Wheels Up

by Annabeth Albert

  With the guards neutralized, then came the hard work of searching the contents of the containers. They were filled with all sorts of refuse, recycled machinery parts, sand bags, and other surprises for them to sift through to find the target packages. Once located, the fun work of destruction could begin. The midday sun beat down on them with no hiding from it on the desert bomb range.

  Wes and their other explosives guys set out the charges and coordinated their movements like they’d done this a dozen times together, which was what Dustin wanted to see. They’d be out in the field soon, on a mission a lot like this if his intuition was correct, and he needed his men working well together. As requested, he double-checked the work, but it was pretty spotless.

  “Are we a go?” Wes asked, eyes meeting Dustin’s for the first time all day as they raced away from the blast zone.

  “On the LT’s orders,” Dustin said, trying not to lace any extra pride or approval in his words or expression, which was hard because Wes’s competence on this mission was pretty darn impressive.

  “We’re ready as soon as we’re clear,” the LT yelled. “Let’s make some noise, Lowe.”

  Once the team was clear of the blast zone, Wes set off the remote-controlled explosion. However, the first flick of his hand did nothing.

  “Problem?” the LT asked, coming over to where Dustin and Wes stood.

  “Nope, still on schedule, sir.” Wes’s voice was calm even as Dustin’s pulse sped up on his behalf. On both of their behalves actually. Had he missed something in checking their work? It would be his neck on the line if so.

  The stopwatch the LT was holding, counting down to the exercise’s target time for completion, seemed to be speeding up. But Wes didn’t seem fazed. Ice in his eyes, Wes hit the controller again, and this time they were all rewarded with a spectacular boom in the distance as everything blew to smithereens.

  “Hell, yeah.” Dustin celebrated right along with the whoops and hollers of his men. Fuck but he wanted to touch Wes, thump him on the back, look into his face and tell him how proud he was of the job he’d done. But he couldn’t. Shouldn’t even be thinking that way. He was supposed to be no happier for Wes than he was of Bacon taking the kill shot earlier. They were just doing their jobs.

  He chewed on that the whole way back to base, even as the enlisted guys made plans for a beer to cap off the long day. On his prior team, he’d been closer with the other officers and had frequently socialized after hours with them. But this LT and him were hardly buddies, so he headed back to his truck, a bit dustier than his arrival, but every bit as alone.

  Buzz. Well, what did you know? As he flipped his phone back on upon entering his house, it vibrated with a message from one of those old buddies, Paul Boston, a former SEAL officer who was now raking in the big money in private security work. Dustin hit Play on the message.

  “Strauss! My man! I’m in San Diego this week on business. Let me buy you dinner? You pick the place, and I’ll expense it. Call me back.” Paul’s deep-voiced Chicago burr echoed in Dustin’s ear.

  He groaned to his empty condo. As much as he liked seeing Paul, there were sure to be pictures of Paul’s lovely wife and babies—another reminder that everyone in his life other than him had moved on, grown up, and coupled up. And there was sure to be another push for him to think about taking the same “early out” program that Paul had taken advantage of, and come join him in the private sector.

  Paul did make it sound exciting every time they talked—good money, the latest tech, small teams with a lot of autonomy, and fewer regulations. The complicated command structure and strict regulations were among Dustin’s least favorite parts of the job. He loved small group work, improvising, and immediate results. And playing with new gadgets like Paul got to do was always fun, but he just wasn’t ready to jump. He didn’t know what he’d do with himself if he didn’t have the navy—as it was, he seemed to have too many hours to fill, too much downtime where he thought too much.

  Like right now, when instead of messaging Paul back, his finger was hovering dangerously near the chat icon. Wes was undoubtedly out with the guys, getting a much-deserved beer, but the pull to check was so strong that Dustin clicked before he realized what he’d done.

  Available. The little icon next to Saucer-Man was illuminated.

  Fuck. Dustin wanted nothing more than to message him, maybe chat for a while, maybe put a movie on in the background, listen to Wes’s commentary like they’d done dozens of times. It wasn’t even the cybersex that called to him as much as Wes. Who he couldn’t have, wasn’t ever going to be able to have. He signed back out of the app and threw his phone onto the couch to remove temptation while he went to nuke himself some dinner. This was his life now, and he was just going to have to deal, no giving in to that temptation.

  Chapter Eight

  The officers and senior chief were talking about him. Wes could tell because of the way both the LT and Dustin kept glancing in his direction. They’d just finished an early morning dive training and were putting the equipment away in the dive lockers. The officers were standing a bit apart from the rest of the men, talking animatedly about something that had Wes’s back prickling.

  Finally, they walked over to him right as Wes shut his gear away. His hair was still damp, but he was otherwise in fresh clothes. Dustin, damn him, was looking too good that morning in his uniform. The man’s shoulders seriously should be registered as contraband for all the effect they had on Wes as a stimulant.

  “Lowe! Good news,” the LT boomed at him. His officious tone had Wes thinking this was going to be anything other than good. “You’re going to go work with some of the new equipment the EOD mobile unit has in. We need you up to speed, especially on the new suits. Lieutenant Strauss is going with you, because we need him cross-trained. We encounter an IED on the next mission, he’ll be taking point on supervising the defusing, while you do the sort of work you’ve got such a reputation for.”

  Wes kinda lost the thread of the conversation after “Strauss is going with you.” Much as he loved working with the bomb dispersal equipment, he didn’t want to go anywhere alone with Dustin. But he knew better than to ask the LT to back up and repeat himself, so he nodded. “Today?”

  “Today. Word is you might get some chances to put this in action in the field soon. Need you ready.”

  The LT nodded, glancing at the senior chief, who added, “Lowe will be. No problems there.”

  “You can count on me, sir.” Wes’s heart sped up at the mention of fieldwork. There was nothing quite like the rush of being out there. When it came to bomb disposal, they usually called in the explosive ordnance disposal group to handle it as that was their specialty, but sometimes there just wasn’t time or ability to get the EOD to a situation, and that was where Wes worked best.

  Several of the men on the team had been cross-trained in explosives work, but Wes had undergone extensive training with the EOD group at Little Creek. Had he not made it through BUD/S, the EOD rate had been his backup plan, and it was still some of his favorite stuff to work with, especially the robots and the specialized suits.

  All of which should have had him excited as he followed Dustin to one of the official vehicles to travel across base to where the EOD group was located. But instead, his stomach churned at the prospect of hours with Dustin, more time trying to pretend everything was normal. The day was another gorgeous southern California morning—cloudless blue skies and bright sun with a mild breeze. It had been cold and rainy back home when he’d talked to his mother last night, so he supposed the weather was one of the few things this assignment had going for it.

  “I’m driving,” Dustin announced as they approached the white Jeep, tone every bit as overbearing and annoying as the LT. The Jeep was newer than Wes’s, which had finally arrived via the navy movers, but it was still similar enough that he would have had absolutel
y no issues driving.

  “That’s fine.” Wes bit back a more sarcastic reply and swung up into the passenger seat.

  But something in his expression must have given him away, because Dustin snorted. “What?”

  “I didn’t say anything.” Wes looked straight ahead rather than meet Dustin’s eyes. Looking at him, it was too easy to remember DC, to forget that he had to treat Dustin like any other superior officer. Not that he’d let himself get even this defensive with another officer.

  “You were thinking,” Dustin accused him as he started the car.

  “Dude.” Okay, now Wes was pissed. And if Dustin wasn’t going to treat him like any other enlisted SEAL, then Wes didn’t have to return the courtesy. “Do you have any idea how hard I am working to keep things between us cool and everything in the past on the down low? You’re going to start policing my thoughts now?”

  “Sorry.” Dustin at least had the good grace to blush. “Just forget it.”

  “Nope.” Wes was too worked up now. “You think I don’t notice you avoiding me? You refusing to make eye contact with me, when you do all the other guys? You not laughing at my jokes? You reckon that’s easy for me?”

  “No.” Dustin pulled out of the parking spot, seemingly as reluctant to make eye contact as Wes, proving Wes’s point. “I’m sorry. I...didn’t realize.”

  “Well, try.” Wes slumped back against the seat. And Dustin was lying, had to be. No way had he not noticed the low-level awkward between them.

  “This sucks.” Dustin turned onto a side road. Wes should be paying attention, learning the way to the EOD group, but he was still too agitated.

  “It bites,” he agreed. “And you’re not making it any easier.”

  “You’re right.” Dustin’s honesty had Wes doing a double-take, making sure he’d heard right. “I’m not. This is unchartered waters for me. Feels like...well, someone died.”

  “Not that.” Wes’s bark was too sharp. “Bad breakup maybe, not that I’ve had one of those. But not someone dying. Jesus, I can’t even think about death right now.”

  “What’s wrong?” Dustin turned toward him the second he pulled into a parking spot at the rear of a lot, under a scrubby tree. “Is it your sister?”

  “God, I hate that you know me so well,” Wes admitted. “And yes, she’s having a lot of tests done. They don’t know much yet, just that she’s having irregular heartbeats and shortness of breath. Being worried for her sucks every bit as much as missing you.” He hadn’t meant to say that last part and immediately looked away. “Never mind.”

  “No.” Dustin’s hand was gentle as he turned Wes to face him. “I miss you too. Never think I don’t. And I’m sorry about your sister. She keeping her spirits up?”

  “Oh yeah.” Wes managed a smile even as his heart clattered with the news that Dustin missed him too. “Got me hooked on a new game we’re both playing. Bombarding me with new playlists. My parents are nervous wrecks, but she’s still all sunshine.”

  “Good.” Dustin looked deep into Wes’s eyes, for what felt like the first time in weeks, and licked his lips. He hadn’t dropped his hand from Wes’s shoulder, and it was a warm, solid weight tethering him to the spot, unwelcome heat arcing between them. For a split second, Wes swore he was about to kiss him, and he was torn between desperately needing that and praying he wouldn’t as he was sure he’d shatter, never recover if their lips met. But then Dustin glanced away, shaking his head. “Sorry.”

  “Me too.” That was really all there was to say. He was sorry. Sorry he’d never told Dustin he was navy. Sorry for this transfer he’d had no say in. Sorry for all the pain this was causing both of them. And most of all, he was sorry that he’d never know what that kiss tasted like, never know the feel of Dustin’s lips, his taste, the little sounds he’d make. He’d never know what might have been, and that killed him.

  * * *

  Wes needed another beer. Curly and Bacon’s friends were fun but exhausting. The bar that the SEALs all seemed to like drinking at was packed for a weeknight, probably due to happy hour specials on food. They’d pushed three tables together and the tables were covered with baskets of fries, onion rings, and heaping platters of wings. The crowd had a lot of couples, but as usual, Curly’s girlfriend, Rachel, traveled with a crew of several single women too.

  To Wes’s surprise and relief, not all the couples were male-female. Curly and Bacon were friendly with a SEAL on a different team, who had brought his red-haired professor boyfriend along, and another civilian who had a skinny little blond guy hanging on his arm. The mixed crowd was...nice, and not something he’d seen a ton of back in Virginia. Eventually, Wes would work up to discreetly telling Curly that Rachel could can it with the matchmaking—obviously it wasn’t going to be a huge deal, but he still hated personal conversations.

  “So tell us what EOD had you doing,” Curly prompted. “You blow anything up today?”

  “Yeah, we had inventory duty,” Bacon added. “Let us live vicariously.”

  It was the third day of Wes’s training with the EOD group on the new bomb disposal tech. Three long days with Dustin by his side. “Not much,” Wes said, very conscious of what he couldn’t say with the civilians around. “Had me in the new bomb suit today though. That thing is pretty and the mask has far more visibility than the old suits.”

  “Oooh.” Rachel leaned forward. “I saw one of those in a movie.”

  Wes nodded even though real life was nothing like the movies. The suits were hot and bulky, and while potentially life-saving, also cumbersome and difficult to maneuver in. Usually, they left the suit work to the EOD technicians, but there were circumstances where Wes had be prepared to go out himself, with the team counting on him.

  He told them a bit more about the tech on the suit, but being the center of attention was hard for him—he was a guy of action, not words. “Anyone else need a drink refill from the bar?” he asked before they could do another round of questions.

  No one took him up on the offer, so he headed alone to the line at the bar. Bored, he pulled out his phone.

  Heck. A “call me when you’re free” message from his mom. Probably reporting on the latest round of specialist visits and tests for Sam. And probably not good news or she would have led with that. He couldn’t call her at the noisy bar, but he’d do it as soon as he could make his goodbyes.

  Debating going back over to do just that instead of ordering a beer, he glanced at the table.

  Oh hell no. Apparently, some officers liked this place too because Dustin had just walked in along with another guy in a lieutenant’s uniform. Bacon and Curly were gesturing for them to come over, but Dustin looked every bit as uncomfortable as Wes felt, all stiff with deep lines bracketing his handsome face. But apparently, his friend knew the SEAL with the professor boyfriend because he headed right over with a hearty greeting, leaving Dustin to trail behind.

  Dustin shook his head when Curly tried to get him to sit down, but he too seemed familiar with the guy from the other team. Guess it wasn’t all enlisted men he was allergic too, just those directly under him. Which made sense, but still made Wes’s chest burn. It was stupid really to be jealous of Dustin having friends. All the body language between him and the other lieutenant said they were friends but not lovers. No reason for Wes to be jealous. However, it wasn’t just Dustin’s dirty-talking cyber that Wes missed—it was stuff that had been closer to real friendship, the talking and hanging out, and it sucked that other people got that side of Dustin.

  Wes couldn’t decide whether he was being a coward, hanging back here at the bar. Should he go over? Make a greeting and then do his getaway as planned? Right as he was about to do just that though, Dustin and his friend left the group, heading straight for the bar—and Wes. No way to neatly sidestep this. He could tell the instant Dustin spotted him because his eyes went wide—no mat
ter what facade Dustin wanted to have in place, Wes could always find the little cracks in his armor.

  “Lowe,” Dustin said when he was right in front of Wes. God, his voice was so damn impersonal, same as it had been ever since their conversation in the Jeep, and it made Wes’s stomach clench. These past few days had been torture, working with Dustin, riding with him when necessary, and trying to avoid falling into the pit of another conversation that wouldn’t fix a damn thing. “Out with the guys?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “This is Lieutenant Floros. He’s with training operations. They put together the desert exercise for us a few weeks back.” Dustin made the introduction, even though Wes could tell by his distant eyes that he didn’t really want to.

  “Nice to meet you.” Wes stuck out his hand, but added. “Pardon me, but I was just on my way out. Sorry to run, but I’ve got a call to return.”

  Dustin’s mouth opened then shut. Fuck. The only thing worse than not talking to Dustin was knowing that Dustin wanted to talk to him, wanted to ask questions but couldn’t. Wes looked away and made his escape the second Floros released his hand.

  “Have a good evening,” Floros called after him.

  Doubtful. Wes made his goodbyes quick over at the tables, then headed out into the breezy night air. Having a feeling he wasn’t going to like his mom’s news, he waited until he was in the car to call.

  “What’s up?” he asked when his mom picked up.

  “Did I interrupt your night? I didn’t mean you had to call right back.” His mom sounded nervous, which was never a good sign.

  “Nah. It’s no biggie. I was just grabbing a beer with some of the guys, but I’m heading home now anyway. How’s Sammy?”

  “Her doctors are sending her case back to Duke.” His mom’s voice trembled, and there was the telltale clink of metal, like she was fiddling with her watch out of old habit. “They think she’s going to need another surgery.”