The Complete Veterans Affairs Romances: Gay Military Romances

by A. E. Wasp

  The studio was dark except for the light coming from the windows of Jay-Cee’s second-floor apartment. Chris pulled the car beneath the one street lamp in the parking lot. Putting the car into park, he leaned over the steering wheel to look up at the windows as if maybe he could see Jay-Cee moving around or the blue glow of the television.

  He pulled out his cell phone and texted. Are you home? I need to see you. As the text bubbled its way up the screen, he saw that the last text from Jay-Cee to him read 1x3 in response to Chris asking what size lumber to get from Home Depot.

  Chris leaned his head back and counted off the seconds as he waited for a reply. The vibration of the car engine matched the nervous energy coursing through him, and he couldn’t stop his leg from jittering.

  Light from the phone lit up the interior of the car.

  What’s the problem?

  Did you know Benny had a Purple Heart and brain damage?

  A shadow passed in front of the curtains in Jay-Cee’s apartment. Gordon Lightfoot sang about slipping away on the carefree highway, and Chris felt the ever-present tug of mountains calling him westward. He could do it. Just put the car in drive and head over the mountains and across the desert. Follow the 10 right onto the pier over the Pacific Ocean. There was nobody stopping him.

  I didn’t know that but I’m not surprised. Jay-Cee texted back.

  Can I come up and talk to you please? I don’t know who else to talk to.

  Chris stared up at the window, willing Jay-Cee to say yes.

  A hand pulled back the curtain, and Jay-Cee stood silhouetted in the yellow light. He leaned his arm against the glass and looked down at the parking lot. Chris wished he could see his face.

  Come to the side door. I’ll let you in.

  Chris shut the engine off and got out of the car.

  Jay-Cee held the side door open, and Chris passed silently into the studio.

  Jay-Cee let the door close. The interior of the studio was dark, the bright white of the safety lights didn’t penetrate very far. Music spilled down the stairs, and the light from Jay-Cee’s apartment softly illuminated his silver hair and outlined his profile. He made no movement to invite Chris upstairs.

  Chris paced in a tight circle in the darkened space, running his fingers through his hair.

  “What are you thinking?” Jay-Cee asked.

  “A million things.”

  “Pick one.”

  Chris stopped pacing but stared at his shoes. One question burned in his brain, made his heart race, and dried out his mouth. But to ask it would make it real and he didn’t know what the repercussions might be from that.

  “Chris,” Jay-Cee said firmly. “Talk or leave.”

  “Do you think Benny killed people?” Did you kill people hung unsaid.

  Jay-Cee sighed and pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He rubbed his face, scratching his fingers through his beard as he stared at Chris.

  Chris stood still as Jay-Cee studied his face, not sure what the other man was looking for, or what he could read there.

  Jay-Cee shook his head. “Come upstairs.” He walked up the stairs, not looking behind to see if Chris followed him.

  Chris did.

  Trust Chris to throw him off-balance right from the beginning. He’d thought he was prepared to see Chris again. He had worked through what had happened between them; how he had messed up, and where he had let things go wrong. He’d planned the apology he owed Chris and had a firm grasp of how things were going to go from here on in.

  But with one question, Chris had hit Jay-Cee right in his weakest spot.

  Jay-Cee felt the weight of the past with every stair he climbed; felt the blood on his hands.

  It was odd, but the further he got from the actual events in his life, the more they affected him. While still subsumed with Army life and Army culture, the medals and commendations had served as proof that he had done the right thing, had made the best decisions he could at the time with the information he’d had.

  Now with the medals packed away, it seemed the ghosts of the past were rising from their graves to haunt him. He counted each stair as he walked, trying to push the thoughts away.

  This was a conversation he hadn’t been prepared to have tonight. It was a conversation they would never have if he got his way. But when did he ever get his way with Chris?

  Chris’s steps were uncharacteristically heavy as he followed Jay-Cee up the stairs. Maybe now that the question was out there, he was as reluctant as Jay-Cee to have it answered.

  When Chris didn’t follow him into the apartment, Jay-Cee turned to see Chris hanging back at the top of the stairs.

  “Sit,” Jay-Cee said, pointing to the wide couch in his small sitting area.

  After Chris dragged himself to the couch, Jay-Cee put the water on to boil. He pulled a small Korean teapot from the cabinet. It was one of his favorites, a celadon green teapot with a crane pattern.

  From the kitchen, all Jay-Cee could see of Chris was the back of his head. His hair stood up in places, the color at the tips faded away, and the blond roots starting to show through the platinum.

  Chris leaned forward, looking at the laptop Jay-Cee had left open on the coffee table. He’d been looking at some old pictures, caught in a wave of nostalgia. So maybe this was a good of a time as any to have some sort of conversation with Chris. The past was already with them, from his photos to Benny’s injuries.

  The cello concerto ended, and the pure sound of Maria Callas’ voice poured from the high-end speakers. Chris twisted around, draping an arm over the back of the couch.

  The water boiled and Jay-Cee used it as an excuse to hide from the emotion on Chris’s face, but he couldn’t hide from the music. This aria always pulled at something inside him. If he had been paying more attention, he would have skipped it like he usually did.

  He carried the two cups and the teapot over to the couch, placing them on the table, and started to reach for the laptop to change the song.

  Chris stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Please.”

  So Jay-Cee let the song play. Chris closed his eyes as the song came to its beautiful conclusion. A tear slipped out from beneath his closed lids, and Jay-Cee wiped it away with his thumb.

  Chris looked at Jay-Cee, and Jay-Cee felt the pain in those blue eyes as if it were his own. The music continued, a mix of classical, instrumental, and opera that Jay-Cee hadn’t listened to in a long time.

  “My mother loves Puccini,” Chris said. “And that version of that aria in particular.”

  “You like opera?” Jay-Cee asked.

  Chris shrugged. “I like some of it. Can’t say I listen to it on a regular basis.” He took a deep breath. “So, about Benny?”

  Jay-Cee turned the volume down on the speakers. “Tell me what happened.”

  Chris gave him the rundown of the events, giving Jay-Cee what few concrete details he had. It wasn’t a lot, but enough for Jay-Cee to get a broad outline. He could fill in the rest.

  The tea had finished steeping while Chris talked, and Jay-Cee poured some for each of them, a faint lemon scent rising from the cups.

  “What is it that you really want to know?” Jay-Cee asked, handed Chris a teacup.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know,” Chris said. “I’ve just never really thought about what Benny did when he was in the Marines. What his job was and what he must have gone through. What you must have gone through.”

  Oh, no. They were not going to talk about Jay-Cee tonight. “You said Benny had a purple heart?”

  Chris nodded. “Do you have to get hurt badly to get one of those?”

  “Bad enough,” Jay-Cee answered. “He said he got blown up and had a traumatic brain injury as a result?”

  “I think that’s what he said. It was strongly implied at least.”

  “That sounds pretty serious.” It sounded like that there was more to the story than Chris knew or Benny was telling. Jay-Cee hadn’t pried into Benny’s service record or asked to
see his DD 214 or anything. He figured it would all come out eventually as they got to know each other better.

  But he was a mentor to the kids he took in, including the one who sat trembling on his couch right now. He owed them guidance, and now he had let both of them down in different ways. Maybe he was getting too old. Too slow. He’d been so obsessed with Chris that he had missed the signs that Benny had needed him as well.

  That couldn’t keep happening. He was a mentor and a teacher to both of those boys. He had to step up to his responsibilities.

  Chris’s leg jiggling rapidly, shaking the couch.

  Jay-Cee stilled it with his hand. “Drink your tea.”

  Chris did, sighing as the warm liquid hit his system.

  “Another sip.”

  Chris obeyed, watching Jay-Cee over the lip of his mug. He looked like he wanted to say something.

  “What?”

  Chris inhaled, steeling himself for the question. “Do you think Benny killed people over there, and do you think it fucked him up?”

  15 – If I told you what I was, would you turn your back on me?

  Chris barreled on, oblivious to Jay-Cee’s internal torment. “I mean Benny had a straight up panic attack when he saw that medal. He almost punched Troy.”

  “Who’s Troy?” Jay-Cee couldn’t remember if he was supposed to know who that was.

  “One of Benny’s new friends. The bartender at Vincent’s. I’m pretty sure he’s a vet, too.”

  Jay-Cee wouldn’t be surprised. They tended to gravitate to each other. “What branch?”

  Chris shook his head. “I don’t know. Army, Marines? Anyway, he was the one that got Benny calmed down, and when I left Troy, Mikey and Benny were going into Vincent’s office for a talk.”

  “Good. Benny needs someone to talk to. No matter how hard you try, the war doesn’t go away that easily.”

  “So did Benny kill people?” Chris clutched the tea cup.

  It always came down to the killing with civilians. What did they think happened during a war?

  “Would you think any less of him if he had?” Jay-Cee asked. “Would you think any less of Troy? Of me?” Jay-Cee turned away so he wouldn’t have to see the expression in Chris’s eyes.

  Chris shot up off the couch and grabbed Jay-Cee with both hands, turning him so Chris could look in his eyes. “No. God, no. Never. Please believe me.”

  After a long second, Jay-Cee nodded.

  Chris dropped his hands and started pacing around the room.

  Jay-Cee tracked him with his eyes. “It’s war, Christopher. We’re soldiers. What do you think happens?”

  Chris covered his face with both hands. “I don’t know. I mean, obviously I know. But it’s different in the abstract.”

  Jay-Cee barked a dark, humorless laugh. “You think?”

  Chris looked at him and Jay-Cee had never seen such pain in his eyes. “Oh, god. I’m so sorry. I’m saying everything wrong.”

  Jay-Cee shook his head, waving Chris’s concern away. He was more than used to the inability of civilians to deal with the reality of war. “What particularly to you want to know?”

  Chris gave a huge shrug. “I don’t know. It’s just that I can’t imagine Benny doing…that? You know?”

  Jay-Cee knew. He was sure Benny had never pictured himself doing ‘that’ either when he’d impulsively joined up.

  Chris spread his hands in confusion. “He’s just this goofy guy. Just my friend. He can’t even have a random hookup in the bathroom without screwing it up.” He looked at Jay-Cee, pain and confusion in his eyes. “He was a kid.”

  The words knifed into Jay-Cee’s heart, but it was a familiar pain, and his heart was already scarred from the many times he had uttered those same words himself.

  “He was only eighteen years old, and he had to kill people,” Chris continued. “That’s got to mess you up. I can’t picture it.”

  Most people couldn’t. Yet, how many eighteen-year-old recruits got handed a weapon and shoved into the field every day?

  “Did you know, it’s actually much harder for to kill someone face to face than most people think?” Jay-Cee asked conversationally.

  Chris shook his head, confused by Jay-Cee’s calmness.

  “During World War II, it was estimated that only fifteen to twenty percent of soldiers ever fired their weapons, even when in direct firefights with the enemy. In Vietnam, more than 50,000 bullets were fired for every enemy soldier killed.” Jay-Cee sighed. “The ratio is a little different today. But, for better or worse, it’s due to a lot of the infantry training being spent circumventing that aversion.”

  Chris paced frantically around the small apartment.

  “Chris,” Jay-Cee said sharply, “Stop pacing.”

  Jay-Cee went over to where he stood and put a hand on the back of the younger man’s neck. “Stop. Come sit down.” Keeping his hand on his neck, he guided Chris to the sofa. Chris went easily, compliant under his hand.

  “I’m sorry,” Chris said. “I shouldn’t have come.”

  “I already said it was a good idea. You were right to come here. Now how much do you really want to know? Think hard because you can’t un-know things.” He kept his hand on Chris.

  “Did Benny kill people?”

  Like a dog with a bone. But Jay-Cee could answer that. Benny had been a Machine Gunner, walking with an M240 or riding behind a mounted M50. Either way, he hadn’t been there for decoration. “Yes,” Jay-Cee answered.

  “Did he-,” Chris’s voice cracked, “did his friends die? Do you think he lost friends?”

  “I guarantee one hundred percent that happened.”

  “How do you keep going after that?” Chris asked. “How do you come home and be normal?”

  Jay-Cee wanted to pull Chris into him, divert this line of questioning with a kiss; he wanted to suck the air out of his lungs until he couldn’t think about anything even related to war and death. But if Chris was willing to ask the questions, he had a right to hear the answers. He hoped Chris never thought to ask about anything Jay-Cee had done.

  “Well, think about Benny’s history,” Jay-Cee said. “Think about what his life was like during the years between the time he got out and when he came to us. Did it seem like he was handling it very well?”

  Chris shook his head, and picked up his tea mug, holding it with both hands.

  “It’s not the same for everyone, obviously. But it is particularly hard for infantry, and the guys on the front line.” Jay-Cee gave into his urges and pulled Chris into him. There was nothing sexual about the hug, and it was for his comfort as much as Chris’s. “Some statistics show that twenty-two veterans a day kill themselves.”

  “I didn’t know. I didn’t know.” He looked up at Jay-Cee, eyes wide. “Do you think Benny would do something like that?” Chris’s hands shook, and tea sloshed dangerously near the edge of his mug.

  How the fuck was Jay-Cee supposed to know? Benny was twenty-six years old. Statistics showed that the suicide rate actually increased as people got older. Jay-Cee could understand why. As time went by, the memories of what you had done got stronger and the justifications for what you’d had to do grew weaker.

  Chris stared at him, those big blue eyes watery with unshed tears. Jay-Cee could fix this. He took the mug out of Chris’s hands put it on the table. “I think Benny has a lot of people who love him and will help him. I’ll help him, too. As soon as he comes to me.”

  “Troy has a dog,” Chris said. “A yellow lab. I think she’s his service dog; she wears one of those vests.”

  “That’s great. I’ve heard those dogs can make a huge difference.”

  “Do you think Benny should get one?”

  “I can’t answer that, Chris. There’s a lot of ways Benny can get some help. For the brain injury, for the nightmares and the stress, probably even for the other than honorable discharge I think he received.” Jay-Cee said. “Right now, I’m concerned about you. I’m glad you came to me.”

 
; “Yeah?” Chris’s voice was flat. “It was okay? I couldn’t think of anybody else to call or anybody else to talk to about this stuff.” He shivered and pulled his legs up onto the couch, wrapping his arms around them.

  Jay-Cee knew adrenaline letdown when he saw it. “Stay here,” he ordered.

  He walked behind the screen separating his bedroom from the open space, and came back with a soft blanket and wrapped it around Chris. Hesitating for a second, he wrapped his arm around Chris and pulled him tightly against his side.

  Chris sighed and laid his head against Jay-Cee’s shoulder. “God, I’m so wiped out.”

  Jay-Cee wanted to take Chris to bed and hold him, to take him to past the point of thought. Behind his eyes, Jay-Cee could see vague echoes of the pain he knew he’d seen in other men. Luckily, it was only borrowed pain, the shared pain of a friend and tragedies he would never directly experience.

  Jay-Cee was proud of his service, proud of the men he had worked with, but he was glad that Chris had never had to deal with the kill or be killed situation firsthand.

  Chris turned his head into Jay-Cee’s neck. “Can I stay here tonight?” he asked softly.

  Jay-Cee’s arm tightened around Chris. A large part of him wanted that as much as Chris did. But this wasn’t about him. What did Chris need at this moment? He and Chris needed to talk about a lot of things, lay down some ground rules, before they went further down this path it seemed they had been on. But now wasn’t the time for a conversation on boundaries and negotiation.

  Chris needed some time alone to process, but also some direction, something to hold onto to keep him safe from the wild imaginings of his mind. Jay-Cee could provide that without crossing any self-imposed boundaries.

  Chris tensed under his arm and started to pull away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.”

  “No, it’s fine. But I don’t think staying over would be the best thing for you,” Jay-Cee said.

  “I need you,” Chris pleaded. “I feel like I’m falling apart and I can’t fix it.”

  “Is this all because of Benny?”