by L. A. Witt
I could take the boot off too. I was seriously tempted to drive home after this and grab a nap just so I could remember what it felt like to sleep without a limb encased in something hard and uncomfortable. But I still had to go to work today, so that would have to wait.
About twenty minutes later, the doctor came in with my X-rays and put them up on the lightbox. Yep, that was definitely my leg. I’d had so many X-rays of this stupid limb, it was a miracle I didn’t glow in the goddamned dark, and I’d recognize that mess of pins and screws from a mile away.
“It’s healing up nicely,” Dr. Hall said with a sharp nod. “I don’t think you’ll need that surgery after all.”
I exhaled. After so many setbacks, those were words I’d been dying to hear. No more surgery? Shit, yeah. “So how long before I can walk on it? Without . . .” I knocked on the plastic boot.
He frowned at my leg, then the X-rays, then my leg again. “Let’s give it another three or four weeks of physical therapy before we start pushing it too hard. Your knee is going to need to adapt to being mobile again, not to mention weight-bearing. Even with the boot, I’d recommend using the crutches if you need to be on your feet for any length of time.”
“So, like when I’m teaching?”
The doc nodded. “As it is, you’re going to be hurting for a while. Your body isn’t used to walking normally, and you’re going to have some pain in a lot of joints and muscles, including some you don’t expect. And if you’re in pain, rest when you can and use the crutches when you need them. Don’t try to knuckle through this, GM2. I’m not kidding.”
“I know.” He didn’t need to remind me that my stubbornness was the reason he’d had to do the last surgery, put me in a taller cast, and float the idea of operating yet again.
“You special forces guys are all the same,” he’d sort of joked. “Think pushing through pain will work on a broken goddamned bone.”
It still stung. Not because I’d felt like an idiot for fucking up my not-quite-healed leg, but the special forces part. That ship had sailed on without me.
After my appointment, I carefully walked out to the waiting room, carrying my crutches and marveling at the feeling of walking.
The novelty didn’t last long, though. The hike from the clinic to the parking lot was a long one, and by the time I reached my car, I understood what the doc meant about my body hurting. Everything ached. It didn’t feel like anything where the bones were healing; just muscles that hadn’t had to do anything for too long. Both hips weren’t sure what they thought about walking for real. My lower back seemed tight. My newly liberated knee was screaming. The fact that my left foot sat up slightly higher than my right probably didn’t help—it was like the walking equivalent of driving with a bent frame, except cars didn’t actually feel pain.
Still, I was walking. For real. I hadn’t done that since the oh shit! moment when loose, wet sand had slurped my boot down and the momentum of running with a heavy pack had carried me forward until that horrifying snap.
My throat tightened at the memory, and I caught myself getting emotional about having my feet under me again. Maybe I’d never run like that again. Maybe I’d never be a SEAL. But I could walk. That would make my life a whole lot easier. Especially when I went home. When I’d moved to Anchor Point, the town hadn’t quite caught up to the housing demand that had started when the new ships and squadron had moved to the base. Rent was sky-high, and next to nothing was available. The only thing more busted than my leg had been my wallet, so I’d had to pass on the one ground-level apartment I’d found and settle on a second-floor place for half the price. Some days I’d wondered if it was worth it.
At least now I’d be able to take the steps sort of normally instead of hobbling up on crutches. That had been an epic pain in the ass. This would be so much easier.
Or so I thought. I went home to change into my uniform before going to work, and the stairs were . . . challenging. The walking cast felt weird, especially the curved sole, and I was never quite sure if my foot was really going to stay under me. It was supposed to make it easier to take a natural rolling step, which it did, but it felt precarious on stairs. So I just held on to the railing for dear life and took my sweet time. At least the office had an elevator. I wasn’t walking up to the third goddamned floor every day.
But at least, I reminded myself for the billionth time, I could walk.
I came into the office around 1000, and Sarah’s eyes lit up.
“Oh hey!” She grinned. “Look at you!”
I smiled as I leaned my crutches against the corner of my cubicle. “It’s a miracle—I can walk!”
Diego poked his head out of his cube, and he grinned too. “Finally!”
“Yeah, tell me about it.” I glanced at the empty cube beside mine. “Where’s the new guy?”
Sarah gestured down the hall with her chin. “Had to go fix some fuckery down at personnel. Paperwork or whatever. He’ll be back in a bit.”
“Oh. Good.” I was surprised how relieved I was to hear Logan was still with us. For a second, I’d been worried—actually worried—he’d either been swallowed up by another department or decided after one day that he didn’t want this job after all.
And . . . what? That meant I still had time to make my move on him? The thought almost made me laugh out loud, but I schooled my expression before Sarah could catch on. I could already feel my cheeks burning; I really didn’t want to try to explain my way out of this one.
It was almost half an hour before Logan showed up, and when he walked in, I did a double take. He looked like shit. There were heavy circles under his eyes, which might or might not have been why the rest of his face seemed so pale. He moved like his body felt about as limber and fit as mine did.
“Get it all fixed?” Sarah asked.
“Yeah.” He sighed as he dropped into his desk chair. “Someone entered something wrong, so they have to redo half my paperwork.” He held up a folder. “Guess I know what I’m doing this afternoon.”
She sniffed in amusement. “Welcome to life as a DOD contractor. One typo, and suddenly we’re redoing reams of bullshit.”
He grunted softly, but said nothing. As we all got to work and the office fell quiet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been off about him when he’d walked in. It seemed like more than just being irritated about his paperwork too, but hell if I knew what it was. Or if it was my business.
After a while, I got up to photocopy the handouts for my next class. On my way back to my desk, I stole a glance at him.
He was focused on his paperwork, but . . . not. He was still, eyes fixed on something that didn’t seem to actually be there. He might’ve just been spacing out, but he was working his jaw. The muscles were so tense, I was surprised I couldn’t hear his teeth grinding.
“Hey.” I cocked my head. “You all right?”
“Hmm?” He looked up and shook himself. “What?”
“I asked if you were all right.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Logan rubbed his eyes, then dropped his hand to the desk. “I’m good. Just a— Hey, shouldn’t you be leaning on those?” He pointed at my crutches.
“Doc says I can start putting weight on my leg.” I couldn’t help smiling as I took my seat again. “I’ll still use them, but not as much.”
“Oh. That’s good. Means it’s healing up, right?”
I nodded. “About fucking time too.”
“How much longer you on light duty?” Sarah asked. I kind of wanted to twitch over the change of subject—I was still concerned about Logan—but something in his expression begged me to go with it. I knew that feeling well enough, so I went with it.
“I’m on light duty till the doc says I’m not.” I shrugged. “Think we should start taking bets?”
“Mmm, no.” She shook her head emphatically. “I’m not placing any money on the line until you start running again.”
“Chickenshit.”
“Just playing it safe.”
Logan chuckled. “Were you on one before?”
I nodded. “I was on a carrier for a while, and spent some time on an amphib.”
“Ah, amphibs.” He sighed, and it sounded almost nostalgic. “God, those were miserable little cans.”
“You were on one?”
“Oh yeah. And I was seasick for-fucking-ever.” He swallowed like the memory was making him queasy, and shuddered. “All the Sailors think it’s hilarious when we come aboard, but I mean, they live on the boat, you know? They’re used to it.”
I snickered. “That’s the price you pay for riding around in our shit. I mean, you do know what ‘Marine’ stands for, right?”
He rolled his eyes. “‘My ass rides in Navy equipment.’”
“Exactly.”
“Uh-huh. I don’t know if that’s better or worse than ‘Uncle Sam’s misguided children.’”
“Could be worse. You could’ve been in the Army.”
“‘Aren’t ready for the Marines yet’?”
“Yep.” I met his gaze, and we both laughed. “But hey, you were ready for the Navy, right?”
He shot me a pointed you’re so not going there look.
I arched an eyebrow. Oh yeah, I’m going there.
“I was a Marine,” he said in a growl that might’ve been intimidating if not for the sparkle in his eyes. “I was not Navy.”
“So you say. But look, man. If I work at a McDonald’s, and Burger King signs my paycheck, who do I really work for?”
Logan laughed, shaking his head. “Hey, just because my paycheck came from the Navy—”
“Means exactly what it sounds like. You were Navy. Admit it.”
“No way, fucker. Semper Fi.”
“Hey. Hey.” I held up my hands. “I’m not saying the Marines aren’t their own thing. They’re just . . . a twig off a branch of the military.”
A pen flew past my head, and I laughed.
“Oh for God’s sake, you two.” Sarah gave a long-suffering sigh. “Just whip them out, measure them, and get it over with.”
I howled. Logan covered his face, and from the way his shoulders were shaking, he was laughing too.
“Come on, boys.” Sarah rattled around in one of her drawers. “I’ve got a ruler right here. We can—”
“Sarah, what did I tell you?” Diego’s warning tone cut her off.
She looked at his cube wall, hand still in the drawer. “About what?”
“About measuring junk in my department.”
“Uh, I—”
Right then, Commander Fraser appeared in the doorway, eyes wide. “Um. Is this a bad time? I can come back.”
Diego stepped out, pulling on his jacket and shaking his head. “Don’t act like you’re surprised by anything in this office.”
Fraser’s eyes flicked toward Logan, and his expression warmed a little. He chuckled, moving aside as Diego joined him in the hall. “Yeah. Nothing surprising going on here.”
With that, they were gone, conversation shifting to something professional as they walked away.
Sarah glanced toward the door before turning her attention to Logan. “You really dated him?”
Logan fidgeted like the question made him uncomfortable, but smiled, even if it was a little forced. “Yeah, for a while.”
“Lucky bastard,” she muttered.
“Uh-huh,” I said.
Logan looked at me, eyebrows up. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a crush on him.”
“I’m a red-blooded gay man.” I waved toward the door. “Have you seen the ass on that man?”
His smile turned to a wicked grin that wasn’t at all forced. “Um, actually yes. Yes, I have.”
I’d totally walked into it, but the answer still caught me off guard, as did the sudden mental image of Logan and Commander Fraser doing things together that I desperately wanted to do to either of them.
Sarah did a piss-poor job of muffling a snicker. Even with both hands over her mouth, she couldn’t contain the laughter.
Logan chuckled.
I shook my head and continued working. I was going to get them both for that.
After an hour, I had to start getting ready for my next class. As I gathered up my binders, handouts, and crutches, I glanced at Logan. He seemed out of sorts again. Still? Like he wasn’t a hundred percent here.
My neck prickled. The thousand-yard stare was unmistakable. I’d seen it a lot since I enlisted. Diego got like that sometimes. So did Commander Fraser and half the staff in here. Basically anyone who’d ever seen combat. Logan had been a Marine at one point, so it was entirely possible he’d been to a war zone or two.
Well, if he really did have some combat PTSD, this was the place to be. Everyone in the building was super conscientious of loud noises like slamming doors, and we had a lot of people who were good at talking someone down from a panic attack or flashback.
I wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want to talk about it, though. Yeah, I was curious, but I didn’t know him well enough to dig into that subject.
And besides, I had a class to teach.
As soon as the click of Casey’s walking cast was gone, I let go of my breath. The air rushed out so fast, I shot a look at Sarah, cringing in case she’d noticed. She was on the phone, though. When the hell had she gotten on the phone? Had I been that distracted by Casey?
Oh yeah. I had been.
Fuck. I’d come into the office today in the same funk that had kept me up half the night, but damn if he hadn’t cut through the heavy wet blanket on my brain. I hadn’t been checking him out like I had yesterday, but after less than a minute of conversation, he’d gotten me to joke. How the . . .?
And now that he was out of the office, I was mentally looking him up and down. My libido was pretty MIA right now—usually was after a night like that—but the thought of his body, his smile, his eyes? Oh yeah, that teased a few nerve endings to life. Not enough to get me hard or make me want to rub one out right here in the office, but enough to make it clear I’d be jerking off to him in the near future.
C’mon, idiot. Focus. On the work. Not the dude.
Okay, focusing on him was a hell of a lot more fun than wallowing in everything that had kept me up all night, but it was still an exercise in frustration. Clint was right that I needed to keep my head in the game. Dating someone in my office was asking for trouble. Hell, fantasizing about him was asking for trouble. That part wasn’t going to go away anytime soon, but—
No. It did need to go away.
I shook myself and focused on my monitor. Diego had given me some very basic record updates to do, and there was no reason I couldn’t yank my attention away from Casey long enough to get them done. Especially if I wanted to keep this job.
Yeah. Definitely needed to stop fantasizing about Casey. It was only my second day in this office and I was already losing it over him, and that did not bode well for keeping this job.
Couldn’t do it. Needed to focus on the job. Not on my coworker.
Not on my hot, witty, incredibly attractive coworker. Or his gorgeous ass, broad shoulders, cute face . . .
Damn it.
I closed my eyes and exhaled. I was so, so screwed.
I really did try to stop ogling Casey. At the very least, I made sure I was subtle. Didn’t need him catching on that I couldn’t keep my eyes to myself. When I caught myself thinking about him at home, especially when I was tempted to jerk off to those thoughts, I’d resort to anything from going for a run to taking a cold shower. At the office, I focused as hard as possible on learning the ropes and figuring out all my coworkers.
That last part actually did help, especially during working hours. Every office had its quirks, and I got used to the ones in the training department pretty quickly. The banter was nonstop and had almost no limits. Sarah teased us about refusing to bring her boyfriend into the office
because she didn’t want “the gay” rubbing off on him. Diego usually retorted something about “you’d like watching and you know it,” and Casey would lament that while Rashad was perfectly nice and good-looking, Casey could not be seen with a man who voluntarily drove a minivan.
Then there was the way my coworkers handed off things like office supplies. Casey was the only one who had an excuse not to get up and walk around, but that didn’t stop Sarah or Diego from using “airmail” to deliver things like pens, candy bars, pads of sticky notes, or even the odd stapler. It was especially dangerous when Diego was “sending” something. His aim was pretty good considering he couldn’t actually see us, but still. Flying office supplies were hazardous. I learned that after picking the wrong moment to walk between Sarah’s and Casey’s cubicles and getting clocked in the temple by a flying dry-erase marker.
The “airmail deliveries” weren’t always in response to someone actually needing an office supply, either. Sometimes they were not-so-subtle messages to stop making a chair squeak or to quit tapping on something. Or just for the hell of it. By the end of my first week, I’d gotten in on it too, and Sarah had nearly choked on her coffee one day after I’d nailed Casey in the back of the head with a BIC pen instead of just throwing it past him. Even he’d laughed. After all, it was his own damn fault for singing along off-key to some ungodly pop song coming from one of the other departments. Oh yeah, I was going to get along great here, coworker fantasies or not.
Everyone was chill, but it was an office, which meant sometimes people got frustrated. If Casey was quiet and not joining in the nonstop banter, nobody pushed. If Diego started muttering to himself in Spanish, that wasn’t a good time to randomly toss a pen at him. If Sarah’s nails started clicking menacingly on her desk, we all stayed quiet, and even Diego wouldn’t swipe more than one candy at a time from the ever-present dish. Everyone was pretty good at reading the room, and nobody was really out to cause tension or piss someone off, so we got along great.
