Wheels Up

by Annabeth Albert

  Fuck. He took another long swallow of scotch, letting it burn all the way down. He’d been trained in hostage situations, including the sorts of torture terrorists might use to break him, and never once in all that training had they warned him that watching Wes’s first day on the team would be worse than anything a terror cell might dream up. Curly and Bacon had taken Wes under their substantial wings, leaving Dustin to learn things about Wes in little snippets of conversation over the course of the day.

  Like how Wes was worried about how the movers might treat his car. Or how Wes disliked eggs. See, if he hadn’t been called away that DC weekend, Dustin might know how the man liked his breakfast...

  And that way of thinking lay madness. He had to stop this. Get over his fixation on Wes.

  Buzz. His phone vibrated with a new message, and he didn’t have to look to know who it was messaging him.

  You there?

  Dustin sighed, not that the empty living room gave a fuck. Yeah. I’m home now.

  You gonna make me type or can I call?

  Wes was forthright as ever. And no, Dustin wasn’t going to make him type out what had to be considerable disbelief and frustration, if Wes was being truthful about not knowing anything in advance. And really, the guy was a lot of things, but Dustin just had to flash back to how pale he’d gotten—no one was that good of an actor, and Dustin was pretty damn good at telling when someone was lying to boot.

  Propping the phone on a stand he kept on the coffee table, he hit the video chat button. He could have gone for voice-only, but knowing that this was going to be his very last personal conversation with Wes made him want to at least look at the man.

  “Hey, there.” Wes’s voice echoed off the condo’s hardwood floors. “Wait. Are we talking or jerking off?”

  “Fuck.” Dustin realized a moment too late that he had the stand angled for their favorite video chat activity, not conversation. He angled it up to his face. “Better?”

  “Depends on your definition of better,” Wes drawled. The screen showed him lounging back against a pillow. Dustin recognized the white walls and cheap blond laminate furniture of the barracks. The rooms for the enlisted men were tiny, not that the officers’ quarters—where he’d lived until recently—were much bigger.

  “You look exhausted.” Dustin forgot his carefully rehearsed speech in the face of how wrung out Wes looked—his hair was at weird angles and the T-shirt he had on was rumpled, but it was the darkness under his eyes and deep lines around his mouth that really gave him away.

  “Eh. I’ll live.” Wes shrugged. “You know me, I don’t need a ton of sleep anyway.”

  Dustin did know, all about Wes’s awful insomnia that kept him up late East Coast time. “Guess adjusting to the time difference is going to be a bear for you.”

  “Hell. I don’t want to adjust.”

  “You don’t?” Dustin leaned forward. “You didn’t want this transfer?”

  “Hell, no. You still thinking I’ve got some kind of superpowers and set this up?” Wes shook his head. “My whole family’s back in North Carolina. My whole life, other than BUD/S and being gone on deployments, has been back there.”

  “I know,” Dustin said weakly. “I don’t think you’re lying. But you could have told me you were transferring—maybe we would have figured it out sooner?”

  “How, Corporal?” Wes sneered at the camera. “I never said one way or another what branch of service I was, but you gotta admit, your avatar was a bit over-the-top marine.”

  “It was a joke.” Dustin had known he was giving people on the app that impression, but he hadn’t thought it would matter this much. “My dad and grandpa both did stints in the marines. But I had this thing about wanting to be a SEAL officer, and even after I got into the Naval Academy, they tried hard to get me to make my commission for the marines. I said I’d rather be Godzilla than be a marine.”

  “And so you were Godzilla the Marine. I’d laugh if I weren’t so pissed.” Wes rubbed the back of his neck. “Anyway, I was going to tell you about the transfer. I was just working out how to best do it. I had...a plan.”

  “A plan?” Dustin reached for his drink. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear this, wasn’t sure he was ready.

  “Yeah. I knew if it was too soon after DC you’d think I was some kind of stalker. So I figured to wait some time. Get you more comfortable telling me which marine installation you were at. Then if it wasn’t too far, maybe we’d...” Wes trailed off and shook his head.

  “We’d what?” Much as Dustin’s chest was burning, he needed Wes to finish the thought.

  “And maybe we’d do the in-person thing. Not just a repeat of the DC hookup, but a real...friendship. See each other on the regular, even if still on the down-low. See where things went.” Wes looked away, eyes not meeting the camera.

  “Yeah,” Dustin said hoarsely. God, that sounded nice. Dustin didn’t have to work to imagine that universe—different branches of service, maybe a few hours apart, seeing each other on little weekend getaways. Keeping it quiet because Wes understood that Dustin wasn’t about to make radical changes overnight, but having Wes in his life as more than just an image on the screen. And it wasn’t just the sex in that little daydream that had his pulse racing—it was waking up with Wes, taking him to all his favorite spots, make him hate this coast less, learning more about him as they went. Having that time together to look forward to. He wanted that so badly his sinuses stung like he’d inhaled half the pool.

  “Anyway, it was a stupid plan.” Wes shrugged, eyes still guarded. The screen flickered, and Dustin resisted the urge to grab for the phone, hold the image of Wes closer, like that might make a fucking difference.

  “Not stupid,” Dustin whispered. “Man, I wish...” He stopped because wishes were stupid. “I thought about similar. Asking for a DC repeat. But we didn’t know. And for that I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you think I was Marines. Not this long anyway.” He could own his mistakes. And he had been thinking the past month about a repeat, more than he wanted to admit. Had even looked up DC airfares and his leave balance.

  “We never would have had DC if we’d been honest,” Wes said pragmatically. “And I don’t want to give that memory back.”

  “Me either,” Dustin admitted. “But you know we can’t ever go there again. Can’t even be friends. Not like you...like we want.”

  “I know. Trust me. I don’t want you in trouble.” Wes’s voice had a note of anguish to it that made Dustin’s chest ache. “Looked up the stupid policy on my phone the second I was alone today. Now that you know I’m enlisted...”

  “Yup.” Dustin took another swallow of scotch. Fuck. This sucked. And he appreciated that Wes was keeping his voice low. If the barracks rooms were similar to the officers’ quarters, the walls and closed door would muffle their conversation, but still couldn’t hurt to be discreet when talking about the possibility of court martial or suspension.

  “You got some of that to share?” The ghost of a smile teased Wes’s mouth.

  “I wish,” Dustin said without thinking. God, he did wish that. Wished Wes was sitting next to him on the big couch. Close. Legs touching. Getting drunk and commiserating on this clusterfuck together.

  “Fuck. This sucks.” Wes slumped back against the pillow. “So what do we do? I mean, I can do the play dumb about knowing you bit.”

  “Likewise. And...” God, this next part killed. “We shouldn’t chat anymore on here and definitely no more cyber.”

  “I knew you were going to say that,” Wes groaned.

  “It’s for the best,” Dustin lied. This wasn’t for the best of anything other than his career. “This way you’ll have time to settle in. Make friends. I can...” He’d been about to offer to list some bars or people for Wes. But he couldn’t do that. Couldn’t go offering to be Wes’s tour guide to San Diego
, much as he might want. Couldn’t offer to put him in touch with some other LGBTQ friends he knew on base as resources. Couldn’t do anything more than he’d do for any other new subordinate. “You’ll find things to do,” he finished lamely.

  “I kinda want to hate you right now,” Wes whispered, voice strained. “I thought you’d be the best part of this fucking transfer. Same time zone at least.”

  “Does it help if I hate me too?” Dustin laughed, but he wasn’t joking. He thought back to every argument he’d had with his dad and grandpa about navy versus marines. And for the first time, he almost wished he was an enlisted marine. So much fucking easier than this tightness in his chest, this weight of his commission pushing down on his shoulders. And man, he wanted to be that best thing for Wes—wanted to be there to keep him up when he couldn’t sleep, wanted to be the thing he looked forward to on off duty hours, and the unfairness of it all made him need to thump the couch cushion hard with his fist.

  “No.” Wes bit the corner of his mouth hard enough that Dustin could see his teeth. He wanted to tell him to cut it out, not to hurt himself, but that wasn’t his place. Not anymore anyway and not ever again. “So I guess this is goodbye.”

  “Yeah. I’m going to hang up now,” Dustin said. They always had this ritual of saying they were going to hang up then talking another hour, but this time he meant it.

  “Okay.” Wes’s face stayed still on the screen. Must have already hit end.

  “Goodbye,” Dustin whispered. “I’m going to miss you like crazy,” he added to his empty, hollow living room before powering off his phone and pouring another drink.

  * * *

  I’m going to miss you like crazy. The words were still ringing in Wes’s ears when his messenger buzzed with a new message.

  Dustin? Wes’s heart skittered, searching for a rhythm, but all that adrenaline was wasted as it was Sam sending a panda video and an invitation to chat. Last thing Wes wanted to do was to flip on his camera again, but this was Sam, and he couldn’t say no. He hit the accept button and did some deep breaths, hoping he didn’t look as wrecked as he felt.

  “You look like something the dog dragged in,” Sam said as soon as the camera came on, confirming his suspicions.

  “Hello to you too.” He forced a smile out. “Sorry. I’m going on almost no sleep in the last two days.”

  “Oh no! You need sleep.” Sam leaned forward, long dark hair coming forward to frame her face. She was good at pretending like Wes was the one who needed worrying over. “Insomnia again or the move?”

  “Both.” Wes sighed and stretched back out on the bed, keeping the camera on his face. He’d curled forward after finishing with Dustin, like that could stop all the feelings and emotions ricocheting through him. But he wasn’t going to be able to spend the rest of his life in the fetal position, tempting as that was.

  “So...tell me about the new team. Any cute guys?”

  “Samantha. This is work. I’m not even looking at anyone like that.” It wasn’t a lie, precisely. He’d never before been tempted to get involved with someone he knew on the team or from his duties—there had been a helicopter pilot last year who’d been a bit flirty, but Wes hadn’t pursued it, not wanting the hassle. Joe4Joe had just been easier—guys like Dustin who got it but wouldn’t have the issues of a real-world relationship.

  But you would for Dustin. He was all kinds of temptation, and yeah, Wes had started to have ideas that he might be worth whatever trouble a real-world friendship or more would cause. Fuck it. He tried to focus on Sam’s rundown of the cute guys on his last team, but inside, he was busy calling himself fifty kinds of idiot for even entertaining the thought. And now that he knew Dustin was one of his commanding officers? No question. His fanciful ideas had to die a quick death.

  “I’m serious. That Anderson guy was ripped.” Sam giggled. She was all of eighteen, and Wes would no more let her near a teammate than he’d let her try out skydiving. “You need a boyfriend so I can live vicariously through you.”

  “Not happening,” Wes said curtly. “Gotta focus on the job.” Remember that, he lectured himself. Doing his job to the best of his ability was the only thing that mattered here.

  “Darn.” Sam made a silly face. “At least one of us is getting out though.”

  “Oh?” Wes was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like this.

  “A friend is having a party on Saturday. She asked me to DJ. Paying me fifty dollars and everything.”

  “Sam...you sure you’re up for a late night?” He couldn’t help it. Worrying over her was ingrained in him, as natural as blinking. “Being on your feet that long—”

  “Will be fine. I thought you’d be happy for me.” She pouted, huffing noisily. “I couldn’t wait to tell you. My dream is coming true. First a few small parties, then maybe something bigger. You’ll see.”

  “I am happy for you. And I know how badly you want to DJ. I just worry about you overdoing it. What did mom say?”

  “I haven’t exactly told the ’rents yet.” She rolled her eyes. “They’re going to be worse than you. ‘Sam, your heart’ and ‘Sam, the germs’ and all that.” She did a decent imitation of his father’s deep Southern voice.

  “Your heart is pretty precious,” Wes reminded her. “And you don’t want to risk an infection. But I guess that’s why there’s hand sanitizer. And maybe you could nap—”

  “Yes, Mom.” Sam groaned. “Do I tell you to double-check your bootlaces or to count your ammo?”

  “Point taken.” Wes really didn’t want to fight with her, so he made his voice lighter. If she was bound and determined to DJ, nothing he said would make a difference. She was that stubborn.

  “You’re so good about going after exactly what it is that you want. I just want to be like you.” She gave him a winning smile, one that said that she too didn’t want to argue.

  No. No, I’m not. Because what he wanted was Dustin and no way was he going after that. He might be the master of setting goals for himself, but this was one objective that would never be within reach. No sense dreaming either. Nope, from this point forward, he had to tamp down whatever dreams he’d had, whatever hurt he was feeling, and treat Dustin the same way he would any other XO. Just do your job.

  * * *

  Dustin surveyed the group of seven men in front of him. He and the LT had split the team for today’s obstacle course drill, and somehow Dustin had ended up with both newbies, Wes and the newly minted SEAL everyone was calling Shiny thanks to Bacon saying he was as shiny as a new penny and about as old. Shiny would eventually be one of their communications go-to guys as well as backing up Wes with explosive maneuvers, but right now he was greener than Dustin could ever remember being.

  “All right. Our mission today is to get these to the end of the course.” Dustin kicked the two sacks at his feet. Each was a solid 150 pounds and about six feet long. “Before the other guys, right?”

  “Yes, sir!” Shiny was first to answer, as Dustin had expected.

  “We are going to win.” Dustin didn’t give them room for failure. “And we’re going to trade off on the loads. Bacon, you and Shiny start with one. And...” Don’t play favorites, and don’t avoid him, he reminded himself for the millionth time that week. Ever since their phone conversation, Wes had kept his word and been nothing other than professional, and each day it stung just that much more. “Lowe, you and Curly start with the other.”

  “All ready?” the LT shouted from their position down the sand from Dustin’s group.

  “Ready,” all seven of Dustin’s men yelled back in unison.

  “And go!”

  The first part was run across uneven log planks to a wooden wall about eight feet tall. Wes—Lowe shouldered his half of the burden with Curly and set out at a fast clip, easily keeping up with the other load and the rest of the team, which was the poin
t. They all had to stick together and finish at the same time, working together.

  When they reached the wall, Dustin organized them to get both loads up and over. He scrambled up first, then lay on the ledge to help the others over and down. He’d done this drill hundreds of times, but something felt off when his eyes met Wes’s as Wes scaled the wall.

  Wes’s eyes were full of concentration, not secret messages as he and Curly hefted their load up to Dustin and his ensign, who then lowered it down to the men waiting on the other side. Still keeping his gaze on Dustin, Wes pulled himself up but missed the next handhold, slipping to dangle precariously from one arm.

  “Lowe,” Dustin shouted. He stretched down to Wes. “Grab my hand.” Wes hesitated a second longer than the other men might have, and Dustin hated that. “Now.”

  Wes grabbed hold and Dustin hauled him up with a grunt. Wes’s grip was solid and warm and Dustin reveled in the brief contact, unable to stop the way his heart sped up with more than simply the adrenaline of the situation.

  “Thanks.” Wes looked away quickly as he made it to the ledge.

  “No problem,” Dustin said, same as he would to any other man. God, this tension in his chest was awful, far worse than he’d expected.

  But there was no time to mope. On to the next obstacle, a tricky sequence of ropes that took all eight of them to get the loads across. Wes proved to be more than adept at swinging himself around on the long, thick hemp ropes.

  “Hey, Lowe, we win, you gonna let me and Bacon take you out for a beer tonight?” Curly yelled.

  Dustin’s gut contracted even as he forced himself to smile. He should want Wes to make friends, be a part of the team and the easy familial relationship of the enlisted men, and shouldn’t care that this was one more sign of Wes being off-limits. Dustin didn’t go drinking with his men, didn’t involve himself in their off duty lives.

  “Y’all buying?” Wes’s smile looked as forced as Dustin’s.

  “Sure.” Curly passed the load on to the ensign who was waiting for it. “I’ll try to get my girl to come out, bring some friends.”