“Yeah.” Bacon flopped back next to him. “Unfortunately, yeah that’s my legal name.”
“Who does that to a baby?” His laugh was warm, a tickle for Bacon’s ears.
“Like I said, my mom’s a lot younger than my dad. She was a waitress in a truck stop café, and somehow he charmed her. I never understood it. Sure as hell was never charming after I arrived. Anyway, neither of my half-brothers are juniors. But Mom, she went all out. Guess she thought it might help him stick around, pay his fair share.”
“What does he go by? I mean that’s quite the name.”
“Guess he was named after some great-grandfather. Everyone calls him Bert. And growing up, even as a tiny baby, I was just Junior. Brothers said it all sarcastic-like, Mom said it nicer, Dad said it like he couldn’t give a fuck, and teachers said it with a laugh, but I was just Junior.”
“And you hated it?”
“Yeah. I’m not even sure when I started hating it, just remember that the sound of that name made my stomach hurt. By the time Jamie came around, I was so over it. We spent hours trying to brainstorm better names.”
“Did you come up with any?” Spencer stroked his biceps. “I’d sure like something better to call you.”
Bacon made a scoffing noise before giving in to the urge to laugh. “What? Can’t call me Bacon when I’m fucking your brains out?”
“Nope.” Spencer poked him in the ribs.
“Well, we were young, so there were a lot of stupid suggestions—Scorpion was seriously the frontrunner for a while. For a couple of years Jamie called me Scorp. But we talked about trying to find a nickname. Laurie. Larry. Rennie. D.L. Del. Always kinda liked that last one.”
“I like Del.” Spencer brushed a hand through Bacon’s hair. “That suits you. Could I call you that? Just privately.”
Bacon thought about all the armor he’d strapped to his soul to be Bacon, to be the last-name-only tough guy who didn’t need a first name. He couldn’t explain that to Spencer in a way that wouldn’t sound deranged, nor could he explain how granting Spencer this permission felt like a big freaking deal.
“Are there going to be private moments?” he countered. “Pretty sure I’m expecting some lecture from you any minute about how this was a one-time mistake, never to be repeated.”
“You wouldn’t be wrong.” Spencer raised himself up on an elbow. “It was a mistake. I don’t do this. I don’t sleep around with sources. As a gay man—hell, as a journalist period—I take my credibility very seriously. Because I’m out and somewhat in the public eye, I’ve always tried very hard to have impeccable ethics and boundaries. But somehow you just barreled right through.”
“That’s me. I do reckless and impulsive well.” Bacon gave him a pointed look.
“And yet you also have this serious side. You’re a contradiction. And you’re dangerous—”
“Because I’ve killed terrorists?” Some of Bacon’s earlier anger started to seep back in, and he sat up.
“No. Not that kind of dangerous.” Spencer squeezed his biceps. “Dangerous because I like you. Far more than I should. If you were just an impulsive kid, it would be so much easier to dismiss you.”
“You know for all my tendency to get restless, I haven’t had many intentional one-night stands. I like having friends. People I hang out with when I’m in town. And occasionally screw around with. I’m not usually into anonymous sex or one-off fucks. I wouldn’t mind a repeat.”
“I can’t be that for you.” Spencer sounded legit pained. “I’m based out of LA for one, but I’m not sure a friendship between us is advised.”
“Seriously?” Bacon shook his head as he peered down at Spencer. “Never once have you made friends with a source? I call bullshit. No one you met on a story and later met for a meal or who sent you a holiday card? Not one person you’ve kept in contact with?”
“I want a damn sight more from you than a card,” Spencer growled as he too sat. “And okay, you’ve got a point. Yeah, I’ve been friendly with people.”
Something cloudy passed in Spencer’s eyes, and Bacon knew there was probably a story there, but he didn’t press for it.
“We both know your story’s probably dead in the water. Is there really such a big deal about us staying in contact?”
Spencer let out another pained sigh. “Maybe not. But I’m not sure I can be what you need.”
Bacon had heard similar so often he needed to start a damn support group for it’s-not-you speeches. “No offense, but I’m not sure you get to tell me what I need. I’m not asking you to be the love of my life here. Not planning to tell anyone either—my team would be pissed, and I’m not going there, but I’m just saying there’s an option here where you don’t kick me out never to speak again. We can part friends. Maybe I look you up when I’m back in the States, maybe I don’t, but we can keep in touch.”
“Is ‘part friends’ code for you’re hoping for a round two?” Spencer’s laugh sounded forced. Good. Bacon liked having him rattled.
“I’ve got a little time.” Bacon shrugged. “We can get food—”
“We shouldn’t be seen together. If we run into someone else from your team...”
“They invented room service for a reason.” Bacon rolled his eyes. “We eat. Maybe we fuck again, maybe we just talk. I’m not sure I’ve got that strong of a preference. All I know is that despite everything, I like being around you. It quiets my brain, and after the week I’ve had, I desperately need that. Don’t make me be alone before I have to.” He didn’t like putting it all out there like that, laying it on the line. Made his skin feel like he’d showered in too-hot water or something.
Spencer’s face softened. “I won’t. I still think this is madness, but I get what you’re saying. And for what it’s worth, I like you too. Like you far more than I should. I don’t want you alone and hurting. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I really am...sympathetic about your friends.”
“Thanks.” Bacon had had about enough of heavy conversation so he pushed Spencer back on the bed, loomed over him. “I just need to not think about it for a while.”
“I can help with that.” Spencer touched Bacon’s face with a tenderness Bacon hadn’t had from many people.
“Good.” Lowering his head, Bacon kissed him thoroughly. Initial frenzy gone, he kissed him like he wanted to memorize everything about Spencer’s mouth and his responses. Maybe all they got was tonight, but Bacon wasn’t letting him get away so easily. There was something here, something he didn’t fully understand but he craved. Needed. And he wasn’t stopping until he got it.
Chapter Thirteen
“I think I like you more than the local food.” Bacon grinned up at Spencer, clearly enjoying their half-dressed picnic on the bed, despite his lack of enthusiasm for the cuisine.
“I like you too, Del.” Spencer tested the nickname out, seeing how it felt on his tongue. Weird how his brain still thought of him as Bacon, even with the man’s guarded permission to call him Del. Delbert Lawrence Bacon, Junior. Man, the poor guy really had lost the name lottery, that was for sure.
Bacon seemed to like his use of the name, growling and rolling Spencer beneath him.
“Need you again. Fuck. Don’t like being this crazed.” Del panted against Spencer’s lips, already hard against him again.
“Me either. Let’s be crazy together, Del.”
And they were, sharing a slow, lazy round two as promised, this time jerking each other off as they made out, building up to an utterly devastating climax. It wrung Spencer out, leaving him to sleep long hours, dreaming of Bacon, almost missing the time to go. He had a vague memory of Bacon saying he needed to leave and kissing his head.
* * *
Skin heating with memories of the night before, Spencer threw off the covers before forcing himself out of bed. He couldn’t be rolling around with memories all mor
ning. He had a flight to catch. He was flying back to San Diego because his car was there, and he also had a meeting with Naval PR, one he was sure he wasn’t going to enjoy.
But first he was breaking up the long flight to check on his parents in Hawaii. He’d told the LT that was his plan, so he felt somewhat obligated to stick to it. And okay, part of it was delaying that meeting, trying to find an angle that wouldn’t have the navy shutting him down. He had a strong feeling he wasn’t going to be offered the chance to embed with another team, but he still felt obligated to dig deeper, honor who Harry had been, honor both his memory and all the possibilities that had died with him.
They don’t see us. How could Spencer make people see the sacrifices and trials of the spec ops warriors? If this profile got killed, he’d still keep working to fulfill the silent promise he’d made Harry at his funeral. Hell, he still kept that text in his message history. Writing this story, doing this project, was the only way of outrunning his guilt over not seeing the text, not realizing Harry might need him on some human level. He’d been so intent on reporting, on keeping to the ethics he’d told Bacon he valued so much, he hadn’t realized until too late that maybe he could have made a difference. Maybe he could have saved Harry. And that thought had dogged him the better part of the year, only getting louder as he left the island, feeling like he might be letting his best chance at his own personal mission slip away.
He spent the flight to Hawaii trying not to relive the encounter with Bacon and failing miserably. He swore his skin still smelled like the man. Despite their tentative plans to keep in touch, Spencer wasn’t going to be the one to make the first move—if Bacon’s offer had been a heat-of-the-moment sort of thing, he didn’t want to force his attentions on him, and quite honestly, Spencer wasn’t sure what to say. Bacon had shaken him to his core, caused him to doubt himself as a journalist, rattled his very sense of who he was and what he stood for.
And it wasn’t until he was stretched out on a lounger at his parents’ condo complex pool, laptop in front of him, attempting to write, an early morning breeze licking his skin, when his email account dinged and he realized exactly how much he’d been kidding himself, how desperately he wanted to hear from Bacon.
Bacon’s email address contained the fanciful scorpion_bait handle that was also his chat ID. His avatar was a picture of his scorpion tattoo, and Spencer swore he could almost taste the man’s skin as he clicked open on the email.
Hey,
Another down day here in sunny paradise. Thought I’d drop you a line while I had internet access. There was talk of us going back to the States, but that’s not going to happen anytime soon, for reasons I wish I could say but can’t. But I wanted to tell you that the guys I told you about lived. Double miracle if you believe in those.
I know you well enough to figure that you’re drowning yourself in regrets over what happened—both out there in the field and with us. Don’t. I wish the mission had gone different of course, but I don’t regret a thing. And I definitely don’t regret anything between us. Hell, those memories are keeping me sane, no joke. My room is still too quiet, and waiting to be called back out has me all antsy. Is it bad form to admit jerking off to someone via email? I guess I’ll keep quiet, but just...thank you. For everything.
Oh and because I know you’ll be curious even if you don’t wanna admit it—my ankle is fine and finger is doing lots better. Told you it was just tweaks. Take care of yourself and maybe write me back if you get a chance.
Bacon (or Del, if you’re wanting something to moan later ;) )
A splash yanked Spencer back to the present.
“You’re grinning,” his father said as he hefted himself from the pool. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile that wide.”
“Me? Really?” Spencer didn’t blush. He was forty-three years old. He had no reason for his cheeks to heat and yet they totally did. “Just an email from a friend. Nothing special,” he lied, even though he knew he’d read the email a dozen more times that day.
“You know, sometimes I miss that ex-husband of yours. All work-work-work doesn’t suit you, Spencer.” His father toweled off next to him.
“Ha. Says the workaholic who raised me.” Spencer had long ago made his peace with his father’s busy schedule and distant affections, but it was almost funny now, listening to him be the one to lecture about slowing down, visiting more often, bringing a friend or partner around. “I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I don’t think I’m cut out for them, honestly.”
His father sighed, eyes going heavy and sad. “I hope you don’t regret that later.”
“I won’t,” Spencer assured him, but inside, he couldn’t help but wonder. Was he lonely? Was that why he’d been so drawn to Bacon? He absolutely could not go craving a future with the man. In fact, he should probably do the kind thing and not reply to the email, let this...whatever it was fizzle out. Screw his father’s advice—getting involved with Bacon was only going to cause them both heartache.
“I’ll leave you to the writing while I go change for breakfast.” His father’s tone was resigned, but Spencer knew him well enough to say that the matter was dropped. Whatever brief happiness his father had had for him would be forgotten. And why that made Spencer suddenly unspeakably sad, he couldn’t say.
All he knew was that moments after his father left, he was typing out a response he probably shouldn’t send.
Good to hear from you. You’re right that I do have a certain amount of regrets, but I can’t deny that I was happy to hear from you and relieved to know that you’re safe for now. That’s excellent news about your friends. I know you can’t tell me much, but I’m wishing them both fast healing. I’d tell you to stay safe when you go back out there, but I know that’s neither realistic nor helpful. Is it weird to say I hope you’re successful? I know I’m not embedded anymore and I probably won’t get to use many details, but I really hope you guys complete your mission.
I hear you on the quiet, but I’ve got both my parents peppering me with questions. Does your mother do that? It’s like the older they get, the more hovering they do, almost like they’re trying to make up for what they didn’t do earlier. I’m looking forward to being back in my condo by myself and decompressing a bit. I guess that’s a way we’re different—I enjoy being social a lot, but I do like having my quiet and alone time to recover afterward.
And as a guy, not a reporter, I enjoyed your email. Drop me another when your schedule allows.
Spencer
P.S. Yes, it’s fine to admit the jerking off part. I like knowing that, far more than I should.
Spencer knew he shouldn’t click Send, shouldn’t allow this friendship to develop, and yet he was already anticipating the response before he even hit the button. He was so very, very screwed, and yet he found himself grinning on his way into breakfast, steps far lighter than they’d been earlier.
* * *
Spencer resisted the urge to fan himself in the stuffy conference room on base in Coronado. He already knew what was coming, so he worked to keep his face neutral.
“I’m sure you understand why we can no longer sanction the article you had planned,” said Lieutenant Mears, she of the highly competent attitude who had delivered him to Bacon’s SEAL team what felt like a hundred years ago. “Rear Admiral Loveless is adamant about that. This is an ongoing mission situation now, and you reporting on it could compromise mission integrity, put the personnel at risk.”
“Maybe embedding with a different team—”
The lieutenant sighed. “That was suggested. But Naval PR has thought about the matter and has decided that further access is no longer in the navy’s best interest—and that the risks to you and the spec ops community are both simply too great. We can’t put you at risk again. You’re lucky to have survived that mission as it is.”
“So I can write an article about that—my person
al experiences surviving, leave all mission details very fuzzy...”
Spencer owed such a debt to Bacon that a story that highlighted his bravery seemed like the least he could do, even if he had to keep the specifics out of it. But he was trying hard not to think of Bacon while at this meeting, not to feel guilty for continuing to email back and forth with the man. Naval PR couldn’t forbid a friendship, but still, Spencer didn’t want them getting even a hint that he was personally invested in Bacon.
“That’s a risk we simply can’t take.” She shook her blond head. “Rear Admiral Loveless has already spoken with the paper that contracted your story. They’re in agreement that running a story based on your embedded experience simply isn’t prudent.”
“What? F—That’s rather heavy handed, don’t you think?” Spencer thumped his hand against the scarred wooden table. He’d expected to be told not to write about the mission, but this, going behind his back to make sure the story was good and dead, took him past frustrated and disappointed, straight to angry.
“Naval PR decided this was the best course of action,” she said firmly.
“You can’t keep me from writing about the military.” His unspoken promise to Harry’s memory weighed him down, made his words that much more defiant. He wasn’t giving up. Wasn’t going to prove Harry’s desperate conclusion right.
“No, we can’t. But in terms of this story—the inner workings of the SEAL team—the navy will no longer be cooperating.”
This story. The seed of a plan sprouted in Spencer’s brain.
“What if we wait a bit, and I write about the recovery of the men injured on the mission?”
“I can ask, but I doubt the higher-ups will want that. That’s the sort of negative story Naval PR seeks to avoid, you know?”
And that’s exactly the sort of story I have to write. Spencer saw it clearly now, saw past the lieutenant’s resistance to the heart of the story he’d been searching so hard to find. Sure, the paper wouldn’t go against the rear admiral, but that was fine. He had the credibility from his book on amputees to lean on, and his agent would be more than happy to hear from him. Controversy sold, and Spencer could provide that in spades. He’d thought he needed to embed to find a story worthy of Harry’s memory, but maybe Harry had been the key to the story all along. Spencer was going to do a deep dive, find the other Harrys out there, bring their stories to life. And Naval PR could just deal.
Tight Quarters Page 13
