Wheels Up

by Annabeth Albert

  Dustin waited to see what Wes would say—he knew from prior conversations that Wes wasn’t out at work, but he didn’t know how he handled stuff like this. The strain around Wes’s eyes was a look Dustin recognized well as one he’d seen in the mirror more than a time or two.

  “I might could come. Happy to meet your crew.” Wes’s voice was jovial, but his eyes never lost their tension.

  God, Dustin wished he could talk to Wes after this, tell him that for all his LT’s faults, he was a fair guy—he wouldn’t put up with any harassment if Wes wanted to be more open. Couldn’t tell him that Curly probably wouldn’t care if he said he wasn’t interested in the girls, couldn’t tell him that he might have an easier time being out around here, talk more like they used to about these sorts of tricky situations. But of course he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Couldn’t even give him a supportive glance right then.

  “You’ll see,” Bacon yelled down from his perch. “You’ll fit right in.”

  Fit right in. Dustin had never felt less like he fit in anywhere—still wasn’t used to his XO role and working with this LT, missed socializing with his friends, who were all paired off now, missed being a part of base life even though he liked his condo and little boat, and missed his late-night conversations with Wes more than he’d ever thought possible.

  Chapter Seven

  “You were spectacular today, Get Lowe,” Bacon said as they walked back to his truck, clipping him on the shoulder. Bacon apparently thought Wes needed a nickname and was intent on trying different ones out for him. “Still can’t believe our final burst of speed.”

  They’d won the obstacle course challenge at the very last hurdle, thanks in part to Wes’s skills with the rope net at the end of the course. Dustin’s leadership had been good, of course, keeping them organized and on-task, but Wes was going to take a bit of pride in showing off with his new team.

  “You sure you want to ride back to base with me?” Bacon unlocked the truck, which was a jacked-to-all-hell four-door Chevy that would have fit right in back home in North Carolina. “That one friend of Curly’s girlfriend... I don’t know, man, but she seemed kinda sweet on you. You could stay and talk later if you want. Someone will run you back.”

  “Nah. My sleep schedule’s all fucked-up because of the move still,” Wes lied, but not really. He had been sleeping for shit, even worse than usual. Not having Dustin or even the prospect of Dustin to talk to online really zapped his nighttime routine.

  “Understandable. I’ve got a charity run tomorrow in the morning with some friends or I’d stay myself. Getting old.” Bacon patted his nonexistent gut before putting the truck in gear. He wasn’t that old—probably a couple of years on Wes, but not yet a chief. He was tall and lanky to Curly’s short and burly, which gave the tight friends a bit of an odd couple vibe, but Wes was just happy to be accepted on the periphery of their large social circle. It sucked being the new guy, and it was nice not to be drinking alone on a Friday night. But as usual, a few hours of socializing and Wes was done, ready to get back to his room.

  “So you got a girl back in Virginia?” Bacon asked as they headed back toward base. “Because if so, just tell Curly to have Rachel’s friends lay off.”

  It would be damn easy to lie, but that wasn’t how Wes usually handled this. Fake girlfriends were a lot of work. And it wasn’t that he was closeted exactly—if he was dating a guy seriously, he’d figure out how to tell people. And back at Little Creek, a few people had known—his closest buds, but it just wasn’t something he discussed with the team as a whole. “Don’t really date,” he hedged. “Job keeps us too busy, and we were deployed most of last year.”

  “Oh don’t I know it,” Bacon chortled. “My last three friends-with-benefits went and got themselves something steady when we were overseas. Three. Man, my luck. And I heard about your deployment. That’s why they sent you to us—apparently you’re like The Bomb.”

  “Ha.” Wes forced himself to laugh at Bacon’s cheesiness. And he noted that Bacon had stayed gender-neutral in referring to his hookups. He was probably someone Wes could trust, down the road, assuming he let himself get close to anyone here. He wasn’t sure he would—missing his old friends hurt like a bastard. He’d been with a number of them since BUD/S, and having all that familiarity ripped away sucked.

  “I can’t wait till they get us out on the range again, let you show us your stuff.” Bacon had apparently had enough talking about dating and was on to blowing stuff up. Much better.

  “Me either,” Wes said and meant it. He loved doing his job, loved being out in the field, and there was nothing quite like the rush of either making something explode at exactly the right tenth of a second or defusing it in the nick of time. He might hate the move, but he was still a SEAL, and he still got a rush thinking of their upcoming bomb range training out in the desert.

  They dealt with security at the base entrance, showing their IDs, then Bacon parked near their barracks. As they walked across the well-lit parking lot, Wes’s phone vibrated with a familiar pattern.

  “Heck. It’s my mom. I better take this,” he said to Bacon.

  “Sure thing. Tell her we’re taking good care of you.” He clipped Wes on the shoulder before jogging toward the barracks.

  “Mom?” he said into the phone. A quick calculation told him it was after eleven East Coast time—well after her usual bedtime.

  “Wes! I actually caught you and not the machine!” His mom sounded jittery, words coming too fast for her Southern drawl to keep up with. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

  “You got me. Just back from a beer with some new...friends.” He knew she’d want to hear he was making friends, trying to fit in. “What’s up though? Shouldn’t y’all be asleep?”

  “Don’t panic, okay?” His mom’s voice was pitched to soothe, which made his pulse speed up along with his steps.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Samantha’s having some shortness of breath. We’re at the ER. Probably a little virus, nothing to worry about.”

  “But you’re worried enough to call me.” He used his card to enter the barracks and headed straight for his room, which he unlocked one-handed.

  “She didn’t want me to, of course. Dad’s with her now. I stepped away for a coffee. Probably going to be a long night. But I wanted you to know.”

  “I hate this f—freaking coast.” He punched the pillow on the bed. He was off tomorrow. Back at Little Creek, his folks were three hours and some change away. If he were still stationed there, he’d start driving now, be there to spell his parents for a least a few hours before he had to head back to base. But here he was a long-ass flight, almost full day of traveling, away from Raleigh.

  “I know. We miss you so much.” There was a slurping noise, and he could almost smell her coffee—two cream, two sugars, the same way she’d taken it his whole life. “But really, we couldn’t be prouder of you. They picked you for this. Someone must think you’re pretty elite.”

  “Yeah.” Wes supposed he could try to see it that way. However, he didn’t have his mother’s bottomless fountain of optimism to rely on. She was probably rocking her “Proud Navy Mom” sweatshirt right now too. “How’s Sammy otherwise? Do you think it was the party last Saturday that caused this?”

  “She was home by 1 a.m. from that, and slept till noon the next day. I hope it wasn’t that.” His mom didn’t sound too sure, which Wes hated for all of them. Sam should be able to do normal teenage stuff like partying without worrying about an ER visit like this.

  “Is it just the shortness of breath? Does she have a fever?”

  “No, Dr. Wesley, there’s no fever. Just short of breath, and it was worse lying down for bed, so off we went. Better safe than sorry.”

  “Always.” Keeping Samantha healthy was a family project and had been since she was born a tiny, sickly preemie wi
th a heart condition that they’d all spent the past eighteen years battling. “Did you call James?”

  His brother, who was between him and Samantha in age, was away at college at Wake Forest. “I will if they admit her. You remember being newly twenty-one and out on a Friday night, right? I figured not to bother him quite yet.”

  “I’m glad you called me.” His voice was thick. He hated being out of the loop, hated when his mom didn’t tell him something because she was worried about it affecting him on duty.

  “Me too, sweetie. You’re always my rock.”

  “Call me later? Tell me what the doctors say? I’ll be up.”

  “Of course. Before I go, tell me something good. These new friends of yours, maybe. Nice guys?”

  What his mom was really asking for was a distraction. She always found it hard to be in the hospital rooms for long stretches, hated seeing Samantha in the bed. Wes wasn’t much of a talker, really, but he had a long history of knowing what would make her laugh, so he told her a little story about Curly and Bacon. She got a kick out of the nicknames, of course, and it was good to hear her laugh.

  “I’m so glad you got out of the barracks. I’m sending a resource guide I found online of LGBTQ resources in San Diego. There’s some bars—”

  “Mom,” he groaned. “I do not need you looking for hookups for me.”

  “I’m just saying. You’re young, single. Cute. Have some fun!” Like Sam, she was always after him to be more out-and-proud, join one of the groups for LGBTQ service members, and above all else, date. She’d be horrified to know that the only date he’d had in the past year had been DC with Dustin.

  “I will,” he said, because it was easier than arguing. “Now you go back in there, and then call me in a little while, okay? I’m sure you’re right that this is nothing new.”

  “I love you, Wes.”

  “Same.” His sinuses burned. Fuck. Why couldn’t he be there for them? Sammy had had a great year—graduating high school, going to Disney World with his folks to celebrate, the DJ gig, and no hospital trips. Why now?

  Sighing heavily, he dug out a water bottle from his stash under the bed. He wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon, that was for sure, not until he knew what was up with Sammy. Aimlessly, he clicked around his phone, spending some time on the bomb-sweeper game Sammy had put on there as a joke. The news was no better at holding his attention.

  He swiped over to chat. Maybe one of his buddies back at Little Creek was on.

  Nope.

  But hey... What was this? Dustin’s icon was lit for the first time since Wes had arrived at Coronado.

  I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. He knew better than to go down this path, but the news about Sammy had him all jangled up.

  You there? He typed before he could stop himself.

  The reply was so slow in coming, he almost left the app, but then the screen flashed. Yeah. But we shouldn’t talk. You know that.

  Yeah, Wes did know that. He didn’t want Dustin reprimanded or worse, didn’t want anything coming down on his own head either. It’s just talk. My clothes are on.

  Dustin’s answer was faster this time. God, do NOT tell me what you’re wearing. Or not. But yes, just talk. I can’t go there on the other.

  Wes smiled at that because Dustin wasn’t shutting him down all the way. I can respect that. And I shouldn’t have bugged you. Just having a hard time unwinding.

  Being honest sucked, made his chest feel that much colder. Easy joking about who was wearing what was so much easier. Dustin’s reply buzzed while he was lost in the too-exposed feeling.

  Sorry to hear that. Me too, actually. But, you were a freaking circus acrobat on the ropes today. Really impressive.

  Wes smiled at that. Thanks man. This whole...adjustment is harder than I thought. But you’ve got some good men on the team.

  Dustin took a while to reply, and Wes could picture him hunched over his phone, hunting and pecking at the keyboard, so he quickly typed. Voice? Easier than typing?

  No. Dustin added a frowning face to the reply. If I flip on the cam, we’re going to end up jerking off. Don’t think I’m that strong tonight, sorry.

  Wes hadn’t really expected that sort of honesty fromDustin and wasn’t entirely sure how to reply. Sorry I asked. I *do* understand. Hate this. But I understand.

  Wes thumped his fist against the mattress. He really did hate it. They both needed release tonight, the kind they’d indulged in for over six months now. And it totally sucked that some stupid regulation was fucking up one of the best things in his life.

  I should probably go, Dustin typed. But I want you to know that you’re doing great. You’re going to fit in in no time. Stick with Curly and Bacon and their crew. You’ll see—it won’t be this hard forever.

  Wes’s throat felt like an old shrunken sweater. He didn’t want Dustin’s praise, didn’t want his understanding. And certainly didn’t want his goodbye. But it was all he had.

  Dustin’s light dimmed on the chat screen, and Wes could almost picture him in the condo he’d never seen beyond the flashes on cam, all alone on a Friday night, on edge. He wanted more than anything to be there with him, rub his shoulders, get him to open up about whatever was stressing him, maybe tell him about the Sammy news.

  But that wasn’t ever happening. He shut chat down with a series of vicious curses. The universe fucking sucked.

  * * *

  The chopper’s roar echoed the noise in Dustin’s head as they took off from the base to head for the desert.

  “Nothing like the smell of C4 in the morning.” Bacon nudged Wes, who not exactly surprisingly was the most alert and engaged that Dustin had seen. “I can’t wait to see your magic, Lowe Man.”

  “I’ve told you, Breakfast Side, that I don’t do nicknames.” Wes laughed, a sound Dustin had missed like crazy and hadn’t heard enough of around the team. “And I’m ready. Do y’all know yet what we get to blow up? Or are we defusing?”

  It took Dustin a few to realize that Wes was talking to him. They generally didn’t speak to each other on duty unless it was required, which Dustin supposed this was. He forced himself to give the same evil grin he’d give anyone who asked. “It’s a surprise.”

  “They given y’all any indication when we might go wheels up next?” Wes apparently wasn’t done trying to make conversation.

  “Yeah, inquiring minds want to know,” Bacon added. “Feels like we’re ramping up toward something big.”

  “They haven’t told me anything definitive.” Dustin made eye contact with Bacon instead of Wes. “Besides, I couldn’t say. You know that. But we’ll all know something soon, I think.”

  “Good.” Bacon nodded. “All this training makes me antsy. Can’t wait to get back out there.”

  “Amen to that.” Wes leaned back, more relaxed than Dustin had seen. He was settling in, maybe. “But someone tell Curly his girl’s not coming with.”

  Everyone in earshot laughed, including Dustin. Good. Good for Wes, doing the sort of banter that the enlisted guys all seemed to revel in. Dustin didn’t know what was with this weird emptiness in his chest as he watched Wes. It had been several days since their last—and it better be last—online conversation, and Dustin still hated how his whole body had thrummed at the message from Wes, how badly he’d wanted to flip on the camera, just to see Wes’s face, how much he’d wanted to keep Wes chatting, and how powerless he was in the face of his own wanting. It had taken everything he had to close the chat window.

  The remainder of the ride, he hung back, listening to the others giving Curly a hard time about his girlfriend and pumping Wes up for his role taking point on the explosives that day.

  As they exited the chopper, the LT called them to gather around. The bombing range was a desolate stretch of desert, far from anything approaching civilization,
rugged terrain as far as the eye could see. “All right. We’ve got two shipping containers to find, remove a target package from, and destroy. We’re looking for a nice, controlled destruction of the containers and contents.”

  He further outlined the plan, which was a lot more complicated than “Make big things go boom,” and would take a full day’s action. First, they had to find the shipping containers, and scout the area, because it wouldn’t be the first time the training ops folks included some “hostiles” for them to find and disarm. Their ammo wasn’t live rounds, but the explosives they’d use were—later the training ops folks would come back to the site, clean it, and recycle all the debris.

  Sure enough, when they found the two containers, they were being guarded by two “rebels,” who were undoubtedly two marines having a fun day in the desert sun. Marines. Dustin had to make himself concentrate on the mission at hand, not his lies and half-truths to Wes. Their last conversation, Dustin would have given an awful lot to be a marine grunt, someone who was able to have a...something with Wes. Maybe not a relationship, but something more than this awful missing him and what they’d shared.

  “You be sure to double-check Lowe’s work today,” the LT said to Dustin as the team moved into position to neutralize the guards. “I don’t want any hitches.”

  “Got it.” While not the absolute expert Wes was, Dustin was cross-trained in explosives.

  The first step of the operation was to take out the guards. With the full team like this, an ambush would be relatively easy, but that wasn’t how they usually rolled as that kind of unpredictability got people killed out in the field. The better plan was to let their recon and sniper guys do their work first. Bacon and the rest of those men had specially outfitted guns with laser sensors that would register a “hit” on the clothing of the marines. The training ops people would be looking for quick, clean shots and no return fire.

  The recon group assessed the situation, then, needing to draw the guards away from the container, a small controlled explosion was used as a diversion so Bacon could take the “hostiles” out with two shots. Bang. Bang. Exactly like they wanted it.