by L. A. Witt
“She might be.” Matt stood from where he’d been hunched over a sketchpad, and stretched. “If she shows, holler.”
“Will do. Enjoy your dinner.” He glanced at Jon and flashed a friendly smile, then disappeared back into the side room.
As Jon stepped behind the counter, Matt put a hand on his waist and kissed him lightly. “Thanks for bringing food. I—”
“Forgot to eat?”
Matt grinned sheepishly. “Maybe.”
Jon chuckled and gently herded Matt toward the back of the shop. There was a break room of sorts there—a small table half covered in tattoo magazines and equipment catalogs with a pair of mismatched folding chairs.
Jon’s ass had barely landed in the chair before his phone vibrated. Not a text, either—a call. Great. The CO probably had a hair up his ass about something again.
When he took out his phone, though, it was Nate’s picture on the screen. Jon froze. Nate never called. He always texted. And after the way he’d been behaving all day . . .
Something in Jon’s gut dropped, and he quickly said, “I’ve gotta take this.” He put it to his ear. “Hey, what’s—”
“You were right. The son of a bitch was fucking cheating on me!”
That something in Jon’s gut plummeted to his feet. “Are you serious? You caught him?”
“Yeah I fucking caught him. In our goddamned bed!”
“Oh Jesus. I’m . . .”
As the line vibrated with Nate’s palpable rage, a million scenarios flashed through Jon’s mind. Nate was about as even-keeled as anyone in a fighter squadron could be, but that didn’t say much. Fighter pilots and their RIOs were notorious for being hotheads, and Jon had witnessed Nate losing his temper a handful of times over the years. It wasn’t pretty. As in, having to be pried off someone by base security not pretty. How would that temper cope with catching Caleb in bed with another man?
A hint of panic fluttered in Jon’s chest. As calmly as he could, he asked, “Where are you now? Are you all right?” Does he have an ax sticking out of his skull?
“Yeah. I’m totally all right.” The sarcasm didn’t quite mask the shaky edge to Nate’s voice. “I’m home. He’s gone. He and his fucking side piece are—Christ. Son of a bitch! What do I do now?”
“Listen, stay put. I’m on my way, okay?”
Matt’s hands froze in the middle of unwrapping his sandwich.
“Okay.” Nate sighed. “Thanks. I’ll . . . I’ll be here.”
After Jon hung up, Matt asked, “Everything okay?”
Jon sighed. “I have to go. Nate’s got . . . a crisis.”
Matt’s eyebrows climbed.
“Turns out you were right—his husband was cheating.”
Matt flinched. “Fuck. Seriously?”
“Yeah. Fucking asshole.” Jon shook his head. Then he pressed a soft kiss to Matt’s forehead. “We’ll talk soon. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Go. And, uh . . .” He held up the sandwich, smiling. “Thank you again.”
“Don’t mention it.”
One more kiss, and Jon hurried back out to his car. He couldn’t believe it. He had hoped against all hope that Matt was wrong. Caleb wouldn’t really mess around on Nate, would he?
Apparently so.
* * *
Jon’s heart was in his throat when he parked outside the two-bedroom ranch that Nate and Caleb had bought last year. It was almost surprising to not see yellow police tape around the place, along with flashing blue lights and a crowd of onlookers. If this was the scene of the crime, it seemed like it should’ve looked the part.
But no, everything was normal. Nate’s gleaming black Charger was parked on the left side of the driveway. The red flag on their mailbox was up, as if one of them had dropped off some bills to be mailed out, and the trash and recycle bins were neatly tucked into their spot beside the garage.
The only thing missing was Caleb’s gray Civic. And even that wasn’t always here since he was sometimes at work or out with friends or . . . probably out where he shouldn’t have been. But its absence was definitely noticeable today.
Jon parked in Caleb’s spot and got out of the car. He didn’t know what to expect when he walked up to Nate’s front door. They’d known each other for years, and he’d been there for Nate’s last couple of breakups before he’d met Caleb, but those had been relatively low-key. The relationships had fizzled out after a few months, and Nate had been bummed out, but not particularly upset. That devastated, semi-hysterical voice Jon had heard on the phone earlier? That was new. Or at least, something usually reserved for when Nate was drunk and someone from another squadron took the trash-talking too far.
Jon knocked on the front door, and a moment later Nate answered. Apparently in the time since they’d hung up, he’d calmed down. He wasn’t his usual feisty devil-may-care self, though. If anything, he just seemed . . . broken. Like all the fight had gone out of him. His shoulders were down and his eyes were blank. Jon hadn’t seen him this drained since they’d been running on way too little sleep during a combat deployment.
In silence, they went inside. Nate offered him a beer, and he was already working on one of his own, so Jon took him up on it. Beers in hand, they sank onto the couch.
“I’m so sorry,” Jon said after a while. “Matt feels terrible too. For . . . you know . . .”
“No, I’m glad he noticed.” Nate dragged a hand through his hair and released a long breath. “To tell you the truth, the signs were there. I was just ignoring them because I didn’t want to believe it.” He deflated a bit more and leaned back against the couch. “I guess I needed someone else to point it out to me so I realized I wasn’t imagining it.”
“How did you figure it out? I mean, that he’d be here today?”
“Security system. It has one of those features where you can have it text you when someone deactivates it.” He pressed his elbows into his thighs and let his hands dangle between his knees. “We’ve never used it, but I changed the settings last night to notify me.”
“So when you left work—it was because Caleb had come home?”
Nate nodded slowly. There were probably other things that had tipped him off—signs that today would be the day, that Caleb was using their house for his philandering—but he doubted Nate wanted to think about those, never mind talk about them.
Jon sipped his beer. “So what happens now?”
“Recon’s getting me in touch with his divorce attorney. Said the guy is good and doesn’t charge a fortune. So, I guess I talk to him and . . .” Nate sat back on the couch and exhaled. “And we go from there.”
Jon was surprised they were going straight to consulting divorce attorneys. Deep down, he’d been sure they would try to work it out. Go to a counselor or something. Nate was usually the stubborn type, the one who’d drive a car until pieces were literally falling off before he finally admitted it was time for a replacement. Jon had kind of expected things to get to a point where he and everyone they knew were pleading with Nate to just cut the asshole loose and be done with it.
But no. Divorce was already on the table. Nate was, apparently, done.
“So, it’s really over, then.”
Nate nodded, and Jon thought his eyes welled up a little. “There’s no going back from this. I mean, if he’d had a one night stand or something, then maybe we could fix it. Or even a fuck buddy. But . . .”
Jon winced. “He was actually seeing someone, wasn’t he?”
Nate’s lips pulled tight as he nodded again. “They’ve . . . I don’t know the details. Didn’t want to know. But he said it’s been going on for a year or so.”
“Jesus. But . . . why?”
“Who knows? And I don’t even know if this is the first, or if he’s been cheating all along. How the fuck was I so stupid that I couldn’t—”
“Nate.” Jon squeezed his knee. “Breathe, man. He probably went to great lengths to cover his tracks so you wouldn’t see what he was doing.”
&nbs
p; “Yeah, he was probably hiding it, but . . .” Nate released a long breath, shoulders sagging as he deflated. “Honestly, he could’ve been doing it right under my nose and I wouldn’t have seen it. I didn’t want to. I mean, who would? But . . . after you and Matt said you thought something was off, I guess I started thinking about it. Paying a little more attention.” He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “And the signs started showing up.”
Guilt knotted behind Jon’s ribs. He was glad Nate knew, but that knowledge was a double-edged sword. He hated that he’d played a part in his best friend hurting like this. “I’m really sorry, Nate.”
“Don’t be.” Nate shook his head. “I’d have found out eventually. Better sooner than later, right?”
Jon didn’t know what to say to that except, “Either way—it sucks. You deserve better.”
“I should’ve just done things your way,” Nate said bitterly into his beer bottle. “Just fuck everything that moves, and don’t fool myself into thinking this whole wedded bliss crap is real.”
“That’s not you. It never has been.”
“Yeah, and look where being me has landed me.” He laughed humorlessly and took a deep pull from his beer. “I mean, who the hell has to take an STD test after ten goddamned years of monogamy?” He covered his face with his free hand. “Fuck.”
Jon squeezed Nate’s shoulder, but didn’t know what to say. It was probably cold comfort that the Navy regularly tested everyone for HIV. That was one test Nate could be reasonably sure was negative. All the other bugs? Hard to say. Hopefully Caleb hadn’t been a complete idiot. It took an utter fucking moron to sleep around on someone like Nate, but anyone with two brain cells to rub together would at least wear a raincoat. And if he’d picked something up and given it to Nate? Jon ground his teeth just thinking about it.
For a long moment, Nate pressed his beer bottle against his forehead, but said nothing. His eyes were closed, his shoulders slumped, and Jon was pretty sure he couldn’t look any more heartbroken if he started sobbing.
“I don’t even know what I want to do right now,” he said after a while. “I almost want go out and get laid just for the hell of it, but . . .” He shook his head.
“You want go get plastered?”
Nate seemed to consider it for a moment, but then sighed like the thought exhausted him. “I don’t know. I feel like I should pack up his shit and get it out of my house. The place feels fucking dirty with him still in it.”
“Let’s do it, then.”
Nate turned to him. “Really?”
“Why not? I’m here. I’m happy to help.”
“Oh. Okay. Yeah, let’s . . .” Nate brightened a little, and pushed himself to his feet. “Let’s do this. You sure you want to help?”
“Fuck yeah.” Jon put his beer on the coaster and stood. “The sooner his crap is gone, the better.”
“Yeah, seriously.” Nate exhaled. “I really appreciate this, by the way.”
Jon put a hand on Nate’s shoulder. “Don’t mention it. Just be glad he’s not here while I am, or somebody might end up in jail.”
That got a halfhearted laugh out of Nate, and he hugged Jon. Neither of them were particularly huggy, but there wasn’t much Nate could ask for right then that Jon would turn down. He’d never seen his friend this wrung out and hurt.
Nate let him go, and they went into the garage to get some boxes.
As they dragged boxes into the house, Jon kept it to himself that he wasn’t entirely joking about going to jail if Caleb showed up, either. And if medical found something on one of those tests, he was pretty sure he could get the squadron on board with hiding a body. Weren’t there gators out in the Great Dismal Swamp? That was only like an hour or so away, too.
Okay, so he wouldn’t actually do something like that, but the thought amused him enough to keep him from “accidentally” smashing one of Caleb’s possessions.
They started with the bastard’s clothes. Too many years in the Navy prevented Jon from just upending the dresser drawers into the box. Instead, he carefully moved everything and stacked it all neatly. For efficiency’s sake, he told himself. So he could fit as much as possible into one box.
Nate obviously wasn’t having the same issue. Caleb had expensive taste in suits, and Jon could only imagine the satisfaction Nate took in yanking them off their hangers and dumping them unceremoniously into a box, letting sleeves and trouser legs hang over the edges before he shoved those in there too. Jon considered floating the idea of “spilling” one of their beers into the box, but at this point, it probably wasn’t below the newly scorned husband to do exactly that. So, he kept the comment to himself.
By the time they were finished with the bedroom, one side of the walk-in closet was stripped bare, and everything on top of a dresser and one of the nightstands was gone. The room was half bedroom, half hotel room—occupied on one side, deserted on the other.
“Well.” Nate took a deep breath and scanned the room. “I guess that’s it. In here, anyway.”
“You’ll have to tell me what’s his in the rest of the house.”
Nate pursed his lips, gaze still fixed on something. “We should do his office. Everything in there is his except—” His expression wavered. Speaking softer now, his voice a little unsteady, he said, “Except a drawer of joint financial shit.”
It had never occurred to Jon to be sentimental about things like bills and paperwork, but he supposed he could understand it. Those weren’t just scraps of paper—they were the foundation of the life Nate and Caleb had built together. Records of things they’d bought as a couple, like the house, the cars, the furniture. Their marriage license was probably in there somewhere too, neatly filed with the “fucking reams of paperwork” Nate had bitched about when he’d been jumping through hoops to change his name.
He wondered now if Nate regretted taking Caleb’s name. They’d talked about hyphenating, but Caleb’s name was tied so tightly to his law career, he’d balked at the idea. Apparently some female lawyers at his firm had told him it was a nightmare. Ironically, it was simpler for someone in the military to change his name. Given how complicated it was to do just about anything in the military, Nate and Jon had been endlessly amused over that.
It didn’t seem as funny now. Nate had changed his name, and Caleb had screwed him over.
Beside Jon, Nate shook himself back to life, and they headed down the hall to Caleb’s office. He paused outside the room, hand on the doorknob, and closed his eyes.
Jon touched his shoulder. “You all right? We don’t have to do this right now.”
Nate pulled in a long breath through his nose, and stood a bit straighter. “I’ll be all right once he’s out of here.” Then he pushed open the door and stepped inside.
And stopped again.
Jon watched him surveying the room. He wasn’t even sure if Nate was breathing. His gaze drifted from one thing to the next—Caleb’s law degrees, a photo of the two of them in Mexico a few vacations ago, a shelf of leatherbound books with gold embossed writing on the spines. All the pieces of the man Nate had faithfully loved for the last ten years. The man he’d caught today having sex with someone else.
When Nate’s gaze landed on the wedding photo hanging above the desk, Jon felt it. A jolt in Nate’s posture, in the air itself, like the concussion from a grenade. The muscles in Nate’s jaw tightened visibly. His lips thinned, and when he finally looked away from the photo, he swiped at his eyes.
Jon’s chest ached. Not sure what else to say or do, he touched Nate’s shoulder again.
And just like that, Nate broke.
Jon pulled him close and held on, nearly losing it himself just from watching and feeling his best friend shatter. “I’m so sorry.” It sounded so fucking useless, but he didn’t know what else to say. He couldn’t begin to imagine what Nate was feeling right then. Hell, he couldn’t wrap his head around being as close to someone as Nate had been to his husband. Going from there to being cheated on?
For a year? Assuming it had only been going on for that year? That wasn’t a kind of pain Jon ever wanted to experience firsthand. Secondhand was excruciating enough.
More than ever, he was glad he’d always avoided relationships. Sex was fantastic. Getting tangled up enough with someone that this kind of disaster was even possible?
No, thank you.
Nate pulled back, wiping his eyes with a shaking hand. “You know what? Fuck all this.” He motioned at Caleb’s stuff. “Let’s go get shitfaced.”
“Good idea. I’ll call a cab.”
Chapter 26
How is Nate holding up?
He’s had better days.
Man that blows.
Yeah. Probably going to be helping him all weekend. Sorry. :-(
Don’t worry about it. Give him my best.
Matt genuinely hoped the guy was coping all right. He couldn’t imagine being cheated on and suddenly alone after all those years together.
And since Jon was going to be preoccupied for a while, Matt figured he might as well take advantage of his suddenly free schedule. So, on Friday night, he texted someone he’d been meaning to see for a while. As luck would have it, Troy was available for lunch the next day.
They agreed to meet near Troy’s office in Chesapeake. Even though it was a Saturday, Troy apparently still had to work. So did Matt, but not until later.
From what Matt had gathered from his Facebook posts, Troy was steadily—if miserably—employed by a credit union. It didn’t sound like a terrible job, just one that bored him and left him kind of drained at the end of the week. A lot of their mutual friends were in similar lines of work, and they seemed more or less content. Forty hours of work, two weeks vacation, 401(k) contributions, health insurance—it admittedly held a certain appeal. A consistent paycheck sure would’ve been nice. Ditto with the retirement fund.
Matt didn’t get paid unless he was putting ink on skin. It meant his income fluctuated dramatically from week to week—or sometimes stagnated at something close to nothing for longer than he would’ve liked—but he could cope with that if it meant not rotting in a cubicle under fluorescent lights for eight hours a day. He didn’t have to bother with business casual or potluck birthdays for people he didn’t like or water cooler gossip. He’d never worked in an office before, but he’d heard enough to know that he’d rather jump dick-first into a meat grinder than sign up for that shit.
