Zack struggled with his boots, pulling his phone out, sending Pike a fast text. Going wheels up. Will text when I can, but might be days. Don’t worry. Grabbing his gear, he headed to the truck. Fuck. He hated this. Hated knowing that Pike would come out of his shower to the fucking text. Knowing it wasn’t enough. Knowing he was blowing this. Best thing Zack had ever had, and he wasn’t able to save it—
Fucking hell. He tripped on the way to the truck.
Wait. He was a motherfucking navy SEAL. He’d survived BUD/S, survived everything they’d thrown at them. No way was he letting Pike slip away.
He tossed his gear in the truck then double-timed it back to the house, crashing through the hallway, wrenching open the door to the bathroom.
“The fuck?” Pike called from the shower, water still running.
“Call came. We’re headed out of the country. Don’t know when I’ll be back.”
Pike turned the color of the pale shower curtain but nodded curtly. “Thanks for telling me.”
Not caring about water droplets raining down on him, Zack stuck his head in the shower, grabbed Pike for a fierce kiss. “Wait for me?”
He meant more than just while he was gone, and Pike’s serious eyes said he knew what Zack meant. “I’m trying,” Pike said at last.
“Don’t give up on us.” Zack’s voice broke. “Please. I’m going to solve this. I am. Just don’t give up on us.”
“I won’t.” Pike’s eyes were sad, but his voice was firm. “Go. Don’t want you late.”
“I mean it.” Zack gave him one last kiss that tried to say everything he couldn’t say aloud. I think I’m falling in love with you. You mean everything to me. When you look at me, I feel invincible. Don’t give up. Whatever you do, don’t give up. Believe that I can make this right.
Then Pike was pushing him away, and he was racing back to the truck, shaking the water out of his hair as he went. He made it to base just behind Morrison and the senior chief, going through the prep with the rest of the team, then took his seat on the transport plane, still breathing hard.
The lieutenant had announced that they were headed to an island for training exercises, so they had a long flight ahead of them. Several guys fell asleep almost as soon as they took off, lulled off by the drone of the huge engines. But of course not Cobb.
“What’s the deal with your hair, Nelson? Did you seriously stop to shower before heading out?” It was hard to hear over the engines, but somehow Cobb managed.
“Was already in there,” Zack lied. “Made it on time, didn’t I?”
“You’re as bad as my brother,” Harper joined in. “That kid spends more time in front of the mirror. Jeez, he owns more hair products than our sister. Gotta look pretty though, right?”
“That’s so gay.” Cobb snorted. “Not gonna catch me with any of that girlie shit.”
“Hey, guys, maybe you could can it with the gay jokes,” Morrison called. He was talking to Cobb, but his eyes were on Zack. “Really. It’s getting old.”
The senior chief stretched, contemplating all of them through narrowed eyes. “I agree. I’m tired of this crap. It’s a new navy now, and you never know who’s on your team. Word is we might even get some female recruits in the next year or so.”
“Fuck, I’d take a girl over a—”
“I wouldn’t care. About either.” Morrison tossed a flaming shit pile right in the middle of everything, eyes still the fuck on Zack. Hell, he might as well just hand him a congratulations card.
“You say that now,” Cobb sneered. “But you just wait. What if—”
“I said knock it off.” The senior chief’s voice was the same tone he used on the rifle range or on the grinder. “I’ve had about enough of this shit. From all of you. Get your heads back in the game. This training’s serious. Treat it with the same respect you would a mission. And that’s an order.”
Hell. Morrison hadn’t exactly outed Zack but he’d certainly drawn way more attention than Zack was comfortable with. Even now he could feel curious looks tossed his direction. And Morrison and the senior chief undoubtedly meant well, but one look at Cobb’s thundercloud face and crossed arms told Zack that things were about to get way the hell worse.
Chapter Eighteen
November
“I saw your application for the permanent position in the stack of vitaes that just landed on my desk. Nicely done.” Professor Hu started speaking even as she knocked on the open door to Pike’s office. His door was open because it was technically his office hours, even if he almost never got visited by a student.
“Thanks.” Even with everything happening with Zack, early in the week he’d still gone ahead and put his application in for the full-time job. He did it partly because employment had been hard enough to come by during his last job search. But also it felt like an admission that he and Zack were going nowhere if he didn’t try for the job. Of course that was before Zack had doubled down on denying what they had in public.
Don’t give up on us. Pike was trying his damnedest but it was hard.
“I don’t mind telling you that a number of us are thrilled that you’re considering joining us permanently. And don’t forget, the peer evaluator will be visiting your classroom in the next week or so. That should be fun for you.”
Professor Hu and Pike clearly had vastly different ideas about what constituted fun, but he nodded anyway.
“It’s not a formal part of the application process, but it will give us the chance to give you feedback that will help you next term.”
Short of a life raft, Pike wasn’t sure what could help him next term, but he said, “That’s great.”
“I better get to class, but expect a call from the department secretary soon about an interview.” She swished away, long purple vest dancing behind her.
Soon. Pike said goodbye to her even as the word reverberated in his head. Soon, he’d hear from Zack. Soon he’d know that Zack was safe. Soon they’d have solid footing for this...whatever it was they were building. It had been a couple of days, and he hadn’t heard from Zack, not that he’d expected to. Zack had warned him he wouldn’t be in contact, but Pike hadn’t been prepared for how deeply he missed him—the shared meals, the gaming, the working on house projects. This thing was so much more than sex.
“Professor Reynolds?” The knitter from Pike’s Introduction to Stats appeared in his office door. “Do you have a minute?”
“Sure.” Pike came around from behind his desk to remove a stack of papers from the seldom-used visitor’s chair. Rosemary. That was her name. “What can I help you with, Rosemary?”
“I’m working on the Chapter ten homework, and I’m just not getting standard deviation at all.” Taking the seat, she set down a tote bag bulging with yarn, needles and textbooks. She pulled out the stats book, which was crammed with papers.
Perching on the edge of his desk, Pike worked through two of the textbook problems with her banging away on an ancient calculator, but it was clear she wasn’t understanding what he was saying. Her foot twitched back and forth as she struggled and her bag tipped over, spilling skeins of yarn, meters of brightly colored thread decorating his carpet.
Meters. “Hey, Rosemary? How many meters or yards is one of your skeins?” Pike crossed to the small white board on his office wall.
“Two twenty,” she answered, looking at the label.
“Okay, now bear with me here...” Pike sketched out a problem of finding the standard deviation between five skeins of close but not exact lengths of yarn. Then he had Rosemary calculate the answer, and he swore he could see the gears in her head finally clicking. They worked through a few more real-world examples he came up with on the fly.
“You’re way cooler like this,” Rosemary observed, cheeks pink. “I actually understand now. And it’s kind of fun almost.”<
br />
“Thanks.” Pike felt cooler like this too, like he was actually, finally teaching something. “It should be fun.”
They chatted a bit more before Rosemary had to get to a writing class, her telling him about a math test she had coming up for a promotion at her bank customer service job and Pike offering her a few pointers. He was still basking in the weird glow of feeling like a semi-successful teacher when his personal cell rang.
Hector at War Elf? Pike had to do a double take at the screen. He hadn’t heard from his contact at the video game since the spring when he’d reported that despite loving Pike’s dissertation work, they didn’t have any paid positions opening.
“Hey, Hector.” He kept his voice cautious.
“Pike, my man, do I ever have good news for you!” Hector had a jovial voice and a warm persona totally suitable to the head of marketing and market research for the hugely popular game. “My lead market research analyst is moving on to another job—bad news for us—but I’d love to get your resumé in here, show it to the big guys, see how they feel about flying you up to Palo Alto for an interview.”
Damn. This was certainly the week for his resumé. “That sounds great. But I’m teaching right now—I’d need to at least finish the term out, which would put me at early December for a start date. I could probably come up sooner for an interview, though.”
Hector let out a huff, but his voice was pleasant as ever. “That’s fine. We could probably work with that. You’re a catch. Email me your most current resumé today if you can?”
“Will do.” Pike ended the call with a few more questions about the opening and some pleasantries about Hector’s life. He’d known him through the last several years of his dissertation work, so even if Pike was still a bit salty about a job not materializing when he’d needed it, he still felt friendly.
You’re a catch. He was, wasn’t he? Professor Hu thought so, at least, despite him flopping around like a tuna in a net when it came to teaching. And Hector clearly still respected him. But does Zack? That was what it came down to, wasn’t it? Did Zack respect him enough, value him enough to want to be a real couple?
Zack’s going to hate hearing about the War Elf job. That thought harshed the pleasant buzz about how he was a math god. Would Zack really care? Did he really want Pike and all the complications close by permanently? And how would Pike feel if he turned down War Elf, and he and Zack hit the rocks that constantly seemed to threaten their tied-together little craft?
Fuck. He didn’t know. He fingered his phone. And the person he most wanted to tell his news to, the one he wanted to sort all this out with, was a million miles away. He could send a text, but no way was he mentioning War Elf until Zack was back, safe and sound.
* * *
There was nothing quite like being out in the field. Zack’s adrenaline had been high for days as they worked in the jungle to accomplish a set of tasks on the training mission. This was the closest he’d come so far to a real mission, and other than constant, gnawing worry that made his gut ache, he was loving it. The island was full of lush, dense green plants and sheer granite cliff drops made for perfecting rappelling skills. And lots and lots of swamps inland for them to wade through, which while less fun than the rappelling, let Zack use his superior navigational skills to help the team.
“You need to eat more.” Morrison poked Zack as he stood at the edge of their base camp, trying to get some water down to stay hydrated. He’d been sweating something fierce all day. Might be only training, but they had full jungle camo on, including the greasy face paint that made him sweat even more. But ever since the night the cat got sick, he simply hadn’t been very hungry. Food tasted off, and the weight of it in his stomach made his gut hurt worse. Even water was making him nauseated. Damn heat.
“I’m fine.” And Zack might love this exercise even more if Morrison hadn’t decided to make himself Zack’s new mother, constantly on him to eat and drink. Which was all well and good, but coupled with the argument on the plane only seemed to inflame Cobb’s temper more. Apparently even the possibility of Zack making an ally on the team had Cobb needling him every time they got alone—which Zack was trying like hell to avoid.
“You don’t look fine.” Morrison’s eyes narrowed, and he had the whole concerned-medic voice happening.
“I’m just hot. Like everyone else.” Zack took off his hat and swiped at his sweaty head for emphasis before forcing down another sip of water.
“You know, if you’re worried about something—” Morrison stepped closer, voice low.
“I’m not.” He still wasn’t sure exactly what Morrison thought he knew, but Zack couldn’t afford confidences right then.
“I’m just saying, stress can make you ill. And if there’s something bugging you—”
“Medic! Rodriguez cut his palm!” A cry came from the opposite side of the small encampment and Morrison dashed away.
The senior chief had helped Rodriguez sit on a convenient stump. Morrison seemed to get the dripping blood under control quickly, but Zack still looked away, stomach churning.
“Afraid of blood, Nelson?” Fuck. Cobb was right next him, perma-scowl on his face. And just Zack’s luck, everyone else was either watching the Rodriguez drama or out on patrol.
“Nope.” Zack tried to step around Cobb, head back to the camp, but Cobb moved to block his path.
“You seem awfully buddy-buddy with the PC police.” Cobb’s eyes were narrow slits.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Zack’s fists clenched. Not for the first time, he wanted to smash in Cobb’s face, see who’d be laughing then, but he knew Cobb would twist it so the fight was Zack’s fault and Zack would be the one with a disciplinary action on his record. And it wasn’t like Zack was going to tell the truth about what they’d been fighting over. He’d be screwed, and Cobb knew it. Fuck. It was Danny all over again and him not able to fight back.
“Senior Chief took me aside to have a little chat about my homophobic slurs. Bet that’s your doing, him riding my ass now. God, get one queer on the team, and now a guy can’t even talk.”
“Not my problem that you’ve got such a limited vocabulary.” Zack kept his voice even. “And I’ve told you—”
“Save it.” Cobb gave him a grin that chilled Zack to his bones. “Only a matter of time before the whole damn team knows you like sucking cock. Can’t wait to see who has your six then.”
Zack’s pulse slowed, blood encased in ice. “What fiction are you planning on spreading?”
“You know, I’ve been thinking I’m not doing anyone any favors, keeping quiet about how you want Harper’s ass. Bet the PC police would shut the fuck up if they knew you’ve got a boner for your buddy.”
“Just shut the fuck up. I’ve got a...” A boyfriend now. Fuck. He couldn’t say that, no matter how badly it wanted to come out.
“Yeah?” Cobb cocked his head to one side, like he simply couldn’t wait to find out what lie Zack had up his muddy, sweaty sleeve.
“You’re full of shit,” Zack finished lamely but his fist balled up again. Fuck the disciplinary process. It was past time he laid into—
“Hey, Nelson! Lieutenant wants us to head out now.” Harper jogged up behind them.
Behind. Oh fuck. Had he heard?
At least he wasn’t running reconnaissance with Cobb—small mercies and all that—but he couldn’t tell from Harper’s face what he’d heard, especially not with the grease paint and hat obscuring his features. Harper didn’t meet his eyes as Zack gathered his gear, but that wasn’t exactly new—he’d been off ever since he met Pike and even more withdrawn after the argument on the plane.
Zack followed Harper over to the lieutenant, who gave them their orders about the objective of their reconnaissance mission and what intel he was looking for. Worries over Cobb receded a bit as Zack’s mus
cles tensed, ready to get out there. This was why he was here, this was what he was good at, and this was way more important than some stupid argument. Sure his team situation wasn’t perfect, but they were a team, and the team and the mission came first.
He and Harper headed into the jungle, sticking to the edge of a swampy section of terrain. Zack tried to focus on what they were doing, but the pain in his gut was getting worse. Stop it. It doesn’t matter what Harper knows. Morrison is right—you’re going to give yourself a stress ulcer or something if you don’t knock it off.
Hell. He got lost enough in his thoughts that he stumbled into Harper.
“Watch it!” Harper whirled on him, real anger in his eyes that made Zack’s breath catch.
“What’s your problem?”
“Think you know.” Harper set off at a faster clip.
Fuck. He had heard something. Bile rose in Zack’s throat, and shame caused the crushing pain in his abs to worsen, but he pressed on, trying to ignore it. Morrison was right—he should have eaten more. His breath came out in short puffs, and his throat burned. Or maybe he was dehydrated.
“Hold up,” he said to Harper. “I need a quick drink.”
“God. We just got going.” Harper rolled his eyes. “Pansy.”
Zack took a swig of his water, but it tasted like copper and he barely choked it down. The pansy comment was hardly new—the guys on the team used insults like that all the time. The little digs they threw out at each other were every bit as uncomfortable as the gay jokes. But this one hurt more than most because he couldn’t tell how much hate Harper was putting behind the word. His tone was certainly more bitter than Zack had ever heard it.
“Let’s go. Want me to take point?”
“Sure. Don’t need you staring at my ass.” Harper waved him on.
“Wait. Maybe we should talk.” Zack’s stomach heaved again, but they couldn’t go on like this.
Off Base Page 17
