by Andria Large
“Because I’m a grown man and I can have a beer if I want to,” he replies indifferently.
Bowen takes a deep breath to quell some of his anger. There’s no use in arguing with him because he doesn’t see it. “Is that gonna be your only one?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?”
“All right, fine, whatever. But if you get drunk, I’m leavin’.”
He lifts one shoulder nonchalantly and takes another swig of his beer. The fact that Bowen’s statement doesn’t bother him, hurts. He doesn’t care that Bowen is willing to leave if he has too much to drink. How does he not see the problem with that? He was just saying how much Bowen means to him, but he guesses that doesn't include his feelings.
Wouldn’t you know it, an hour, five beers, and a glass of whiskey later, Gunnar is drunk, sitting like a lump on the couch as he dozes off. Bowen shakes his head and sighs in resignation as he gets up from the couch and grabs his phone and keys from the coffee table.
“Hey, where you going?” Gunnar mutters, perking up a little bit.
“I told you before if you got drunk, I was gonna leave. You’re drunk, so I’m leavin’,” Bowen says.
“I’m not drunk. I’ve only had a beer and this glass of whisky.”
“Gunnar, I sat here and watched you drink five beers.”
Gunnar gives Bowen a look that says ‘get the fuck outta here.’
“No way.”
“Yes. You did.”
“Whatever. I’m not drunk.”
“You can barely stay awake. I’m going home.”
“Don’t be such a Debbie Downer, Bowen. I’m fine. You can still sit here with me and watch TV.”
“No, you’re falling asleep, so I’m gonna go. I'll come back tomorrow to take you to pick up your car.”
“Fine. Get the hell outta here then.”
Bowen shakes his head in disgust and walks out the door. Gunnar's such an ass when he’s drunk. There’s no point in even arguing with him.
***
Bowen goes right to Griffin's house. He walks in and finds his brother sitting on the couch watching TV. Griffin glances over the back of the couch and gives Bowen a nod.
"Hey, man, what are you doin' here?"
"We need to talk about Gunnar," Bowen says seriously.
"Okay," Griffin replies and shuts off the TV.
Bowen sits down on the couch next to him and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees so he can drop his head into his hands.
"What's wrong?"
"The drinkin' is getting out of control. He's been regainin' a lot of his memory, and I don't think he knows how to handle it. He refuses to go get help."
"Shit."
"Yeah, exactly. One minute we're sayin' we love each other and then the next he's givin' me shit for gettin' on his case about the drinkin'. I don't know what to do."
"Want me to try and talk to him?" Griffin asks, giving Bowen's shoulder a squeeze.
"Yes, please. I think he might be more receptive hearin' it from you."
"Maybe. Gunnar was always a stubborn mule."
"Don't I know it," Bowen says with a humorless laugh.
"All right. I'll see what I can do, but you know him, and he might not want to hear it from me either."
"Okay."
"Wanna stay and watch some TV with me?"
"Sure."
Chapter Seventeen
GUNNAR'S SITTING at the bar drinking his weight in Scotch. Today was a bad day. He remembered some more things from when he was overseas. Things that would make Bowen hate his fucking guts if he ever found out. Things like the kid he killed because his father strapped a bomb to him and forced him to run toward their post. Gunnar was not the same person after that.
His phone is sitting on the bar next to his glass. It begins vibrating…again. Fucking Bowen has been calling him all damn day. He doesn’t want to fucking talk to him right now. Why can’t he take the hint?
“Hey, man, I gotta cut you off. You’ve had way too much,” the bartender says to him.
Gunnar slowly brings his glazed eyes up to look at the two of him. “Fuck. You.”
“Is there someone I can call to come get you?” he asks with a frown.
“Here, answer this call,” Gunnar mutters and hands the guy his vibrating phone.
He answers it and talks to Bowen for a minute before hanging up and placing his phone in front of him. “All right, he’s coming to get ya, pal.”
Gunnar flips him the bird. The bartender shakes his head, rolls his eyes, and walks away. Gunnar finishes off his whiskey, slides the glass away, then lays his head down on his forearm while he waits for Bowen.
He doesn’t know how much time has passed but it feels like only seconds when a hand lands on his shoulder. He drags his million-pound head up from his arm to turn and look at who’s touching him. It’s Bowen. Gunnar blinks at him and squints his eyes to try and see him clearer. That’s when he notices he has a black eye.
“What the fuck happened to you?” he slurs.
“You’d know that already if you’d picked up your fuckin’ phone. Let’s go,” he barks and tucks his hand under Gunnar’s bicep.
“No! Tell me what happened first,” Gunnar demands.
“I’ll tell you in the car. Now, come on,” he grits out and gives Gunnar’s arm a tug.
Gunnar slips off the stool and wrenches out of Bowen’s grasp. “Chill the fuck out. I gotta pay my tab.”
He flags the bartender over, who tells him what he owes. He gives him the money, plus tip, and then grabs his phone off the bar. When he looks at Bowen, he looks freaking livid. He’s never seen his caramel eyes look so angry before. With his jaw clenched, he turns and walks out of the bar. Gunnar staggers after him. Wow, he really did have a lot to drink; he can’t even fucking walk straight.
Bowen leads him to his car and mutters something about picking his car up tomorrow as he gets in the driver’s side and slams the door. Gunnar gets in the passenger side and shuts the door.
“Tell me what happened.”
“It was nothin’. Dawson came by my house earlier. He was trying to talk me into getting back with him again and when I continued to refuse, he gripped me up by my shirt.”
“That doesn’t explain the black eye, Bowen,” Gunnar snarls. That fucking little dickbag just messed with the wrong man’s boyfriend.
“His hand slipped off my shirt and came up, hitting me in the eye. He didn’t mean to do it.”
“You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me, right? He didn’t mean to do it? What a crock of shit!”
“What the fuck do you care? You didn’t answer any of my calls. I needed you, Gunnar, and you weren’t there for me. I’ve had your back from the moment we met, but when I need you, you’re out gettin' drunk off your ass.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up. You have no idea what I’ve been dealin’ with today!”
“You’re not the only one who has things to deal with, Gunnar. It’s how you choose to deal with it that makes a difference. You should be seein' a therapist, not drinkin’ yourself to death.”
“I’m not drinkin’ myself to death. I only had like two drinks.”
Bowen laughs incredulously. “Two? You’re shit-faced after drinkin’ two drinks? Your tab was eighty bucks! Do I really look that gullible to you, or do you actually believe the shit comin’ out of your mouth?”
Gunnar flounders, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to think of something to come back with, but he’s got nothing, so he claps his mouth shut and turns to stare out the window.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Bowen mumbles and starts the car.
He drives to Gunnar’s house and pulls in the driveway but doesn’t turn the car off.
“Aren’t you comin’ in?”
“No, I’m not. I’m goin’ home.”
“But—“
"But nothin’, Gunnar. I’m not dealin’ with you while you’re drunk. Go to bed and I’ll talk to you tomorrow…if you answer your phone,” he sa
ys bitterly.
Gunnar grumbles to himself as he gets out of the car and slams the door shut. Bowen doesn’t even wait for him to get into the house before pulling out of the driveway and taking off down the street.
“Fuck!” Gunnar shouts and kicks the post on his porch.
He gets inside and goes right up to his room. He clumsily gets undressed before climbing into bed, where he passes the fuck out.
***
“Good Lord, Gunnar, you reek of stale alcohol,” says his physical therapist when he comes to get him from the waiting area.
Gunnar groans in response. His head is pounding. Bowen dragged him out of his house at the ungodly hour of nine am to get his car so he could make his PT appointment, which is now, at ten am.
“I guess you were out drinking again?” he asks, propping his hands on his lean hips.
“Again?”
“Gunnar, do you really not see your problem?”
“I don’t have a problem,” he grumbles.
“I’m fairly certain you’re still drunk.”
“Possibly.”
“Jesus. Go home, take a shower, and come back on Monday. Make sure you’re sober,” he says sternly before walking away.
Gunnar drags his ass out of the chair and leaves the office. He throws a hand up to cover his eyes from the blazing sun. Damn, I feel like shit. He gets into the driver’s seat of his car and turns it on. He adjusts the air conditioner so that it’s blasting on high. It’s fucking hot out, and heat does not bode well for a hangover.
When Gunnar gets back home, he goes right for his liquor cabinet. The best cure for a hangover is another drink. He pours himself a glass of Scotch and sits down at the kitchen table. He takes a big gulp and hisses as it heats his throat.
He pulls his cell phone from his pocket and checks to see if he’s had any new calls. Griffin called. Shit. He hits his number and puts the phone to his ear.
“Hello?” he answers on the third ring.
“Hey,” Gunnar grunts.
“Wow, dude, you sound like shit.”
Gunnar groans and adjusts in his chair so he can lay his head down on his arm on the table. “I feel like shit.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Just residually.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Still a bit drunk from last night.”
“Man, what the hell is going on with you?”
“Nothin', I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
“Sure I am. I’m just havin' a little fun.”
“Wow. Okay.”
“Did you know that Bowen’s got a black eye?”
“Yes, I know all about it. I answered my phone.”
Gunnar ignores the dig. “Let’s go kick that fucker’s ass,” he mutters slowly, starting to doze off.
“Gunnar? Are you fallin' asleep?” Griffin sighs irritably.
Gunnar snorts as he perks back up. “Huh? No. I’m good.”
“You’re full of shit. I’m gonna go. Call me when you’re sober.”
The line clicks letting him know that Griffin hung up on him. Whatever. Don’t care. He closes his eyes and welcomes the darkness.
Gunnar’s woken by his phone ringing. He lifts his head from his numb arm and glances around the now dark kitchen. Shit, has he been asleep for that long? He glances at his phone screen to see it’s eight in the evening. And it’s Bowen calling.
He swipes this thumb across the screen to answer. “He-hello?” he says having to clean the gunk from his throat.
“Hey. Can you come answer your door? I’ve been ringin' the bell for ten minutes,” he says wearily.
“Oh, shit, sorry. I was sleepin'. Be right there,” he murmurs and shoves out of the chair.
Bowen hangs up the phone as Gunnar heads for the door, shaking the pins and needles out of his arm. He opens the front door to find Bowen standing there with his hands on his hips and his head hanging. Gunnar’s heart breaks. What the hell is he doing? He's screwing up this relationship a second time. Bowen lifts his head when he hears the door open. Fuck, his black eye is darker than before.
Gunnar grabs his shirt and pulls Bowen into him, hugging him hard. Bowen ‘oomphs’ when he hits his chest, but he wraps his arms around his waist.
“I’m so sorry, Bowen. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he rasps.
He sighs heavily and nods, his chin resting against Gunnar shoulder. “Do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“Go take a shower. You fuckin’ smell.”
Gunnar snort laughs. “Uh, yeah, I was supposed to do that earlier but fell asleep.”
They separate and look at each other. Bowen looks sad and Gunnar doesn’t like it one bit. He shouldn’t be sad, and Gunnar knows he is the one making him that way.
“Are you going to stay for a little bit?” Gunnar asks.
“Yeah,” he mutters and rakes a hand through his hair.
“Okay. I’ll be quick.”
Bowen nods and closes the front door. Gunnar climbs the steps as Bowen goes and sits in the living room. Gunnar takes a fast shower, brushes his teeth, and changes into a clean T-shirt and gym shorts. When he gets back downstairs, Bowen is sitting on the couch playing on his phone. He glances up when Gunnar walks into the room and gives him a small smile.
“You look much better now,” he says.
Gunnar rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”
Gunnar plops down onto the couch next to him and takes Bowen’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together.
“Do you hate me?” Gunnar whispers.
Bowen gives him an incredulous look. “What? No, I don’t hate you.”
“I just…I can’t help but feel that I’m dragging you down. I’m so fucked up right now. You deserve better than me.”
Bowen shakes his head. “Gunnar, come on, you’re having trouble, that’s all. You have to be willing to work with me here though. You’ve been very selfish lately. We’re supposed to be in a relationship, which is two people, but lately it’s been all about you.”
Gunnar hangs his head. “Shit,” he hisses.
“I get that all the stuff you’re rememberin’ is fuckin’ with you. Believe me, I do. But I wish you would listen to me and go get some help.”
"No one can help me. I've done some horrible stuff, Bowen. There is no fixin' that."
"What are you talkin' about?"
"If you knew the things I've done, you would not be sittin' here with me."
"Bullshit."
Gunnar shoots up from the couch and moves to the other side of the coffee table to pace. "You don't understand what I had to do on my deployments."
"I'm sure you did what you had to do," Bowen says with such surety.
Gunnar shakes his head vehemently. "No. No, I'm sure there was something else I could have done."
"Sometimes there isn't."
Gunnar grips the hat on his head, wishing he had hair to pull. "I killed a fucking kid, Bowen! A kid! A little boy who was probably about six or seven years old."
Bowen blinks at him in shock, his mouth working without anything coming out.
Gunnar points at him. "There! You see! You don't even have anything to say about it."
"Now wait a minute," Bowen starts, shaking his head as if to clear it. "You're going to tell me that you killed a kid for no reason? I don't believe you."
"His father strapped a bomb to his chest and forced him to walk toward our post. I shot and killed him when he wouldn't stop. He was crying so hard..."
Gunnar can see the whole thing as if it just happened. Bowen gets up from the couch and comes to stand in front of him, stopping his pacing. Bowen takes him by the shoulders and ducks his head to catch Gunnar's gaze, who can barely look at the man in front of him.
"Gunnar, the kid was going to kill a lot of people if he got close enough and that bomb detonated, you had to take him out first."
"But he didn't have a choice. I could have--"
"N
o. No, you couldn't have. There was no other way, Babe. You did the only thing you could do."
Gunnar opens his mouth to argue, but Bowen shakes him and cuts him off.
"No. You did the only thing you could do," he repeats adamantly. "Do you see now why I think you need to go and get help? You need to work through this stuff and alcohol is not the answer. It's a temporary fix."
Gunnar nods and takes a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, you’re right. I’ll call the VA hospital tomorrow and set up an appointment.”
“Really? You will? You’re not just sayin’ that to placate me?” he asks suspiciously.
“No, I’m not. I’m serious. I’ll go get help. I can't handle this on my own. Plus, I’m not being a very good boyfriend to you, and it’s not fair.”
Bowen smiles and it makes Gunnar’s heart flutter madly. He hasn’t smiled like that in a while. Bowen leans in and kisses Gunnar fervently. Gunnar hums his approval and kisses him back with the passion Bowen brings out in him. Bowen pulls back, takes his glasses off, and puts them on the coffee table before taking Gunnar's hand and leading him back over to the couch.
“Oh shit, the glasses are coming off. Does that mean I’m getting laid?” Gunnar chuckles.
Bowen gives him a cocky grin. “Yeah, pretty much.”
“Nice!”
Bowen laughs then kisses him again, this time pushing him down onto the couch, so he can climb on top of him. He shoves his hands up under Gunnar’s shirt as he drags his mouth down to kiss his neck. Fuck yes. He loves it when Bowen takes control over him. It’s so fucking sexy.
He settles his hips against Gunnar’s, their erections fitting snugly against each other, trapped between their bodies. Gunnar rolls his hips to get some friction. Bowen moans and it sends shivers of pleasure down his spine.
“Babe, I want it hard and fast. I want you to fuck me,” Gunnar rasps, arching his back when Bowen tweaks his nipple.
“Oh, I can do that,” he says, his voice low and husky with desire.
And boy does he…
Chapter Eighteen
THANKSGIVING AT his parents is always something Griffin looks forward to. He and Bowen had a great childhood. Their parents are still together and love each other very much. They made enough money to provide everything that was needed and a little extra, so yeah, holidays are good times for them.
