is an all-night diner. The hostess leads us to a booth, and we get settled in. Tucker immediately picks up the menu and starts perusing. He must have worked up an appetite. I snort to myself. Wish I knew how that felt. My mood quickly turns sour. I’m fairly certain I’m going to be alone forever—no wife, no kids, and no life other than the one I’m barely making my way through now. If it wasn’t for Lizette, Beau, and Tucker, I would have eaten a bullet a while ago.
“Hey, what happened?” Tucker asks, pulli
ng me out of my thoughts.
I look up to find him frowning hard at me, menu down and forgotten. I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit, you were fine up until we sat down. What changed?” I know from his tone that he isn’t going to let it go.
I sigh, close my eyes, and rub my forehead with my fingers.
“Denny, talk to me,” he says, more gently this time.
I lift my face from my hands and sign to him. The one good thing about not having to speak out loud is that our conversations can’t be overheard. “I just hate that I’m going nowhere in my life. I have a suck-ass job, no money, half a leg, and I can’t get over my dead wife, which means it will be me and my hand for the rest of my life.”
Tucker exhales heavily and rubs the side of his face before signing, “I’m sorry if my extracurricular activities brought this on.”
I roll my eyes. “Come on, man, I don’t expect you to be celibate like me. You know that.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad.”
“I just don’t know what to do about it. Zara was everything to me, and I can’t picture any other woman taking her place.”
A wicked glint appears in Tucker’s eyes, and I know what he’s going to say before he says it.
“Maybe you should try being with a guy, then.” He chuckles as he signs to me, “You might not be able to handle being with a woman, but a man is completely different, nothing like Zara.”
I shake my head and throw a piece of bread at him, making him duck. “You offering?” I tease.
He barks out a laugh. “Hell no!”
I snort and am about to reply, but the waitress appears. She’s pretty and has a lovely smile. Her long dark hair is pulled up into a high ponytail. She looks young, probably about twenty-five or so. She has big brown eyes and a cute, little nose, and she’s built perfectly with a nice-sized chest and round ass. She glances at both of us, her eyes darkening with lust. Wow. I peek over at Tucker, and he sends me a look, letting me know he noticed it too.