Wheels Up

by Annabeth Albert

  “Cilantro is like a staple around here. Like flour.” Dylan rolled his eyes.

  “Real mature,” Dustin observed. “And geez, you guys are already fighting like you’ve been married a decade or something.”

  “Yup. This is the glamorous married life. Earlier I washed all the towels, and that is not a euphemism for anything fun. And later, we’ll take out the trash together. Ridiculously happy though.”

  Apollo joined Dylan’s laughter, reaching over and ruffling Dylan’s hair. “You’ll see someday,” he said to Dustin. “When the right woman finally comes along, you’ll find yourself fighting over the stupidest shit.”

  Go find yourself a bossy guy or girl, Wes had ordered. Dustin still had no interest in that—hadn’t even opened up the Joe4Joe app. Even cheap, fast sex had zero appeal to him these days. Only thing that interested him was finding out how Wes was doing.

  “Ha. Dustin’s never settling down. Different girl every damn season. But not this year. This is the year of the recluse apparently. What’s the matter? Lose your touch with the ladies?”

  All of sudden, Dustin had had enough. Like thirty odd years of enough. A decade plus of pretending, all the years he could have said something and hadn’t. All the weeks and months of keeping Wes a secret. Enough.

  “I’m bisexual,” he blurted.

  Dylan blinked at him, and all the oxygen seemed to leave the room, a roar in Dustin’s ears sounding as loud as when the hatch opened on a plane.

  “Since when?” Dylan’s head tilted to the side.

  “Since when?” Apollo lightly thumped the back of his husband’s head. “Since always. Apparently.” There were years’ worth of friendship in that word, dozens of times Dustin could have told him and hadn’t, and he wasn’t surprised at the hurt in Apollo’s voice.

  “I meant you just recently figured it out?” Dylan clarified. “Is that why you’ve been such a class-A jerk the past year?”

  It would be really easy to lie, remove some of the hurt from Apollo’s eyes and confusion from Dylan’s face. But he was done with lies and half-truths. “No. Not something new. But I um...met someone. For the first time.” His skin heated.

  “Ah.” A world of understanding in that syllable from Apollo. “Well. Good for you. When do we meet him?”

  “Just like that?” Now it was Dustin’s turn to blink. “We’re cool?”

  “I’m not.” Dylan inserted himself back into the conversation. “You could have told us. Me. Him. Both. Anytime. Did you really think we’d care?”

  “Not you so much.” Dustin sighed. God, this was hard to explain, even to himself. “More... Dad, maybe? Not even that so much as expectations. Mine. Other people’s. I probably made it harder than it needed to be,” he admitted.

  “Ya think?” Dylan stared him down. “You seriously do love to get in your own way, don’t you?”

  “That he does,” Apollo said mildly, two of them talking now like Dustin wasn’t even there.

  “Still here, guys.” Dustin leaned against the counter, not sure he trusted his wobbly knees after this confession.

  “So when do we get to meet this Mister Right you met?” Dylan’s eyes gleamed. “Because yeah, I’m with Apollo on this. That’s the important thing. We need to hassle him pronto.”

  Loss, swift and sure, ripped through Dustin, a crackling det cord to the center of himself. This shouldn’t be happening. He should be able to smile, name a day and time, message Wes and tell him how he’d been totally right that this wasn’t that huge a deal to Apollo and Dylan. Instead he couldn’t hold back his grimace. “You can’t.”

  “Can’t like you broke up or can’t like you’re going to be a dick about this?” Dylan shook his head. “Let us be happy for you, man.”

  Let us be happy for you. God, if only it were that easy. Them giving Wes a hard time. Wes not taking their shit. His eyes meeting Wes’s in silent apology, a promise for later... Never happening. “Both. Can’t. It’s complicated.”

  Apollo’s eyes narrowed. “How complicated? Like younger than Dylan complicated—”

  “God, no. I mean he’s younger than me, but that’s not... Look. I shouldn’t even be talking about this with you. I just... I got pissed. Everyone wants to slot me in a little box, and I don’t fit, okay? I don’t fucking fit.” He smacked the counter next to him.

  His throat burned with the force of his frustration and now his palm smarted too. He didn’t fit anywhere anymore. Not here with his best friend and brother. Not on the team where he’d been lucky that his distraction level hadn’t created a hazard. Not surrounded by family at the wedding. Just with Wes. He’d fit with him. Perfectly. And if Wes were here—anywhere really—then he’d fit there as well, because that was his place. With Wes.

  “You can’t give us a clue? Maybe we could help—” Dylan started in again, but Apollo made a warning noise.

  “Do you need me to leave the room?” God, Apollo’d always seen far, far too much, and there had to be some clue on Dustin’s face or tremor in his voice during his tantrum of a speech that had given him away. “If it’s something I can’t know, I understand. Completely.”

  “Fuck, no. No way am I asking you guys to keep secrets from each other.” Dustin held up his hands. “This is on me.”

  And it really was. It was on him to...do what? Hide? Fuck. Who the hell was he anymore? Did he really think he could live out the rest of his days with this secret, knowing that he could have had—

  What precisely?

  Wes said he didn’t want him. Said it was all just sex. “Fuck him,” Dustin said aloud, without meaning to. But seriously, Wes did not get to call all the shots here.

  “Uh, you needing tips in that regard?” Dylan seriously did not know when to quit.

  “No.” Dustin glowered at him, but he wasn’t angry at Dylan’s piss-poor joke timing as much as determined. He was a fucking US Navy SEAL lieutenant. There was no such thing as a no-win scenario and he was not a quitter. “But I am going to need a rain check on dinner. There’s a phone call I have to make. Right now.”

  * * *

  Wes blinked at the bright California sun as he emerged from the terminal to the pick-up line by baggage claim. Sure enough, Bacon zoomed up, exactly like his text had promised.

  “Welcome back,” he said as Wes slid into the passenger seat. Thank God, Bacon was alone as Wes wasn’t sure he was up to dealing with the rest of the gang yet.

  “Eh.” Wes couldn’t lie and say it was good to be back, because it wasn’t. He’d left the tattered remnants of his heart, the parts Dustin hadn’t smashed, back in North Carolina.

  “How is she?” Bacon barreled back into traffic, squeezing between cars. “Figured that since you were coming back, she must be doing better.”

  Wes shrugged. “More like two weeks of leave was all I could squeeze out. She was in ICU for a week. She’s still in the hospital, with a very long road to go, but she’s holding her own.”

  Holding her own. It had become something of a mantra from the doctors and nurses the past two weeks—first when weaning her off the ventilator, then when watching for infection and reject. She’d had a tough time of it, but she was battling. Just like Wes had to do. One day at a time, one obstacle at a time.

  “You hungry? Want to grab food on the way back to base?” Bacon glanced over, smiling encouragingly, but eyes wary like he knew Wes would turn him down.

  Which a few weeks ago, Wes would have. But he had to bust out of his comfort zone, make friends at some point. Even if he and Curly were never going to be buddy-buddy again, he couldn’t turn into the hermit he’d accused Dustin of being. “Sure. Why not? What’d you have in mind?”

  “I know this great Mexican joint on the way. You’ll love it. Bet you don’t have Mexican this good back east.”

  “Bet not,” Wes said, makin
g himself sound good-natured. “But y’all’s barbecue ain’t worth shit, so it’s even.”

  “Hey now,” Bacon laughed. “I can grill.” He drove through the clogged traffic, trying to convince Wes of his prowess with barbecue with some little stories. It was easy conversation, something Wes dearly needed after the weeks of heavy medical talk and dark thoughts in his own head.

  By the time they reached the restaurant, Bacon had moved on to stories about the rest of the team, epic meals they’d enjoyed over the years together.

  “You and Curly cool?” Bacon asked as the waitress set steaming platters in front of them. “Cause you guys seemed a bit...tense before you left. And every time I mention him, you get this look. Anything I can help with? He’s a good guy. Salt of the earth.”

  “We’re chill,” Wes said quickly. “Just been a long-ass month. Nothing to do with either of you though.”

  “You’re telling me. And you haven’t even heard the latest shit.” Bacon took a big bite of enchilada.

  “What’s going down?” Wes’s appetite fled. More rumors? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. He had to wait for Bacon to finish chewing, each second dragging out.

  “XO’s leaving. Totally out of the blue. LT is fucking pissed.”

  “What?” Wes’s fork clattered to the table, and his throat went dry and scratchy, voice coming out a rough rasp.

  “Yeah. Haven’t talked to him myself. But I thought for sure he’d be a lifer—everyone said he was due his own team next year or so,” Bacon blathered on, oblivious to the turmoil in Wes’s brain. Turmoil that he absolutely could not reveal to Bacon. Fuck.

  Dustin, what the fuck did you do? “Yeah, that’s what I heard too,” Wes said weakly, surprised he could talk at all.

  “But there is a shit ton of moolah to be made in private security consulting—I mean we are talking rolling in it. Bet that’s what he wants to do. With the navy downsizing, just makes sense to get out while you can, follow the cash before there’s too much competition.” Bacon continued to talk around large mouthfuls of food, his own appetite undiminished, and he sounded almost gleeful at the prospect of Dustin getting rich in the private sector. And he was apparently undeterred by the lack of response from Wes. “When I get out though, I’m going the other direction. Want to have fun. Maybe travel. How about you? You ever think about what you’re going to do after you get out?”

  Only every other moment the past few weeks. But through some miracle, Wes kept his expression neutral. “Nah. Not sure. Something closer to home, for sure. But I’m not all about money. No big dreams.”

  Other than Dustin. He finally managed to choke down a bite of food. Couldn’t taste a damn thing, but he didn’t want an interrogation about his appetite.

  “Aw, man, that sucks.” Bacon made a face. “Gotta get you out there, find your passion as my mom’s always saying.”

  I found it. It’s about six foot four, blond, and damn impossible to have, but still I dream. Wes nodded. “I’ll find it.”

  “Next leave, if your sister’s still healthy—” Bacon knocked on the table “—I’m taking you down to this little place I love in Mexico. You and me and the open road. Trust me there’s no rush like it.”

  “I’ll hold you to it.” Wes wasn’t entirely sure how he was still talking and making sense what with freaking out over the news about Dustin.

  Somehow, he made it through the rest of the meal, Bacon waxing on about trips he’d been on. He kept him on that topic with as many questions as he could, trying to keep Bacon off speculation about Dustin and why he was leaving.

  But that didn’t stop his own head from reeling, wild guesses and speculation of his own roaming around unchecked. He managed through sheer force of will not to race away from Bacon the second they were back on base, making small talk, greeting guys they passed, seeming in no hurry at all. Just give me my Oscar now, please and thank you.

  The whole while, he just bided his time, counting down until he could freak the fuck out. And get angry. Furious even. Someone had some serious explaining to do.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sleep and Dustin were mortal enemies now. Made him have new sympathy for Wes’s chronic insomnia complaints. Which, not surprisingly, made him long for the man more. He lay in bed, counting weeks and days and hours and minutes, not sheep.

  Knock. Knock. He couldn’t even say he was that startled by the late-night knock coming from the front door. Part of him had been waiting for this for days now, anticipating. Dreading, more than a little, but underneath all that anticipation was hope, stark and clear. Hope that cut through all the worry he had over the source of the knock.

  Not bothering to pull on a shirt, he headed for the door. He checked the peephole, just to be prudent, but again, no surprises there.

  “What the actual fuck are you thinking?” Wes said the second Dustin opened the door, pushing by him into the condo. “Have you lost your ever-loving mind?”

  “Well, hello to you too,” Dustin said mildly, shutting the door behind him. God, Wes looked good—even in rumpled jeans and black T-shirt with dark circles under his eyes that said Dustin wasn’t the only one not sleeping. He wanted to hug him so badly, but Wes’s angry porcupine expression made that a dicey proposition. “Safe trip back? How’s Sam?”

  “Fucker.” Wes paced in front of him. “You know why I’m here. Bacon couldn’t hold the news in. You’re the talk of the team. Everyone in the barracks is buzzing with it, and me not able to say a damn thing. You know how many hours I’ve had to bite my damn tongue? And you want to talk about my trip? Fuck you.”

  “You have. And we both liked it.” Dustin tried to defuse him, but his blue eyes still spit lethal sparks at him. “And I was planning to discreetly message you soon. Just had a few things to work out—”

  “Work out?” Wes shook his head. “Details? Dude. You resigned your commission. Don’t you think that’s a big enough thing to warrant a fucking text? Especially after I told y’all in no uncertain terms not to fucking do that.”

  “Which is why I didn’t message.” If Wes kept up this level of anger, Dustin was going to end up pissed off right alongside him. “I didn’t need your permission, and I already knew what you’d say. But guess what? You don’t get to decide my future for me.”

  “The fuck I don’t.” Pacing into the living area, Wes pulled at his hair. “You bastard. You couldn’t wait. I had a fucking plan. I was going to tell you.”

  Oh, Wes with a plan was a scary thing—and knowing him, big risk and explosions were involved. “A plan? More sneaking around—”

  “No. Not that.” Wes gulped in some air. “Waiting. I was going to ask you to wait. My contract’s up next year. I was going to tell you that I would not re-up. Because the team—and your career—need you far more than they need me. Let me be the one to leave.”

  “Nope.” Dustin shook his head. “Not gonna let you do that. Because this isn’t about you. I’m not leaving for you.”

  “It’s not? You’re not?” Looking totally defeated, Wes flopped onto the couch.

  “I was distracted as fuck on our last mission. I’m a danger to the team if I can’t do the job right. Luckily, nothing bad has happened so far, but I can’t continue this way. And it’s not your fault—”

  “The fuck it’s not.” Wes raked his hands down his thighs. “This is all my fault. I pushed for more contact after I got stationed here. I didn’t tell you I was a SEAL up front. And now you tell me you’re too twisted up to work? How is that not my fault? How am I supposed to not feel guilty over that? You’re one of the absolute best operators, about to get your own team, and you’re giving it all up—for what?”

  “For me.” Dustin crouched in front of him so that he wasn’t looming over him. “I’m giving it up for me. Because the past year, longer if I’m honest, I’ve been just going throug
h the motions. Chatting with you—even back when you were Saucer-Man—was the highlight of my day. And it wasn’t just that all my friends and brother went and got coupled up. The job lost something for me. Still not sure what, but something changed. I changed. And I kept looking more and more forward to contact with you.”

  “Same.” Wes chewed on his lower lip, eyes deep and pained still.

  “I’m not going to let you take the blame for what happened after you got assigned here. I needed you every bit as much as you needed me. I was just as guilty for the messages and chats. And I didn’t want to give up the single best thing in my life. That’s on me, not you.”

  “But if you were distracted—that is my fault. I told you we had to quit—”

  “Which was the right call,” Dustin said firmly. “We were playing a dangerous game, one which had to end. But I can’t be on the team with you. Can’t see you every day and never talk to you. Can’t hear updates on your life and wonder what I’m not hearing. Can’t deal with the distraction of having you there but not having you, but like I said, that’s on me. That’s my deal. So, the way I saw it, either I ask for a transfer, and open up a lot of questions and suspicions neither of us needs, or I get out. Start fresh. Get my head on straight.”

  “So this isn’t about us? Not about making it so that we can be together?” Wes blinked, hurt and confusion apparent in his eyes.

  “No.” It had taken Dustin days to sort out his own motivations and thoughts here, but he kept coming back to the fact that he was doing this for himself. “Even if you don’t want a future, I need to do this for me. For the team. I did this knowing full well that me leaving doesn’t take away the legal risks, not completely. And you might not want to deal with that. Doesn’t matter. I still need to do this.”

  “But what are you going to do?” Wes shook his head. He didn’t rush to assure Dustin that he did want a future, which honestly, Dustin had expected even as it stung. This was a lot to deal with all at once.