Perfect Love

by Trina Lane

  The building only had four units, and the owners had done a good job of restoring the interior. He liked his place because it had a very homey feel for the apartment price. High ceilings helped his and Logan’s tall bodies not feel closed in. Hardwood floors meant no vacuum required, and there was only one bathroom to keep clean. His last boyfriend had gushed over the crown mouldings, coffered ceilings and raised panel wainscoting. He had no idea what that all meant, but the place was home and he liked it.

  When Clay opened the door, Logan stepped inside, and it was as if he body simply couldn’t hold itself up any longer. The mental and physical strength that had held him upright following the flashback deserted him. Clay saw the sag and wrapped his arm around Logan’s waist from behind. He led him into the second bedroom Logan had been using. Clay turned Logan to face him, placing his hands on Logan’s broad shoulders.

  “You look like you need a rest. I’ll get your meds.”

  He made sure that Logan started to undress and pulled back the covers of the bed before leaving the room.

  In the bathroom, Clay looked in the cabinet for Logan’s medication. The small compartment was filled with brown prescription bottles all in Logan’s name. There were drugs for depression, drugs for anxiety, drugs to make him sleep, drugs to keep him awake.

  Clay could probably make mint on the street with the inventory in his bathroom. He knew Logan hated the meds but was dependant on them to function. Clay loathed enabling the dependency, but he knew they helped Logan calm down and rest easier.

  He carried the pills Logan had labelled his ‘oh shit I need something now’ drugs into the bedroom with a glass of water and found Logan lying on his side with his back to the door. Clay walked to the other side of the bed and saw that Logan’s eyes were wide open. He handed him the medicine then turned to leave the room but stopped when a barely perceptible voice from the bed called out.

  “Stay?”

  Clay turned and saw that Logan watched him, the look in his eyes beseeching. For what, he didn’t know. Help? Comfort? Whatever it was, there was no ignoring the plea. Clay lay atop of the covers facing Logan. Soft black hair, slowly growing out from the military buzz cut Logan had come home with, begged for Clay’s fingers to run through it. Clay resisted the temptation and focused on the blue eyes silently watching him.

  “You wanna talk about it?”

  Logan shook his head.

  “Okay. For now, I want you to sleep. We’ll talk later, and we will talk, Logan. It’s time to stop the ghosting around and avoidance shit. I think what happened today makes that obvious.”

  Logan’s blue eyes turned sad again, and it nearly broke Clay’s heart to see how much pain the man he loved but could never have was in. At the moment those eyes closed and Logan’s breathing evened out, Clay vowed he would do whatever it took to break through Logan’s shell. Clay always heard you had to hit bottom before you could bounce back. Hopefully, today was the end of Logan’s downfall.

  He slowly scooted to the edge of the bed and stood. Going to the other side he adjusted the sheet and light blanket covering Logan’s bare back. His fingers burned as they skimmed across the smooth supple skin. The fires of hell be damned, he couldn’t resist placing a soft kiss on Logan’s shoulder before escaping the room.

  Chapter Two

  Logan rolled over and blinked several times trying to get his eyes focused. Even after three months, it was still disorientating to wake up in a world of near silence. There were no sounds of chirping birds or the air conditioner humming. He could no longer detect the splash of running water or hear a TV playing. The first weeks after his discharge had been the hardest. Every time he’d woken, he’d tensed every muscle of his body until he made sure his immediate area was secure, using every other sense available.

  The aspect that struck him as most odd, however, was that he could no longer perceive his own voice. In the hospital, he’d practiced, often for hours, but all he’d noticed were the vibrations in his throat that told him he was vocalising. He’d watched his lips in a mirror as he’d spoken, trying to find some connection between the vibrations and the letters he saw forming with his mouth.

  The day Clayton had picked him up at Fort Benning, he’d been terrified Clay would look at Logan as if he were speaking in tongues. He’d rehearsed what he was going to tell Clay countless times, then when the time came, it was all he could do to finish the few brief sentences.

  Logan knew Clay had concluded that Logan was avoiding him, and maybe, he was. But not for the same reason he suspected Clay thought.

  It was unnerving being unable to communicate the way he’d been doing his entire life. He didn’t want Clay to feel obligated to compensate for his problem. What were they supposed to do? Pass notes back and forth all day as if they were back in high school? The injury had taken not only his ability to hear the sounds, but also his brain’s ability to process the words. The problem wasn’t his brain. It was his inner ear. The fractures to his cochlea prevented the mechanics of his hearing to transmit the sounds to his auditory nerve. Even if someone yelled at him loud enough, all he heard was a garbled mess.

  Clay wanted to talk, too. To talk about what had happened that morning. What the fuck had happened that morning? He’d been doing better over the last couple of weeks. Enough that he thought a trip to Chinatown was within his ability. He’d been craving some pineapple buns and egg custard tarts. One minute, he’d been standing in line, ready to gesture his order to the Chinese speaking owners, and the next, he was back outside fucking Kunduz watching Adams’ head explode. Oh God, Adams. He missed that bastard so Goddamn much. Nobody in their unit had ever suspected but he and Adams had been lovers for several months. They weren’t each other’s soul mates, but they’d been the very best of friends. He’d turned his back for only a few seconds, but that was all it had taken for the insurgent sniper to take out his lover and teammate. It was Logan’s fault ultimately. They watched each other’s back, always. And when his was turned, Adams had paid the ultimate price.

  And Clay wanted him to talk about it? Logan didn’t have to talk to remember what had happen, to know he’d fucked up. He relived it every night in his dreams…

  The dirt was loose beneath his boots, dusty brown and arid. The mountains in the distance were hazy as the sun beat down. Something about the situation caught his awareness. He lifted his weapon at the ready, scanning the surrounding area. He heard Adams ask him what was wrong. Something at the crest of hill approximately three hundred metres from their position caught his eye. The air was heavy with silence. Then all hell broke loose.

  He turned to see Adams take the bullet to his head, seconds before he heard the report of the shot. He remembered screaming and running towards the fallen soldier, even though logic told him nothing could be done. Several other members from their unit took firing positions, but they couldn’t see where the shot had originated. Orders came through to fall back. He grabbed the back of Adams’ vest and started to drag him towards the APC. The rest of the guys were yelling at him to move his ass as gunfire erupted all around their position. He was only fifteen feet away from cover when a rocket came screaming through the air, and the vehicle exploded. Next thing he knew, he was laying in a bed in the hospital on Bagram Air Base with a busted head and broken ears.

  Logan thought back to earlier when his shields had been at their weakest and he’d asked Clay to stay with him. For a moment, he thought his request would be refused, and he only had himself to blame for the heartrending pain the seconds of indecision caused. He hadn’t handled Clay’s coming out well. It was ironic in a way. One of the reasons he’d run from Clay was because he had some serious issues with his past, and the reason he’d returned to Clay was because his lover had been killed, with Logan getting injured in the process.

  At first he’d been hurt that Clay, the man with whom he’d shared everything, including why he got pumped into the system in the first place, hadn’t told him when he’d first suspected he might be
gay. However, what really sent his world into a tailspin was when Clay had said one sentence. I love you Logan, but that’s something we could never have. How had Clay known Logan had often fantasised about the two of them really sharing everything? How had Clay known that, despite his fears, Logan couldn’t prevent the youthful desires coursing through his body? Had he been so obvious? Had every little touch over the years given him away?

  It was one thing for the average man to acknowledge he desired other men, but it was a whole other ballgame for a survivor of paternal incest to move beyond his nightmares and admit he might actually want another man to hold him at night.

  Logan had spent their freshman and sophomore years at B.U. attempting to analyse the duality of his feelings, trying to separate his brotherly love for Clay from the lust that often assailed his system. He’d denigrated himself for craving the very acts that consumed his nightmares. He had done everything in his power not to give Clay even a hint of his conflicted feelings, and when Clay had dropped that little bomb, all he could think about was running away. A string of individually innocuous words had pulverised his entire being. So he’d taken his exams early, moved out of their apartment and joined the Rangers. All he could think about was getting as far away as fast as possible.

  The last time he’d seen Clay had been at Mr. Shelby’s funeral service. The two of them had hardly spoken, but he’d spent the entire day covertly watching Clay from behind his sunglasses. Then claimed he had to be back on base that same night.

  Logan knew Clay had every right to hate him, but every time he looked into those grey eyes, all he saw was love. Brotherly love, sympathetic love and when Clay didn’t know he was watching, Logan had even detected a brief glimpse of what he’d anticipated passionate love to look like. However, that was most likely his fanciful imagination. He’d had a handful of lovers since fleeing Boston sixteen years ago, but not one of them had ever usurped Clay’s position in his heart.

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched, wincing as he felt his shoulder crack. He searched the floor for the cargo shorts he’d had on earlier and swiped them up off the hardwood floor. As he straightened the world began to spin violently, and before he knew it he was kissing the floor.

  Vibrations on the floorboards alerted him that Clay was on his way, and he saw big bare feet slide to a halt in front of his face. Clay’s hand cupped his cheek, lifting his revolving gaze up. Since Logan couldn’t focus, he couldn’t read Clay’s lips. He disjointedly raised his arm and kinda slapped his hand across Clay’s mouth to keep him from speaking for a moment.

  Using the night stand as a focal point, he fixated on the lamp and slowly the vertigo ceased. When the room stopped its circus act, he looked up at Clay and saw the shock and concern on his face. He patted Clay’s cheek then scooted up so he was sitting on the floor but leaning against the bed frame and mattress. He realised he was only wearing a pair of briefs and balled the shorts, which he’d somehow managed to hold onto, in his lap.

  “I’m okay,” he said, slowly.

  Logan watched Clay’s lips and translated their movements.

  “What happened?”

  “Vertigo. Left over from the head injury. Only happens sometimes.”

  Clay took Logan’s face between his hands. “You scared the living crap out of me. Don’t do that again.”

  Logan smiled. “Sure.”

  They got themselves up off the floor, and Logan pulled on his shorts. He walked into the kitchen and got a glass of water. He drank, relishing the feel of a cool drip as it splashed on his bare chest.

  When he opened his eyes, Clay’s gaze was trained as sharply as any sniper on the bead as it slid down his chest, and Logan hissed as it crossed his nipple making it harden. He watched Clay swallow convulsively then turn his back and head for the sofa in the living area.

  Logan set his glass back in the sink and, with a resigned sigh, walked into the living room. Clay sat on the sofa with a basket of partially folded laundry. The T-shirt in his hands, one of Logan’s, was currently being twisted into a tightly coiled rope. He sank into the deep sofa. The leather cool on his back.

  Clay tossed the shirt at him, and he slowly put it on, stretching his torso and sliding the fabric down his stomach with far more languidness than necessary. He tightened his stomach and saw Clay’s fingers turn white with tension out of the corner of his eye.

  Interesting.

  It appeared that Clay wanted to either fuck him or kill him. Logan was voting for the first option. However, Clay’s apparent attraction was confusing. What had happened to ‘that which they could never have’?

  Logan looked over at Clay whose expression was now a mask of casualness then picked up the notepad they used for complicated conversations. He turned sideways on the sofa so he could watch Clayton, trying to make himself comfortable.

  “Do you need to see your doctor?” Clay asked.

  Logan shook his head. Clay’s eyebrow arched, and Logan got the gist that more information was demanded. His head dropped, and he let out a deep breath. A warm hand landed on his knee, and he looked up to see Clay’s grey eyes filled with compassion.

  “It’s okay Logan. Take your time.”

  He squared his shoulders and looked Clay dead in the eyes, then scribbled on the notepad. The vertigo is caused by damage to the inner ear, the part that controls your balance. My doctor said this would happen for awhile. Only time and therapy will help. I’ve had the therapy.

  Clay read Logan’s note and nodded. He picked up his own pad and wrote. Is that what caused your hearing loss, too?

  Logan shook his head. The fractures of my cochlea did that. Same area different structure.

  Clay made sure he had Logan’s attention before speaking, “Have you heard from the VA about the implants?”

  Once again, Logan shook his head. “All they saying is ‘case pending’.”

  “It’s been three months!” Clay stood and paced back and forth along the couch. “I can’t believe the system feels they have the right to deny a veteran what he needs after the injury was a direct result of his deployment. I mean, it’s one thing to file a claim years after service for something that might have been caused by military service, but for fuck’s sake you had normal hearing one day, boom goes explosion, bang goes your head, and viola! no hearing the next,” Clay shouted.

  Logan didn’t comprehend most of what Clay had said, but he thought there might have been something about three months in the beginning. He looked at Clay with what he was sure was an incredulous face. Does he really think I don’t know how long it’s been since my life was turned inside out?

  Clay held up a hand. He picked up his notepad once again. I’m sorry. I know you didn’t catch any of that. That was stupid of me. So what happened this morning? I mean, obviously, you had a flashback, but do you know what triggered it?

  Logan once again shook his head.

  “Have you had flashbacks before?”

  He couldn’t maintain eye contact as shame coursed through his body. He was a thirty-six year old man. An Army Ranger. One of the baddest of the bad. Supposedly able to chew nails and kill with a single glance. How could he possibly confess to an untold amount of lost time or instances when he travelled back to relive moments spent with his platoon—the gruelling days in Ranger school, the nights drinking beer and playing cards, the first time he’d known he was directly responsible for another man’s death, or most often, that afternoon when the demons of hell were unleashed. How could he possibly confess to being so weak, he frequently woke with tears tracking down his face?

  Clay’s fingers locked with his, and Logan closed his eyes, letting the simple touch ground him in the present. The fingers squeezed, and Logan once again met Clay’s gaze.

  “I know about the nightmares. I hear you at night. Sometimes, you scream just before you wake up.”

  “It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re not fine, Logan! This morning something caused a flash
back that made you freeze and curl into a little ball in the middle of a Chinatown bakery for close to twenty minutes. You never sleep, and when you do, your screams bleed through my walls. You hardly eat. You’ve probably lost twenty pounds in the two months since you came to live with me. You don’t talk to me anymore. I can barely get more than one word responses out of you. You avoid me like the plague. I want to help you, but every time I try, you turn your back. Do you despise me so much that you’d rather live in pain than accept my help? Why Logan? We were the centre of each other’s worlds for ten years, and now you can’t even stand to be in the same room as me. Why?”

  Logan saw the pain on Clay’s face and nearly broke down. He only understood about half of the rant because Clay was speaking too quickly, but the gist was clear. Clay was hurt. Clay thought Logan hated him. The bond they’d always shared was stretched so thin the final thread was about to snap. And once again, it was all his fault.

  His breath locked in his lungs, and his eyes watered. They were not tears, they weren’t. He did the only thing his fractured mind could think of. Launching across the sofa, he gathered Clay in his arms, holding him tight. Clay sat frozen in his arms for endless seconds before long arms snaked around Logan’s waist and squeezed his ribs to the point of near pain.

  Clay’s body shook as Logan held him. Was Clay breaking apart the same as Logan? Had the stress cracks finally shattered, and Logan’s rock disintegrated? He relished the feel of Clay in his arms. Not in the lustful ways of his fantasies, but it was as if by holding each other the strands of their bond once again wove together. Gradually, Clay’s trembles eased, and Logan’s lungs freed. He sat back but maintained contact by grasping Clay’s face between his hands. He stared into Clay’s grey eyes, one of the few features that distinguished them from one another. During their teenage years together, many people had mistaken them for twins, they looked so similar. He and Clay had gotten a kick out of the misconception and often didn’t bother to correct the error. They were brothers of the heart, regardless of their DNA.