by L. A. Witt
Mark shuddered hard.
“You ever been to combat?” I asked.
“Not boots on the ground, no. It’s always been shipboard ops.”
“You’re lucky.” I wanted to resent him for his cushy-ass career. Usually it made me want to grind my teeth to dust when someone sailed through the Navy, collecting ranks and benefits and never once worrying about being shot or blown up. Officers especially. An officer ordered guys into combat without ever noticing the irony that he was paid three or four times what they were and he wasn’t getting shot at.
But I didn’t feel that way about Mark. I didn’t want him to have been to a war zone. I really didn’t wish it on anyone, but I also didn’t resent him for avoiding it. The thought of him being in the Sandbox and being terrified and hoping nobody heard him crying at night—no. It just made me want to wrap him up in my arms and protect him from everything.
It was my turn to shudder. I cleared my throat and kept talking. “So yeah. That’s what happened. The recovery after the explosion was pretty miserable, but fortunately I don’t remember the first couple of weeks. Between the burns and the three surgeries on my leg, they kept me sedated pretty hard.” I laughed even though my skin was crawling. “Guess if you get messed up enough, they break out something stronger than Motrin.”
Mark didn’t laugh.
I sobered too. “Anyway, they tell me I was awake off and on that night, and I remember bits and pieces of landing in Kuwait, but the next thing I clearly remember after the explosion was waking up in Germany. I’m, uh, kind of thankful for that.”
“I can’t imagine,” he whispered, “but I believe it.” He shrugged away a shiver. “How long did it take to recover?”
“The burns and the skin grafts took a few weeks. There were some . . . setbacks. But they were mostly healed in a couple of months. It was my leg that took for-fucking-ever.”
“Yeah?”
I nodded. “Four surgeries in six months, plus rehab.” Bitterness crept into my voice. “Which of course meant I couldn’t run, so I missed two PRTs.”
Mark’s eyebrows shot up. “They penalized you for missing PRTs because of injuries?”
“Officially, no. I had waivers and all that shit.” I rolled my eyes. “But tell that to the computer running the Perform to Serve numbers. It was the only explanation my chain of command could think of for why my numbers were too low.”
His jaw went slack. “You . . . you got kicked out through PTS while you were laid up from combat injuries?”
I pressed my lips together and nodded. “Yep. I was all set to reenlist, and suddenly the computer said, ‘Fuck you.’ Next thing I knew, I was a civilian with nightmares and a gimp leg.”
He stared at me, eyes round and lips apart.
I avoided his gaze. “At least the Navy realized PTS was garbage and phased it out.”
“But not before they’d let go of too many good Sailors.” His voice sounded hollow and full of shock. “Jesus.” He paused. “But you have access to the VA, don’t you?”
Still not looking at him, I shook my head. “Not unless I want to risk getting deported.”
“Deport— What?”
I exhaled, shoulders slumping. “I don’t have a green card. I’m . . .” I chewed my lip, then finally looked at him through my lashes. “I’m undocumented.”
Mark tensed but said nothing. His wide eyes asked me to elaborate, though.
I looked away again. “I found a job right after I got out, but they laid me off. My green card expired, and I couldn’t find another job. Not another legal one, anyway.” This whole conversation was exhausting. I slid a hand through my hair as I pushed out another long breath. “I was going to apply for naturalization while I was in, you know? But then I went to combat, and then I was laid up, and . . .” I waved my hand in the air. “I thought I was reenlisting, so I didn’t think I needed to hurry.”
“Holy shit.” He slumped back against the couch.
“Yeah. And I mean, I am eligible for VA benefits. I can go to the VA clinic, and I’m probably even eligible for some disability.” I made myself meet his eyes, and my voice wavered as I said, “But there’s no telling who’s willing to help me and who will report me and get me shipped out of the country. It’s happened to people like me.”
“Fuck. I . . . had no idea that happened to people.” He swallowed, returning my gaze. “I definitely understand now why you don’t like the military.”
I bristled. “Yeah. Kind of hard not to be pissed at the Navy when I’m still trying to pick up the pieces seven years later.”
Mark blew out a breath. “Jesus.” He was quiet for a moment. We both were. Then, his tone a little cautious, he said, “I can see why you don’t even like dating guys on active duty. But . . .” His voice was softer now. “Why are we still doing this? I mean, I want to, but if it bothers you that I’m in the Navy . . .”
It did. I couldn’t pretend it didn’t. But it didn’t bother me enough to send me out the door, so I slipped my hand into his. “I’ll deal with it. The Navy is a thing that . . .” I shook my head. “It is what it is. But I do want to be with you.”
Mark smiled uncertainly. “Me too.”
“So let’s just do what we’ve been doing—play it by ear.”
“I can do that.” He brushed my hair out of my face. “You want to take it easy again tonight? Because you look exhausted, and I’m pretty beat myself.”
I smiled and pressed my cheek against his hand as I nodded. “Yeah. I’m good with that.”
Returning the smile without the uncertainty this time, Mark put his arms around me and kissed me. As we stood there in his kitchen, wrapped up in a long kiss, I definitely wasn’t far enough out of my funk to suggest anything frisky, but this felt good. Really good.
Slowly, I relaxed into his embrace, just letting myself be relieved by his arms around me and his solid presence keeping me upright.
God, I’d needed this from someone for a long, long time. I knew no one had the power to unfuck what war had done to my mind, but right now Mark held me like he would absolutely keep me standing until this days-long episode was over and I had my equilibrium back.
And right now, I couldn’t imagine anything I needed or wanted more.
After we’d settled into bed, Diego dozed off pretty quickly. That wasn’t a surprise; he’d seemed wrung out earlier to the point that I’d wondered how he was still standing.
I was wide-awake. Relaxed and comfortable, but wide-awake. I gazed at Diego’s silhouette, my mind going a million miles an hour as I tried to process everything he’d told me.
Knowing the story behind all his scars, his PTSD, his limp . . . Shit. Nothing I could have speculated compared to the truth, and the realization that Diego had been through all of that was hard to swallow. I got the feeling he was as self-conscious of the trauma as he was of his scars. Did he have any idea how strong he was?
Christ. The more I got to know the man behind the dirty talk and insatiable lust, the more I wanted to know. Even the stuff he didn’t like.
Which was why the fear in his eyes last night and in the kitchen tonight had damn near broken my heart. He hadn’t said it, but I’d heard it: Do you still want me?
God, yes, I still wanted him. I wanted more of him than I already had. When I wasn’t around him, I counted down the minutes until we were back in the same place. And not only because I was horny. When I thought about him, I thought about him, not just having sex with him. I didn’t care if we were naked. Hell, we could be fully dressed and watching the Eagles win, and I’d be happy. I just wanted him there. All the time.
I swallowed. Was this what falling for someone felt like? Not that we’d been doing this long enough for anything that strong to be happening, but . . . maybe we had? Because I didn’t remember ever feeling like this. Not even for my ex-wife. I loved Angie, and I’d certainly been in love with her when we’d gotten married, but I was pretty sure even time and bitterness couldn’t have tempered the mem
ory of feeling something for her that compared to what I’d been feeling for Diego.
I had no idea what to make of these feelings. Maybe I’d been alone too long—my marriage had been nothing if not lonely. That had to be it. I wasn’t falling for him; I was in love with not being alone.
Beside me, Diego squirmed a little, muttering in his sleep. I didn’t know if he was dreaming or just getting comfortable, but I held him tighter anyway.
He stilled, and his breathing wasn’t slow and deep anymore. A hand curved over my shoulder. “You’re awake?”
“Sounds like you are too.”
He scrubbed his other hand over his face, his skin hissing across his stubbled jaw. “I am now.”
“I didn’t wake you up, did I?”
“Huh? No.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “You didn’t do anything.”
“Okay. Good.”
We were quiet for a moment. Then he sighed. “I’m not falling asleep.”
“Neither am I.”
“Stupid brains.”
“No shit.”
We both chuckled.
“Might as well not fight it, right?” I asked.
“Might as well.”
I pulled away long enough to flick on the light. We both flinched, but as our eyes adjusted, we settled on the pillows, facing each other.
And my heart fluttered.
Oh God. No, this was more than being in love with not being alone. Holy shit.
Diego ran the backs of his fingers down the middle of my chest. “I wasn’t keeping you awake, was I?”
“Not really.”
“That’s not a no.”
I caressed his cheek. Why lie to him? “I guess I was thinking about everything you told me.” And everything I probably shouldn’t be feeling for you. Not yet at least.
He exhaled. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m just sorry the Navy left you out in the cold like that.”
He didn’t say anything, but I could feel him tensing all over. After a moment, though, he started to relax, and he met my gaze again. “Can I ask you about . . . past things? Your past things?”
“Like what?”
He propped himself up on his elbow, his eyes filled with both satisfaction and curiosity in the warm light from the bedside lamp. “You were married before, right?”
I nodded, thumbing the divot on my third finger. “Yeah, I was.”
“What happened?”
I really didn’t want to talk about it, but Diego had poured his heart out earlier. Seemed only fair for me to tell him about my past. Even the parts that might make him look at me differently. If my emotions were getting in this deep this soon, then it was better to tell him about my dark sides now in case he decided to cut and run.
I played with the edge of the sheet while I tried to figure out how to put my turbulent marriage into words. “What happened was we were terrible at being married to each other, and everything that came with the Navy . . .” I thought for a moment. “The weird thing is that the Navy is what almost tore us apart in the beginning, and it’s the only thing that kept us together as long as we were.”
Diego cocked his head. “How does that work?”
I took a deep breath. “Well, when we first got married, we . . . I guess we were ready to be married, but we weren’t ready to be married to the Navy. I was deployed almost immediately, and the separation really got to her. Whenever I could call, we’d fight. When I got home, we kind of got back on the same page, but then I ended up going to school for a few weeks in another state, and by the time I came back, the ship was starting workups. We deployed again a year after the first deployment ended, and I was gone probably half that year.”
Diego absently smoothed the sheet. “Separations are rough.”
“They are. When I was finally stationed on shore for a while, and we got some counseling, we got back on track, but then . . .” I stared at the ceiling. Even after all these years, it was hard to put my finger on exactly when things had started going downhill. Or if they’d been going downhill since day one and just picked up speed. “At some point, we both gave up. I honestly don’t know which is worse—the fact that we cheated on each other, or that we didn’t care when the other found out.”
Diego blinked, his hand stilling on the sheet. “You cheated on her?”
My face burned. “Yeah. Not my proudest time. I . . . had back-to-back deployments. I’d barely gotten back from one before I was transferred to another ship just in time for it to deploy, and that turned into an extended deployment. So out of eighteen months, we saw each other about eight weeks. Total. We were already on shaky ground, and being apart that much . . .” I sighed, shaking my head. “Like I said, I’m not proud of it. Neither is she. And we came back from it, at least for a while. The last four years we were married were probably the most solid we ever had.”
He furrowed his brow. “Then why did you split up?”
I laughed bitterly. “Well, for one thing because being the most solid four years of our marriage doesn’t say much. The years before it were . . .” I grimaced. “But the ultimate deal breaker was that I was going to retire.” The furrow deepened, so I went on. “I was getting close to my twenty-year mark and was still a commander, so I figured, that’s it. I’m done. Two weeks after I told her I was planning to retire, she told me she was leaving. I guess the idea of having me home all the time made her realize she didn’t want me there at all. And . . . I realized I didn’t really want to be with her either.” I paused. “It was a lot more amicable than it sounds. I think we just spent so much time either apart or fighting that we didn’t even know each other anymore.”
Diego’s lips quirked like he was mulling it over. “How long were you married?”
“Would’ve been nineteen years this June. Then ironically, a week after we filed the papers, I found out I’d made captain and they were sending me to the Fort Stevens. And . . . here I am.”
“You got slam orders?”
I nodded. “Most people don’t get them for an XO spot, but the boat had just lost half the upper chain of command to some disciplinary action, and I was a captain who needed orders. I had less than eight weeks to report for duty.”
He studied me. “So, three months ago, you were a married commander on the East Coast, and now you’re a captain on the West Coast with a guy in your bed?”
Chuckling, I shrugged. “Guess so, yeah.”
“Whoa.”
“Tell me about it.”
He chewed his lip for a moment. “When we first hooked up, you said it had been a while.” He narrowed his eyes like he was trying to read me. “Did you . . . have boyfriends while you were married?”
“Well . . .” I focused on his hand, watching his fingers idly playing with a crease in the sheet, and exhaled. “I did cheat on her with men a couple of times, yes. But after we got past all the cheating, she and I . . . Well, she was the last person I had anal with, let’s put it that way.”
Diego’s eyebrows rose. “Your wife topped you?”
I nodded. “When we were coming clean about things after that rough patch, I admitted I’d been with a couple of guys. Thought she’d get pissed off even though we’d both been cheating, but she was more curious than anything. That conversation ended in a trip to the sex shop, and the next thing I knew, she was doing me with a strap-on.”
“Did she like it?”
I laughed. “Probably more than she liked me.”
He eyed me as if he wasn’t sure how to take that.
“Angie was pretty adventurous sexually. She actually wanted to peg some of her boyfriends before me, but none of them would go for it.”
Diego grinned. “She sounds like a cool lady.”
“She is. And I mean, the shit that I did while I was married to her . . . like I said, I’m not proud of it. We were awful to each other for a long time, and it’s a miracle we made it out as friends.” I blew out a breath. “If anything, I wish we’d split up years ago. It would’
ve been better for both of us to move on instead of trying to force something that wasn’t going to work. I’m just glad we’re still friends. She’s someone I want in my life even if we’re not married.”
“That sounds a lot like me and my ex.”
“Really?”
Diego nodded. “I mean, he’s married now, and we’re still really close friends, but we had a thing for a little while. Fuck buddies, basically. But when it seemed like it might get serious, I called it off because he’s military.”
Something in my gut flipped. He really wasn’t kidding about the military being a deal breaker.
“When things started getting serious.”
Shit. Maybe I needed to rein in my emotions, if that was possible.
He must’ve seen something in my eyes—uncertainty, maybe—and he sighed. “I know, it sounds stupid. But I—”
“No, it doesn’t. Especially not after everything you told me earlier.”
He squirmed like he didn’t want me to notice him shuddering. “Can I ask you something a bit more personal?”
I studied him, not sure what could be more personal than what I’d done to my marriage. “Go ahead.”
He held my gaze. “Has the Navy been worth it?”
Oh. Now that was a question I had to think about. Really think about.
It took a while before I could come up with an answer. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I’ve had a good career, and I’ll be—” I stopped myself from mentioning I’d be set for life after I retired. That was a raw nerve for Diego, and I didn’t want to step on it. “It’s been good, you know? But it hasn’t been . . . free. In some ways, it cost me my marriage. I’ve missed out on big milestones with my family.” I slowly let out a breath. “My sister’s first husband passed away about ten years ago. Really aggressive cancer. He lived about two months after he was diagnosed.” Even after all this time, mentioning my brother-in-law’s death threatened to choke me up. “I was at sea. Called to talk to him and my sister after he was diagnosed, but . . .” Sighing, I shook my head. “I couldn’t be there. I couldn’t even go home for the funeral.”
Diego murmured something in Spanish. Something that sounded deeply sympathetic.
