by L. A. Witt
“So what happened? He sheer off his landing gear or something?”
“And a good chunk of the bird with it, yeah. Worst part was they had to eject right before the jet went off the edge of the deck into the water. Had to send search and rescue in after them.”
“In bad seas?”
I nodded. “One of the SAR swimmers got hurt, but by some miracle, they got my buddy and his RIO out.”
“Were they all right?”
“Sort of. Both were unconscious, and it was a good forty-eight hours before anyone knew for sure if they’d make it. Travis has some nasty chronic back problems now, but he got lucky as hell.” I grimaced. “His RIO wound up paralyzed—he broke his back in the crash, and they jostled his spinal cord pulling him out of the water.”
Sean blinked. “Oh my God.”
“He survived, though. After a crash like that, having both of them make it out alive was a miracle enough.”
“No kidding.”
I chuckled. “Though, if you knew Travis, you wouldn’t be surprised he got out. He’s a stubborn motherfucker.”
Sean’s eyebrow rose. “Birds of a feather?”
“Something like that, yeah.” I tilted my head to one side, then the other, stretching the muscles that were slowly relaxing. “Pilots are all crazy. That’s why we all get along.”
He laughed. “Is that why we get along?”
I laughed too, glad he couldn’t see the way my stomach somersaulted. “Well, we do more than fly together, so . . .”
“That’s true.” He came closer and put his hands on my waist. “I kind of like our brand of crazy, though.”
My heart fluttered. God, that playful gleam in his eyes—if my neck didn’t hurt to the point of distraction . . .
“Too bad we can’t have any more of that tonight.” I grimaced apologetically and touched the towel-wrapped ice. “Sorry.”
“Sorry?” Sean grinned. He kissed me softly, and when our eyes met again, his smile was gentle. “I’m not going to suggest we go another round when you’re hurting enough to put a wet towel on your skin.” He squeezed my arm. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not going to be walking straight tomorrow anyway.”
“You’re welcome.” I winked, relieved beyond words that he seemed genuinely okay with no more fooling around tonight. “We, um . . .” I glanced at the ancient clock radio on the bedside table and cleared my throat. “We probably should get some sleep.”
His brow creased. “You might want to ice that a little longer.”
“I know, but—”
“I’m sure we can find a movie or something to watch.” He nodded toward the TV. “There’s got to be some stupid late-night programming or something.”
I stared at him. “You . . . Don’t you have class tomorrow?”
“At noon, yeah.”
“But you—”
He kissed me again. “Relax. We can watch something until we start to fall asleep. By then, hopefully your neck won’t hurt so much.”
“Oh. I . . . Yeah. That sounds good. I think the remote is by the TV.”
While I got comfortable—sort of—on the bed, Sean scrolled through the channels until we found some old good cop/bad cop movie from like the 1970s. Once I was situated, he sat beside me, and we both leaned against the headboard while I continued icing my neck.
Of all the outcomes I’d pictured if I woke him up while getting myself some pain relief, this hadn’t even occurred to me. Even though I knew damn well Sean wasn’t a jackass, past experience had me expecting opportunistic attempts at sex. Or a grumbled “turn off the fucking light.” Or bitching about how little sleep he’d gotten because of me.
I shouldn’t have been surprised when none of those things happened. Sean wasn’t like that. As soon as he’d realized why I was awake, he’d gone out and found some ice, and now he was perfectly content to watch a stupid movie until I was comfortable enough to go to sleep. He took everything in stride. He was so easygoing and chill. About this. About everything.
And as we sat there and watched the ridiculous movie, all I could think was . . .
Where the hell have you been all my life?
Leaning back in my office chair, I stared up at the ceiling. Wasn’t like I was getting anything done except wondering what was going on with Sean. There was a pile of paperwork on my desk, and several dozen unanswered emails in my inbox, but today . . . wasn’t happening. The major crises had been handled, of course, but the more tedious shit would have to wait until coffee or a run or something shook me out of this space-cadet mode.
The day had started in the best way any day could—with lazy, sleepy sex. He’d had to take off shortly after so he could finish a paper before class, but I’d been in an amazing mood ever since. Now if I could combine that mood with the ability to concentrate, I’d be in good shape.
Instead, I’d been thinking about him all day. This wasn’t a rare occurrence, either. The more time I spent with Sean in bed, the more space he took up in my brain.
But was I deluding myself? After all, Sean was half my age, give or take a year. Sure, he was always enthusiastic in the bedroom, and he’d never once balked when he’d seen my this-is-what-over-the-hill-looks-like body. But at the end of the day, I couldn’t imagine anything could really be happening here beyond sex and a little afterglow banter.
Except it sure as fuck felt that way. More so every time I saw him.
What are you getting yourself into this time, Richards?
Someone knocked at my door, startling me back into reality.
“It’s open.”
Travis leaned into my office. “Hey, you busy?”
“Not really. Come on in.”
He stepped in and toed the door shut behind him. As he crossed my office, his limp was slightly more pronounced than usual. I wasn’t surprised—he’d been out on the flight line all day yesterday overseeing a quality-control inspection. Technically that wasn’t his job, but after the disastrous inspection last year, he wasn’t taking any chances. Unfortunately, that meant being on his feet longer than he probably should have.
I rubbed some stiffness out of my neck. “How’s your back?”
He grimaced and offered a tight shrug. “Stubbornness and Motrin, man. Stubbornness and Motrin.”
“You’d probably feel a bit better if you didn’t push yourself quite so hard.”
“Uh-huh. And after relaxing this weekend, I’ll be fine, and neither of us will be explaining to Admiral Cruz why we failed the inspection.”
“Okay, fair. But don’t be a martyr for a damn inspection.” I smirked. “Because no, I am not putting you in for a Purple Heart because you were on your feet too long.”
He flipped me the bird, and we both chuckled.
Travis sat back, slouching in the chair and leaning on his elbow—the very picture of military bearing. He was probably also trying to hide the fact that his back hurt. I did the same thing—better to adopt a slightly sloppy posture than let anyone catch on that it hurt to breathe. Dumb flyboys and their dumb pride, as my first wife would’ve joked.
I rolled some stiffness out of my shoulders. This time, it was less from my injury and more from being on my hands and knees for a while last night. My hips had a similar ache, and I was pretty sure there was a bruise right under where my wallet sat in my front pocket. Couldn’t really complain about that, though.
Suppressing a grin, I said, “So, you come in here to shoot the shit, or you got something work-related to discuss?”
“On a weekend?” He snorted. “Please.”
“Eh. Yeah. Good point. Why are you even at work, then?”
He waved a hand in the general direction of his office. “Needed to get caught up on some emails, and there’s a big stack of chits on my desk that I don’t want to see on Monday.”
“Same here.” I nodded toward my inbox, which had magically accumulated about five hundred chits after I swore it was empty yesterday afternoon. “But what brings you into my office?”
<
br /> “Taking a state-mandated break, obviously.”
We both burst out laughing. State-mandated breaks. In the military. Right.
“Actually, as long as we’re both being unproductive, I’m curious about something,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. What’s going on with you lately?” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been on another planet recently.”
“Nothing. I’m—”
“With all due respect, Captain”—he winked—“I’m gonna have to call bullshit.”
I avoided his eyes.
“I knew it.” He tapped his knuckle on the edge of my desk. “Come on—out with it.”
There was no point in trying to get anything past him. The CIA, the Spanish Inquisition, and my second wife had nothing on Travis Wilson’s ability to drag information out of me.
So I took a breath. “I’ve, uh, been seeing someone.”
“Okay. Tell me something I don’t know. I know when you’re getting laid and when you’re not. I asked what’s going on with you.”
“Okay, well.” I cleared my throat. “Remember when I said I already had somebody to take my mind off Jayson? It’s still that same guy. We kind of jumped into things. Like, it was maybe an hour between walking out of Jayson’s room and hooking up with this guy, and somehow we keep hooking up.”
“Wow.” Travis’s eyes widened. “An hour? That’s impressive.”
I chuckled. “It sure changed the tone of that evening, I’ll tell you that.”
“I believe it. Where the hell’d you meet him? Because I’ve been down to those clubs in Flatstick, but haven’t had any luck recently.”
“I kind of stumbled across him.”
“Lucky bastard,” he muttered. “Maybe I need to get back on Grindr or something. There wasn’t a lot of selection a year ago.”
“Worth a shot, right?”
“Says the man who doesn’t have to troll the internet for cock at the moment.” He studied me. “So what’s the problem, then? You wiped out from all the sex with Dickus Maximus, or is there something else going on?”
“Well . . .”
His eyebrow arched.
“The thing is . . .” I tapped my fingers on the armrest. “Okay. I’ve got a question for you.”
“Sure. Shoot.”
“What do you think about dating people with huge age gaps?”
Travis shrugged. “Guess it depends on how much of an age gap we’re talking about.”
“Well . . .” I hesitated. “I mean, what if Kimber brought home a guy like me?”
He laughed. “If she brought home a guy like you, I’d get her head checked, but not because of your age.”
“Fuck you.” I rolled my eyes. “Seriously, though—it wouldn’t bother you?”
“Well.” His eyes lost focus for a moment. “I guess it would depend on the guy. I mean, I’m honestly surprised whenever Kimber doesn’t date someone older than her.”
“Why’s that?”
“You know her. She’s always been a few years ahead of her peers when it comes to maturity. If she started seeing someone older, I’m going to say something if he’s a complete creep, but if he seems like a decent guy, I’ll trust her judgment.”
“Even if he’s, say, twice her age?”
Travis’s eyebrows rose. “Don’t tell me you’ve got an eighty-year-old oil tycoon on the hook or something.”
I burst out laughing. “No, no. I’m the older guy.”
“Really? You snagged yourself a twentysomething? Nicely done, shipmate.”
“Yeah, well. I keep wondering if I’m being an idiot, or if I . . . I don’t know. He’s in his twenties. Like, early twenties. I’m forty-two. Is that . . . weird?”
“Well, I mean . . .” He paused. “Look, you’ve been in the Navy since Jesus was an ensign. This kid doesn’t remember presidents you voted for. But if you’ve still got enough common ground to even think about dating, then . . . well, who’s to say it can’t work? It depends on the people.”
I kept my gaze down. Truth was, the only common ground I knew I had with Sean was in the bedroom. We hadn’t gone much farther than that. And if we did, we’d probably find out that the twenty-some-odd years between us were a bigger problem than I wanted to think about right now.
“Obviously you’ve got something in common with him,” Travis went on. “Somehow I don’t think it’s just that you’re having a good time with him in bed and the novelty hasn’t worn off.”
I laughed, heat rushing into my cheeks. “No, it definitely hasn’t worn off.” I glanced past him, as if I might see anyone who’d stealthily materialized in the hall outside my office. Irrational paranoia. “But we do seem to have a lot to talk about. He’s young, but I . . . I mean, I kind of forget he is, if that makes sense.”
“It does.” Travis absently thumbed his jaw. “Are you worried he’s a gold digger or something?”
I mulled that over, then shook my head. “He doesn’t seem like the type, no. For one thing, he always insists on paying his own way whenever we order out or something.”
“Definitely not a gold digger, then.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Hmm. Well.” He shrugged again. “Like I said, if Kimber started seeing someone older, I’d guess it was because she found someone who can keep her interest. People her own age aren’t very good at that. So, maybe this kid likes you because you hit some notes that other guys in their twenties don’t.”
“That makes sense. He doesn’t really seem like guys his own age.”
“So maybe he doesn’t like guys his own age.”
“Fair point. But I guess . . .”
“What are you worried about? If you click with him, go with it.”
“Doesn’t really seem that simple.”
“Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?” Travis inclined his head. “You have some horrible breakup? Same thing that’s happened with people your own age?”
“I don’t know.” I sighed. “I think I’m just worried he’ll realize he can do better.”
“So what if he does?”
I blinked. “What?”
“Look, you’ve got two choices. You can either date him and see what happens, or you can dump him preemptively because he might hypothetically decide he’s too good for you. One of those guarantees things fall apart. The other . . . well, there’s a possibility things don’t.”
“You really think something like this could work out in the long run?”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and exhaled. “I want to be realistic and not get my hopes up, but I do want to see where this goes. There’s something about him that’s . . .” I dropped my hand. “He’s something else.”
I expected a typically snide response, but he just watched me silently for a moment before he spoke.
“Paul, thanks to the Navy, we’ve both learned more than most civilians ever will that life is short and it can change on a dime. Shit, look at us—I can barely walk most of the time, and you’re fucked up too.”
I nodded, the tension in the back of my neck underscoring his point.
He went on. “Maybe ten years ago, I’d have told you something like this was a bad idea that would probably blow up in your face. But now, I mean, trust your gut. If you’ve got a good thing going, and the only thing stopping you is his age, go for it.” Travis held my gaze with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “Even if it does blow up in your face, it’s better than looking back and wondering what might have been.”
I swallowed. From anyone else, that would’ve sounded like something off a stupid inspirational poster. From Travis, it resonated. In all the years I’d known him, he’d only pursued one man for something more than sex, but he’d held back. He’d been afraid of rejection, of damaging both their careers because of DADT, of losing his daughter, and he’d let the guy slip through his fingers. By the time he’d realized what
he’d lost, it was too late to go back—I could only imagine how much that regret weighed on him to this day, because I was still haunted by the pain in Travis’s eyes when he’d watched them lower the casket.
Clearing my throat, I fidgeted in my chair. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.” I paused. “I’m not even sure this will go anywhere. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself.”
“Maybe. But don’t kill it if you think something could come of it. If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. If it does . . .” He smiled. “Then obviously it does.”
I released a breath. “You make a good point.”
His smile inched toward a grin. “And somehow you’re still surprised whenever that happens.”
“Hey, considering the source . . .”
He rolled his eyes and gave me the finger. “On that note, some of us have work to do.” Gingerly, he pushed himself up out of his chair. “So I’ll go play Solitaire while you do your work.”
“I assume Solitaire is a euphemism for Grindr?”
“Shut up.”
He left my office, and I was once again leaning back in my chair and staring upward.
Well, Paul. Now what?
It was way too soon to have half a clue about where this thing with Sean could go. Even Jayson and I had still liked each other this early in our relationship. A few months down the line might see me and Sean cruising along happily or fighting at every opportunity. But after talking to Travis, I felt a lot better about taking a chance.
I had no idea where things were headed, but I was sure as hell going to stick around to find out.
On Saturday, there was a big festival out on the pier, which meant every driver in town was on duty. Fine by me—lots of rides meant lots of money. And since I could get on base, that meant I was taking sober Sailors to the festival and drunk Sailors home. The drunk ones sometimes forgot to tip, but most of them were entertaining, and so far no one had puked in my car.
The best part? Every time I stopped, I had a new text.
