And given the gravity of others’ situations, Spencer moaning about missing Del for a few weeks felt supremely shallow.
Maybe it won’t be forever, that same voice suggested. Del had friends in private security now. Maybe he’d be interested in doing the same. And then Spencer could have both: him and the book. Could keep the most important thing in his life and not let Harry down. It was a plan made out of little more than straw and hope, but it was what he had, what he clung to as he finally typed out a reply to his agent.
* * *
“This one’s going to be hard.” The LT shook his head with a seriousness Bacon had seldom seen from the man. Which was saying something as he could count on his fingers the number of smiles he’d seen from the man.
“I’m ready,” Bacon assured him. They were in a mission-planning room at the forward base, and the leadership team was explaining exactly what they’d be needing his sniper expertise for. He was back on Team Alpha, and taking out a key terrorist mastermind was a big part of their current strategy to disrupt this terror cell.
“I have no doubt you are,” the LT assured him, a rare hit of confidence from his hard-nosed leader. “But this... They keep recruiting younger and younger, you know?” He slid a blurry photograph toward Bacon. “This is your target.”
“But...” Bacon blinked, looking down at the picture. The slender face was so young he couldn’t even make a guess at gender identity.
“Our intel is watertight on their high-level involvement in the embassy bombing. Explosives skills rivaling our spec ops guys, and apparently a genius leader to boot.”
“Wow.” Bacon’s mouth opened and closed a number of times, not sure what else to say. This was his job, and he had no choice but to follow his orders. He knew damn well the LT was right—the terror cells kept recruiting members who were little more than kids, using their youth as a strategic advantage.
“Can we count on you?” The LT leaned forward, eyes boring into Bacon’s.
“Yes, sir,” Bacon said, because it really was the only answer. But his stomach churned. Unbidden, an image of Spencer’s face crept into his mind. Spencer traveled, quite extensively. What if he were in the vicinity of the next terrorist bombing? And not just Spencer—Curly’s fiancée, Rachel, was a flight attendant now. So many people he cared about at risk, not to mention his SEAL team. If Bacon didn’t take that shot, if he wavered at all, the risk to his team soared. The chances of them recovering the biological weapon would drop with each second he hesitated. So when he nodded, repeating his acceptance of the mission, he did so knowing that his full buy-in was utterly crucial.
But deep inside, he knew the LT was right. This one was going to leave a scar.
* * *
It was a Tuesday morning when Spencer’s phone chimed with the special ring tone he’d assigned Del in a fit of loneliness.
Tell me you want company tonight. On our way back, and I need to see you in the worst way. Sorry for the no notice. No phone access until literally moments ago. Sorry.
Spencer’s heart flopped about, so many emotions swamping him—relief chiefly, but also something infinitely tender that he wasn’t ready to name. There was only one reply he was capable of typing.
Don’t apologize. Just happy to have you back. Want to meet halfway or even in San Diego? I could come to you.
Del’s reply chimed a few minutes later. Need the drive to clear my head. That and your shower and you are all I need, but if you wanted to make that tart for dessert, I’d love you forever.
Love you forever. Spencer’s chest pinched. Del meant it flippantly, he knew. In fact, he could picture his sleepy, worn-out guy trying for humor, trying not to let on how much he needed him. And being needed like that did something for Spencer, made him feel warm and strong and filled him with energy.
He put fresh linens on the bed, set out his best towels and the shower gel Del loved, and made the tart along with a soup that would be easy to reheat. The plan he’d come up with a few weeks ago, the one in which he could have both Del and the book, loomed large over him. After a few weeks of working on the project, he was more convinced than ever how vital it was, and how his solution really was the best one for all of them. Now, he’d finally get the chance to talk. Reasonably. After Del had had his shower and food.
But when he opened the door that evening to Del, he instantly realized that talk-soon plan might not be feasible. Del looked like shit—dark circles under his eyes, sagging shoulders, dusty hair and skin. He hadn’t shaved in what looked like weeks, the stubbly beard making him look years older than usual.
“Oh, baby, come in.” Spencer enfolded him in a tight hug. Del dropped his backpack in the entryway and clung to Spencer. Knowing how much the shower always helped Del, he started tugging him that way, but Del stopped him with a desperate kiss, more a wordless plea than a romantic hello.
“Getting you dirty,” Del mumbled.
“Like I care.” Spencer held him closer. “But let’s get you in the shower, okay?”
“Okay.” Del squished his eyes shut and scrubbed at his shaggy hair. “Promise I’ll be human soon. Just...”
“You don’t have to be anything for me.”
“Yeah, but I gotta be something for me.” His voice broke, a sob racking his big body. Trying not to let on how alarmed he was, Spencer wrapped him up in his embrace best he could. He held Del while he silently cried and shuddered. Held him even after he stopped and his breathing slowed to big gulps of air. “Fuck. I hate this. I shouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t be unloading on you—”
“Yes, you should. I’m here for you. I want to be here for you.” Spencer had never meant words more. He wanted to be everything this man needed. “What happened? Did someone die?”
“Can’t tell you specifics. But no one on our team was hurt this go-around. Guess you could say mission was a success. I did my job, took the shots they needed me to take, but fuck some shots are easier than others, Spence. But I did it. And I held it together just fine until it was time to go home. Don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t usually fall apart post-mission. Not my MO. Just...this one got to me. It really did.”
Spencer could guess at a few scenarios that would provoke this reaction. “Targets were more...vulnerable than you were expecting?”
“Yeah.” He nodded sharply, considering Spencer through bloodshot eyes. “Something like that. Can’t tell you more. Sorry.”
“Quit apologizing. I understand.” He kept holding Del close. Held him close under the pulsing water when they finally made their way to the shower. Held him close in bed until he went boneless, exhaustion finally claiming his big body. Held him close while he slept, held him tighter when the nightmares came. There in the dark, holding Del, Spencer understood the true meaning of helplessness, and made all sorts of bargains with the universe if it would only guide him to do what was right for Del, what would help, not hurt.
Chapter Twenty
Bacon let Spencer take care of him because it was easier than fighting it, and because he’d been craving it, had driven toward it, and denying himself now felt pointless, not when Spencer seemed so understanding. So he slept in Spencer’s arms, let Spencer soothe him when he awoke to the dream about the mission. The LT had already warned him he’d be seeing the psych who often worked with their team. And Bacon knew what the psych would tell him—all the same things the LT had, that he’d done his job, that he wasn’t a bad person, that he shouldn’t feel guilty. And most of the time, he didn’t.
Except.
But.
His breathing hitched. Spencer had fallen back to sleep and he didn’t want to wake him again, so he forced his breaths to slow, willed his lungs to cooperate and calm down. This would pass. He’d been a green recruit once, had freaked like this after his first couple of times out. But then he’d settled into a routine, figured out how to make his peace with what he
did in the field. Which usually worked.
Except.
But.
Even after they’d told him the target—the terrorist mastermind—was young, he’d been unprepared for how deeply that would affect him afterward. They’d recovered plans for a biological warfare agent from the target’s compound, so he knew he’d done the right thing, unquestionably.
Except.
But.
That young face. Bacon was carrying that one to his grave. And eventually it would get easier. He knew that. He’d do his time with the psych, and this here, with Spencer, helped a great deal, having a place where he could come fall apart, as hard as it was to admit he needed that.
“You’re awake again,” Spencer mumbled, pulling Bacon close. “Are you hungry? I could heat up some soup and tea, see if that helps. When did you eat last?”
“Not sure. My sense of time is all fucked up. On the flight back. A snack. I think.”
“You’re eating.” Spencer flipped on the bedside light, casting the room in its pale, warm glow. “You’ll sleep better with some food in you.”
“You sound like my mom.” Bacon laughed, a weak, rusty sound. Spencer slipped on his black terrycloth robe, then fussed over him when he tried to follow him out of bed.
“Here. It’s chilly.” He draped a fuzzy blanket around Bacon’s shoulders. “Wrap up in this.”
Spencer heated the soup on the stove while he toasted some bread in the toaster oven and put the kettle on for tea. His quiet efficiency went a long way to soothing Bacon, who settled himself at the breakfast bar on a stool. Spencer set a mug of something herbal and minty in front of him, along with a bowl of creamy orange soup.
“Squash?”
“Butternut, yes. It’s got a little curry powder in it, but it’s not too spicy.” He slid Bacon a piece of crusty bread, which he used to dip in the steaming soup.
“Not bad. Bread’s good too.” Simply being here like this, talking, food, helped. He ate awhile in silence, just absorbing the good energy of this place and this man. “Maybe I can cook for you for a change tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to go right back?” Spencer looked up from his tea.
“Nah. I’ve got an appointment with the psych on Friday, but we’re all taking some leave to regroup before we ramp up again.”
“That’s good—both the leave and the psych. I’m glad they have someone to help you.”
“You help too,” Bacon admitted. “Probably more than whatever affirmations or breathing exercises she’s going to prescribe.”
“I’m glad.” Spencer squeezed his hand. “Del...” He trailed off and chewed his lip in a very un-Spencer-like fashion.
“Yeah?”
“You ever think about leaving the teams? Going private security, like your friends? You might have less...conflict then. Easier missions.”
“Fuck no.” Bacon shook his head, not liking where this was headed. “Just because I had one bad mission doesn’t mean I’m ready to not re-up or something. I’m a lifer. Always planned on doing my twenty, at least, then taking my retirement and doing something outdoors like whitewater guide. Being a rich person’s security detail is not my idea of fun at all. And I’m way too young to think about hanging it up yet.”
“I figured.” Spencer’s smile was more than a little sad. “Sorry if I was out of line.”
“You weren’t,” Bacon said gruffly. “I know it’s not easy, being with someone on the teams. I wish I could make it easier on you.”
“Don’t worry about me. Really.” Spencer patted him again.
“And actually, before I fell apart on you, I was going to tell you my other news. Relates to me being a lifer. I made chief. No way am I getting out anytime soon. I’ve waited a long damn time for this.”
“That’s wonderful.” Spencer’s wide smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Undaunted, Bacon pressed on. “They make kind of a big deal of the change in rank with a ceremony. It’s in two weeks. I was wondering if you’d come down—”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
Bacon had been expecting that reaction and still groaned. “I get you not wanting to be around the team as a couple yet.”
“A couple? I thought you weren’t out as pan to your team?” Spencer’s eyes looked ready to pop out and roll across his hardwood floors.
Bacon had thought and thought about this while on the mission. “It’s well past time. Like I said, I haven’t had much reason to before. But I’ve got you now, and I don’t want to hide away forever. You could come, and maybe we ease people into us being a thing by mentioning that we’ve kept friendly. Then you can go out to dinner with my mom and me after the ceremony. I really want you to meet her.”
“You want me to meet your mom?” Spencer blinked. His continued disbelief was starting to grate. “Like as your boyfriend?”
“No. As my personal trainer. What do you think, Spencer? We’ve spent all my leave together for months now, neither of us is sleeping around with anyone else, and we care about each other. I think any outside observer would call us boyfriends at this point, right, Mr. Investigative Reporter?” Yeah, he was getting a little heated, and he pushed his soup away so that he could stand and pace.
“Maybe we should talk about this tomorrow. You’ve had an exhausting few days, it sounds like. I don’t want to fight right now.” Spencer pitched his voice to be soothing, but Bacon wasn’t having it.
“Me either. This isn’t that hard, Spencer. You’re not embedded anymore. We’re in a relationship. I don’t see what would be the big deal about telling a few more people. Some of your friends know, like Flor.”
“Yes, but Flor knows you as Del—”
“The hot young thing you’re fucking. I know. But guess what, I’m also Bacon, the SEAL. And that’s not going to change. And this promotion in rank is a big deal to me. And for what it’s worth, Curly already guessed I was seeing you before we deployed, and he couldn’t give a shit and didn’t tell anyone else—just wants me happy, he says.”
“Curly knows?” Spencer visibly swallowed.
“He guessed because I kept blowing him off for things because I was busy and wouldn’t tell him why and apparently I kept staring at my phone all goofy.”
That got a crooked smile from Spencer. “I never wanted to come between you and your friends.”
“You’re not. Or at least you don’t have to. I can see a future where I’ve got both my friends and you. And I guess the real question is why can’t you?”
“I sold a book. Another nonfiction book. About the military.” Now it was Spencer who paced away. “I found out right before you deployed. I’ve been waiting to tell you.”
“But I thought the PR folks killed your story.”
“That one, yes. This would be a book I’d write largely without the navy’s help.”
“Oh.” Bacon’s mouth open and shut as he tried to digest this news. “But why would that mean we can’t be a couple?”
“Appearances and—”
“Fuck appearances.” Bacon stalked over to Spencer, backed him against the table. “Write your book. But be a couple with me too. This isn’t some no-win scenario, Spencer.”
Spencer’s eyes were tired and sad, and he stroked Bacon’s face. “I wish it was that easy.”
“It can be.” Bacon lowered his head, claiming Spencer’s mouth. He resisted for a moment, but then softened, kissing Bacon back with tenderness, not anger.
“I care about you.” He stroked Bacon’s jaw again, making the bristly hair there tingle.
“Then let’s find a way to make this work.”
“I’m not sure it’s that easy.” Spencer’s tone was mournful, and Bacon hated that, so he kissed him again.
“What was that you said? Talk more in the morning? It’s late and we’re both wrung out and I just want t
o kiss and hold you some more.”
“That’s a bad idea and—”
Bacon cut him off with a kiss. “Trust me. I know all about bad ideas, and this isn’t one of them. Come to bed.”
It took a moment but Spencer nodded and wrapped his arms around Del’s neck. “Okay.”
Del hoped that a night in Spencer’s bed would have its usual magical restorative properties on both of them because he wasn’t giving up Spencer without a fight. He needed him, needed this too damn much to let go now.
* * *
Tomorrow. Tomorrow they would talk more. Tomorrow this would probably be over. So tonight, Spencer would give Del what he wanted, cling to him one more time. It was stupid and selfish, but he followed Del to the bedroom anyway. Del had shot down the compromise Spencer had spent weeks pinning all his hopes on, and now all those hopes were crumbling. He could see everything he’d yearned for fading away.
His phone was full of messages back and forth with Caroline, Harry’s widow, and all the interviews she’d lined up for him were starting to fall into place. The more he dug into the research, the more he felt compelled to write this book. So many men and women were in similar situations to Harry, and Spencer was in a position to help. Could he really live with himself if he walked away from that obligation?
He simply wasn’t sure, but he entered the bedroom with his heart all tangled up with his feet—poor battered organ unable to turn Del down even knowing what was likely to come.
Del tossed the blanket he’d wrapped himself in to the bottom of the bed before reaching for the tie on Spencer’s robe, and Spencer let him, let him push the robe off. He took a moment to drink in Del’s naked form, trying to memorize him. As usual post-mission, he was a mess of minor bruises and scrapes, a testament to how damn hard he worked. Leaning in, Spencer kissed his stubbly jaw, then the bruise on his left shoulder. The scrape on his wrist. The bruising around his ribs.
“Landed weird.” Del’s voice was thick and a little unsteady. “It looks worse than it is.”
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