Cover Up

by L. A. Witt

  I believed in us, too.

  His eyes stung. He accelerated down the road and went looking for . . .

  What? What the hell do I need right now?

  A beach. That sounded good. Or at least less shitty than going home, or finding a bar, or whatever else he might’ve come up with.

  One thing about Norfolk—and the entire Hampton Roads area, for that matter—was that you didn’t have to drive very far to find a beach. No matter where you were, there was probably one nearby.

  So after he left Pete’s house, it didn’t take Nate long to find a strip of sand and some rolling waves.

  He parked in a sandy lot. This wasn’t one of those places that attracted many tourists—or even locals—so aside from a beat-up Chevy S10, the lot was empty. When he stepped out onto the beach, the nearest person was fishing a good hundred yards away.

  He sat down on the sand and stared out at the water.

  He hadn’t realized until today just how numb he’d been for the last few months. A thick shell had been separating him from everything he hadn’t wanted to feel, and now that shell wasn’t just cracking, it was crumbling. Falling to pieces and baring him to emotions he’d hoped would eventually go away on their own.

  They hadn’t.

  They were there, and they were as intense as they’d ever been, hiding beneath the surface and waiting until now.

  From the moment he’d caught on that Caleb was cheating, Nate had been angry and hurt. He hated his ex-husband for lying to him and fucking around on him. For destroying the life they’d spent a decade building. Every thought he’d had of the man was pain and poison.

  But watching Daniel and Colin reunite after six months apart and watching them take their relationship to the next level with a ring and a question, had pinged a nerve inside Nate. The memories flooding his mind were less welcome than the moment he’d busted Caleb. For months, he’d focused on hating the asshole, and he’d successfully tamped all the other things down.

  But now there they were—the good times.

  A few of them had peeked through while he’d been in Dover with Lucas. That was the first time in a long time he’d thought about their post-deployment reunions, but he hadn’t been overcome with sadness because he’d been too caught up in wondering what it would be like to share a reunion like that with Lucas.

  Today, even his feelings for Lucas couldn’t mute the past. It was all coming back, and there was no stopping it.

  The time that gorgeous man had come up and offered him a drink on the condition he never sing “Eye of the Tiger” again. The first night they’d spent together. The moment he’d realized he was in love with Caleb. The first time they’d gone to an official Navy event as a couple after DADT had been lifted and they didn’t have to hide anymore. When they’d spent a weekend happily christening every room and flat surface in the house they’d bought together.

  He absently slid his fingers under his shirtsleeve and over the faintly raised lines of his tattoo. He’d been so sure. Putting his love for Caleb on his skin, memorializing the silly inside joke about how they’d met, had made perfect sense. They’d already gotten married and bought a house. A tattoo didn’t seem any more permanent than either of those things.

  Except now the marriage was over, the house was on the market, and he still had this inked reminder of something dead.

  His eyes stung. He swiped at them, but it didn’t help. Damn it. The memories hadn’t been welcome, and the tears were even less so. He’d cried on Jon’s shoulder in the aftermath of kicking Caleb out, and he’d cried himself to sleep a few times on the couch because he hadn’t been able to sleep in that bed for the first couple of weeks. But somehow, he’d kept himself from grieving. From walking through all those good times and accepting, one by one, that they were gone.

  There on the sand, alone on a mostly deserted beach, he couldn’t stop the barrage of emotions, so he gave in.

  And he finally cried for everything he’d lost.

  Chapter 22

  By the time the barbecue had wound down, it was almost eight. Lucas, Matt, and Jon stuck around to help clean up, and the guys drove Lucas home, since they also lived out in Virginia Beach. At least that saved him from needing an Uber.

  All the way back from Norfolk, he struggled to sit still in the back of Jon’s car. How was Nate? Where was he? He’d responded to one of Lucas’s texts half an hour or so ago, saying he was on his way home. From where? Was he there now or still driving?

  Lucas had texted him as they’d left the house, but Nate hadn’t responded.

  Gnawing his lip, Lucas stared at the unanswered text.

  On my way home.

  He hadn’t been angry when Nate left. Just worried. He didn’t feel like he’d been ditched or cold-shouldered. Something had shifted in Nate. Or cracked, maybe. It was hard to say, because Nate was really good at keeping things under the surface.

  Something had changed, though, and Lucas had a feeling he knew what had set it off. He’d practically felt the shift when Daniel had proposed to Colin. It was like something inside Nate had just . . . dropped.

  Lucas sighed and stared out the window. Maybe if he hadn’t had a couple of divorces under his own belt, he wouldn’t have understood. He might’ve thought Nate was being a self-centered asshole, making the proposal about him.

  But that wasn’t it at all. Nate’s divorce was so recent, the tan line from his wedding band was still visible. Watching a proposal, especially one as emotional as Daniel’s, must’ve been a kick in the balls. Lucas wouldn’t have been able to cope if he’d been in Nate’s shoes.

  And it wasn’t like Nate had made some big production out of his response. In fact, if Lucas hadn’t been so tuned in to him, he might not have even noticed the change in Nate’s mood at all. Then Nate had quietly excused himself to get a drink, and he left without any fanfare. Pete and Daniel had both asked where he’d gone but bought it when Lucas said he’d gotten a call from work (something he’d discreetly run by Jon to make sure he backed him up, of course).

  “Where did he go?” Jon had asked.

  Lucas had shaken his head. “I don’t know. He just said he needed to clear his head or something.”

  Jon had scowled but hadn’t pressed for any more details. The fact that he’d seemed as worried as Lucas hadn’t done a thing to settle Lucas’s mind.

  Just as Jon was pulling into Lucas’s apartment complex, the phone in Lucas’s hand buzzed.

  Just got home. You want to come over?

  Blood pounded in Lucas’s ears. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

  He got out of the car, pausing to thank the guys for taking him home, and headed for the front door. He hadn’t even taken out his house keys before he was responding to Nate’s message.

  Sure. You want company?

  Lucas let himself in, and as he shut the door behind him, Nate responded.

  Always.

  Ok. Be there soon. You doing okay?

  It was a stupid question. Nate had been so obviously not okay, but Lucas didn’t know what else to say.

  I’m better. Looking forward to seeing you.

  Lucas hesitated. He absolutely wanted to see Nate, especially to make sure he was all right, but was he what Nate really needed right now? Had he just offered out of politeness, hoping he’d get an equally polite decline?

  Lucas cursed into the empty apartment and shoved his phone in his pocket.

  Damn it. I’ve never dated someone who just got divorced after ten years. How do I do this?

  He had no idea, but the last thing he was going to do was bow out. He didn’t know if he was what Nate needed tonight, but his company was all he had to offer. If that meant sitting and talking, or watching a movie and ignoring everything, or fucking each other blind . . . well, he’d find out when he got there.

  After he’d changed clothes, he headed out, following the familiar streets from his apartment to Nate’s house. When he got there, the FOR SALE sign was still in the driveway�
��he still felt guilty for traumatizing a couple of prospective buyers—and Nate’s Charger was parked in its usual spot. Everything was normal.

  Coming over felt so different this time, though. Like maybe he shouldn’t be here. It wasn’t that he felt unwelcome per se—just that maybe he was the last thing Nate needed right now.

  On the front porch, he hesitated. Stay? Go? Fuck, what am I doing?

  But then Nate opened the door. And there he was. There they were.

  The sight of him made Lucas’s heart ache—he’d never seen Nate so raw. His eyes were red. He wasn’t crying, but he obviously had been pretty recently. His shoulders slumped like he didn’t have anything left to hold them up. He looked utterly wrung out and exhausted.

  Still, he smiled as he reached for Lucas and leaned in for a kiss. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” Lucas wrapped his arms around him and kissed him again, letting it linger for a moment just to test the waters. Nate didn’t seem to be holding back from him. He caressed Lucas’s face, and his lips, tongue, and hands were as enthusiastic as ever. This couldn’t possibly be the same man whose already shaky foundation had been rattled by another couple getting engaged.

  Lucas drew back and touched Nate’s face. “You sure you’re okay? After . . . you know . . .”

  The fatigue was palpable in Nate’s eyes even as he said, “Yeah, I’m good. And I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be such a downer.” He sighed. “That’s why I left the barbecue. I needed to get my head together, but I also didn’t want to rain on their party.”

  Lucas laced his fingers between Nate’s. “I can’t really blame you. That must’ve been hard, watching them.”

  “Yeah, it was.” Nate rubbed his eyes, though he kept his other arm firmly wrapped around Lucas’s waist. “I’m happy for them. I really am. It just caught me off guard, and I just . . .”

  “You’ve still got your own shit to deal with.”

  Exhaling, Nate nodded. He turned to Lucas. “I really am sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  Nate cupped Lucas’s cheek and kissed him softly. “Thank you. For understanding.”

  Lucas wrapped his arms around him as he searched his eyes, wondering how to ask without prying.

  Nate must’ve seen the questions forming because he shook his head. “I’d really rather not talk about it.”

  Lucas tried not to be obvious about gritting his teeth. Of course Nate didn’t want to talk about it. He never did. And it wasn’t like he owed Lucas an explanation or had to discuss it on demand. But he was so obviously hurting and not doing himself any favors by bottling up his emotions. Lucas desperately wanted to help. How could he if Nate didn’t open up just a little bit?

  Well, there was one way.

  Heart thumping, he stood and tugged Nate’s hand. “Come on. I think I know what’ll make you feel better.”

  Chapter 23

  This. This was what Nate needed.

  Not wallowing in emotions and memories. Not thinking. Not even feeling.

  Just tumbling into bed with Lucas, kissing and groping in between shoving off clothes. Hard cocks. Hot breaths. Whispered curses. Yes. This.

  He rolled onto his back, taking Lucas with him, and the weight of Lucas’s body on top of his felt good. It felt right. Like the world was back on its axis and everything was as it needed to be. His breakdown on the beach seemed like someone else’s memory now—something he’d seen in a movie or heard about secondhand. He felt too fucking good to be the same man who’d fallen apart on the sand a few hours ago.

  They shifted position again, and now Nate was on top. God, yes. Hands all over him. Strong thighs squeezing his hips. Warm breath on his face. Deep, hungry kissing.

  Nate broke the kiss and bent to explore Lucas’s neck. Lucas squirmed, tilting his head and cursing as Nate worked his way up that delicious curve to the sharp jaw line.

  “Oh fuck,” Lucas slurred. He dragged his nails up Nate’s sides, and the delicious burn nearly turned Nate inside out.

  Moaning against Lucas’s neck, Nate pressed their cocks together, the friction making his head spin even faster.

  “Jesus,” Lucas whispered. “Tell . . . tell me what you want tonight.”

  That was easy. “You.”

  Lucas arched under him, sliding his palms over the burning lines he’d scratched into Nate’s sides. “You want me to fuck you? You want to fuck me?”

  “I . . .” Nate shivered, Lucas’s hands tickling and perfect on his skin. “Anything. I don’t . . . I don’t know. I just want you.”

  Lucas whimpered softly. “So if I said I wanted to fuck you . . .”

  Groaning, Nate shuddered on top of him, then bit his shoulder lightly. “I’d say yes please.” He lifted his head, fully intending to say something, but then Lucas’s mouth was against his, and he forgot the whole damn language.

  Lucas wasn’t so hard-up for words, though. “Lemme get a condom,” he murmured between kisses. “I wanna fuck you.”

  “Uh-huh. Yeah. That’s . . . yeah.”

  Lucas brushed his lips across Nate’s, then reached for the nightstand. He came back with a condom and the bottle of lube in his hand, and Nate’s body temperature soared. He hadn’t realized until now how badly he needed a good hard fuck.

  He plucked the condom from Lucas’s hand and tore it open with his teeth. Lucas bit his lip and shivered, and he cursed softly as Nate steadied him with a hand around the base of his dick.

  “Oh my God.” He shuddered, pushing himself into Nate’s hands. Then he grabbed the back of Nate’s neck and kissed him again. Kissed him hard.

  Kissing did a number on Nate’s fine motor skills, but somehow he rolled the condom onto Lucas’s cock despite those talented lips and that amazing tongue driving him to distraction.

  It was Lucas who finally broke the kiss, and he was breathing as hard as Nate. “Let me . . . lube. Need some lube.” He reached for the bottle. Nate loved the sight of Lucas’s usually rock steady hands struggling with the bottle and the simple motion of pouring the clear liquid into his palm. And the motion of Lucas’s hand stroking lube onto that stretched condom was hypnotic. Nate licked his lips—he was always desperate for Lucas’s touch, for his dick, for his mouth, but tonight, he was this close to losing his mind.

  “Turn over,” Lucas whispered.

  Nate’s balls tightened at the thought of Lucas pounding him from behind. Needy and turned on as Nate was, Lucas probably could have talked him into an orgasm without laying a hand on him.

  Somehow he found the coordination to get on his hands and knees, and he gasped at the touch of Lucas’s hand on his hip. Again at warm, slick fingers probing him gently. Eyes closed, he rocked back, fucking himself on Lucas’s hand. Jesus—Lucas wasn’t even inside him yet, and Nate was already dizzy.

  “Oh yeah,” he moaned.

  “Like that?” Lucas asked with a grin in his voice.

  “Uh-huh. Fuck . . .”

  Lucas murmured something Nate couldn’t make out, and his fingers slowly slid free. Nate was about to protest, about to lean back in search of that mind-blowing penetration, when the blunt head of Lucas’s cock pressed against him. Oh God yes. Fuck. He’d almost forgotten there was more coming.

  Exhaling, he let his head fall forward as he lost himself in all the sensations. There were things outside this room and inside his head that were too painful to think about, and the thick cock sliding into his ass was the perfect distraction. He focused on that burn, and he didn’t just enjoy it—he reveled in it. Lost himself in it. Let his thoughts disintegrate in it. Nothing mattered. Nothing existed. Just him, and Lucas, and sex, and them.

  Sex with Lucas had been addictive from the start, and no small part of that was how everything else just disappeared when they were in bed. He felt so damn good with this man, he forgot to feel anything else. Nothing hurt unless Lucas wanted it to and sank in his teeth or dug in his nails or slammed himself that much harder into Nate’s ass.

  Lucas held his hips tighte
r and started thrusting faster. “Like that?”

  Like it? Holy fuck, could there be a bigger understatement?

  “God, yeah . . . more.”

  “More?” Lucas sounded like he was speaking through clenched teeth. “You want more?”

  “Yeah. Please. Fuck . . .”

  With a low groan, Lucas gave him more—he dug his fingers in and fucked him hard enough to make his mind go blank, and Nate heard himself moaning something that sounded like curses, but he didn’t even care what he was saying as long as it didn’t make Lucas stop.

  Abruptly, though, Lucas did stop. Before Nate could protest, Lucas pulled out and tapped Nate’s hip. “Turn over.”

  Well, when you put it like that . . .

  Nate turned onto his back and spread his legs, and he swore as Lucas pushed back in. God, yeah. This position was perfect. Now he could see Lucas. He could run his hands all over his tattooed and untouched skin, and he could look up into those smoldering eyes, and no one else existed except them. There was no mistaking who was fucking him now. As lost in Lucas as he was right then, this could’ve been the one and only man who’d ever laid a hand on him, never mind been inside him.

  No one has ever mattered but you.

  He slid a hand into Lucas’s hair and drew him down into a kiss, and somehow, Lucas still managed to thrust deep and hard while they were kissing, and he was . . . Christ, it was perfect. The way their bodies moved together. The friction of skin brushing skin. The heat of mingling breath. Sweaty hair between his fingers. Narrow hips between his thighs.

  Nate broke the kiss with a gasp, and it was like Lucas knew to fuck him just a little harder in that exact moment, and it only took two strokes to send Nate over the edge. Nate distantly heard himself crying out all kinds of profanity and encouragement as his own hot semen landed on his stomach, and Lucas thrust a few more times, then shuddered and groaned as he came inside Nate.

  Then they were both still.

  Shaking.

  Breathing hard.

  But . . . still.