And he’d spent the past few days kicking himself for even mentioning going upstairs. He should have known that would trigger some sort of guilt avalanche for Apollo. And frankly, Dylan didn’t particularly want to fuck in the room Apollo’d shared with his husband, which was full of happy memories, but at the time all he’d been able to think about was the need to get Apollo naked.
“This really does look delicious.” Apollo snatched a piece of fish off the plate as he assembled tacos for the girls.
“It’s really just a matter of getting stuff ready to assemble.” Dylan knew he was flushing from the praise.
“Well, I appreciate it.” Apollo’s cheeks were duskier than usual. Yup. Still living squarely in Awkwardville. “Got a great workout in earlier, so I’m starving.”
“Lucky you.” Dylan hadn’t managed a good workout in days between work and the girls.
“Go for a run after dinner. It’s cool enough out. You can use my weights after if you want. I’ll handle baths and bedtime.”
“Thanks.” God. This was just so freaking domestic. Lovely, really, but why couldn’t Apollo see their potential as a couple? Hell, even a fling—Dylan didn’t need forever. But they could be good together.
That thought carried him through dinner while the girls shared stories about day camp and Apollo seemed genuinely interested in Dylan’s day. It wasn’t just that he wanted into Apollo’s khaki uniform pants—which yes, yes he absolutely did—he liked hanging out with the guy in a way he hadn’t with past crushes that were all sex and no substance. As he pounded the pavement with his favorite playlist blasting in his ears, he tried to tell himself to get over it.
You’re falling for him again, and he can’t even bring himself to let you touch his dick. This is going to end ugly. Just keep things professional. Distant.
As he headed for the shower after his workout, he heard Apollo reading to the girls, making his voice higher for the girl character. Dylan’s heart squeezed like he hadn’t just spent the past hour lecturing himself against such softness. He resisted the temptation to replay Friday night in the shower. No more fantasies.
He pulled on a pair of shorts, skipping the shirt for the moment because he was still hot from the shower and the run, and headed to his room to veg, but ran straight into Apollo coming out of the girls’ room.
“Sorry.” Apollo stepped back, eyes roving around like he was trying hard not to look at Dylan’s half-dressed state.
“It’s okay. Girls down?”
“Finally.”
“Well, night.” Dylan turned back toward the guest room.
He got a few steps down the hall when Apollo called after him, “Wait. Dylan?”
“Yeah?” Hope beat a frantic tattoo in his ears.
“You want to watch the show? It’s still early.”
“I’d love that.” Dylan couldn’t help grinning at Apollo. “Let me grab a shirt, and I’ll be right down.”
“You don’t...that is, I’m fine...it’s just us.” Apollo fumbled for words. Man, Dylan was never getting tired of his ability to twist the big-shot SEAL lieutenant into knots.
“Fine. I’m hot anyway.” Dylan followed him downstairs.
“Yeah, you are,” Apollo muttered. Dylan swallowed back a laugh. Yup. I am the God of Stammering SEALS. Behold my powers.
Even with his ego at an all-time high, Dylan carefully sat on the opposite end of the couch from Apollo, not wanting to spook whatever had prompted this gesture of friendship.
“You don’t have to sit down there.” Apollo didn’t look at Dylan as he fiddled with the controller. “The view’s terrible over there.”
What are we doing here? Dylan bit back the question as he scooted closer. Hope sounded the alarm again, but he told it off—Apollo figuring out how to be friends again didn’t mean anything.
But somewhere around the second episode, Apollo’s arm came around the back of the couch.
We’re a pair of fifteen-year-olds now, feeling our way toward handholding. Dylan’s brain let out a silent scream.
Don’t see you moving away. Admit it. You’d kill to hold his hand.
Dylan was so ridiculously over his head that it wasn’t funny. His body ignored every lecture about not crushing and sank back against the couch cushion, shoulders touching Apollo.
“This okay?” Apollo shot him a look out of the corner of his eyes.
See? Teenagers have nothing on us right now. “Yeah.”
Apollo’s hand came down on his shoulder, pulled him closer. “Not...” Apollo trailed off, muscle in his jaw working.
“You’re still sorting. I get it.” Dylan patted his thigh. “This is plenty nice. Now watch—this is the episode where the double agent—”
“Don’t ruin it,” Apollo ordered sharply.
Don’t have to warn me. That was exactly how he felt about this tentative embrace, not wanting to ruin this quiet peace, trying to figure out how to keep his heart out of it even as it swelled with every baby step past grief that Apollo managed.
* * *
Apollo blinked hard against the offending sunlight and dug out his shades. He had fallen asleep on the couch again, something that seemed to be becoming his new habit. At some point, Dylan had snuck off for his own bed, and someone had put a blanket from the hall closet over Apollo. His chest had felt tight, like he’d done too much on the fly machine, but unfortunately, his brain had been too groggy to remember his lunch. Thus, he ended up walking to the food court on base during a break between meetings. The mess hall was another option, but he’d had enough of that during his years living in the officer’s housing on base.
It was a gorgeous day with clear blue skies. Too bad that every step made him feel like knives were being shoved in the small of his back.
Damn it. He must have slept wrong. Gee. You think? You’ve got a top-of-the-line orthopedic mattress you can’t bear to sleep on because you’re too busy cuddling up to the babysitter when awake. And hell if he could summon adequate guilt about that. All week he’d been watching the show with Dylan, falling asleep together a lot of nights, but no kissing and no frantic makeout sessions like last Friday. However, it was always there simmering beneath the surface though that Dylan wouldn’t mind if Apollo took things further.
Which he shouldn’t.
Wouldn’t.
Couldn’t.
And yet, he also couldn’t seem to keep away from Dylan, to stop enjoying his presence and coming up with excuses for them to spend more time together. You need to get out more. Reconnect with your friends. Find other adult companionship. Yeah, maybe that was all this was—a hunger for adult conversation. But the weird thrum behind his breastbone whenever he thought about Dylan said otherwise.
Buzz. Buzz. His cell phone went off in his pocket, so he fished it out. It was Marilyn, his mother-in-law.
“Hey!” Apollo tried to manufacture some enthusiasm, even as his guilty conscience seized up even worse than his back.
“I’m just calling to confirm that we’ve got the girls after their day camp today.” Marilyn sounded cheerful as usual. “I’ll drop them back off after dinner.”
“You do?” Hell. Apollo vaguely remembered a phone call during last week’s hectic long hours. He’d forgotten to add it to his calendar, which wasn’t like him.
“Yes, we talked all about it. We’ll take them to BO-Beau for dinner—they love that school bus play area.”
“Yeah, they’ll have a great time. Just let me text my...” Babysitter. That’s all he is, and you need to remember that. But somehow he couldn’t make the words come out. “...the day camp coordinator and make sure he knows you guys are doing the pickup.”
“How’s that working out? Dustin’s little brother staying with you and all?”
Dustin’s little brother keeps me up at night. No
“Does he need some people his own age to meet? Our neighbors have a lovely daughter who just broke up with her boyfriend—”
“He’s gay.” And I’d rather keep him watching TV with me, selfish bastard that I am.
“That’s lucky.” Marilyn seemed to struggle with how to meet this bit of news, voice going unsteady.
“Lucky?”
“I mean that he found you. And vice versa. It’s good he’s got a welcoming place. That’s all.” Marilyn sounded flustered, and he knew she was thinking of Neal, who had struggled with bullying growing up and hadn’t always had the easiest time fitting in.
“Yeah, yeah it is lucky.” Lucky that he’s driving me crazy. “Listen, Marilyn, I need to grab my lunch. Can I let you go?”
“Of course. Take care.”
Apollo sent Dylan a text about pickup, trying to control his racing pulse as he realized they’d be alone for dinner. Together. Empty house. Oh, this could be bad.
Or wonderful.
He told his wishy-washy brain to go shove it and got his sandwich before limping his way back to work.
“You okay, Floros?” Admiral Carson asked as she came into the meeting room. A small woman with jet black hair, she’d been a captain when she’d first targeted him for her training team, and her shiny Rear Admiral star had given her a new zest for meetings and hands-on double-checking.
“Yes, ma’am.” Apollo couldn’t help the wince as he lowered himself into a chair.
“You’re lying.” Her steely eyed gaze missed nothing. She would have easily been a SEAL had they been taking women in special forces back when she came up through the ranks, and she handily controlled her team of both SEALs and administrative types.
“I’m fine.” He took out the memos they were going over about a jungle training exercise next month and tried to put on his best pain-free face.
But two hours later he tried to stand at the conclusion of the meeting and couldn’t control his groan. Unable to straighten, he collapsed back into his chair.
“Still fine?” The admiral walked around the table with fast, efficient strides to stand in front of him.
“Just need a minute. It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. You’ve been in pain for weeks now. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Ensign—” She summoned Carmichael over, who was the most junior officer on their staff. “Ensign, I need you to take the Lieutenant over to Urgent Care at the medical center—”
“I can drive.” Apollo tried to stand again and failed. Fuck.
“Don’t mess with me, Floros. No way are you getting behind the wheel of a car in this shape. And no way are you avoiding the doctor. Carmichael, you stay until Floros is checked in. And Floros, you’re taking a few days of medical leave, regardless of what they say over at Urgent Care. I want you to heal up.”
“Yes, ma’am.” There was no arguing with her in this mood. “They’ll probably just give me some muscle relaxers—”
“And you’ll take them.” She nodded sharply before leaving him to hobble to one of the official vehicles with Carmichael hovering like Apollo was in imminent danger of falling on his face. Which, honestly, he was. The pain was so bad that he had to grind his teeth and clutch the door to avoid moaning on the ride to the medical center. He still couldn’t fully straighten, and sitting back down was out of the question as he checked in at the Urgent Care desk.
“Do you want me to wait with you?” Carmichael was looking a bit green around the gills, clearly not comfortable around sick people. He was fresh out of the academy, with shiny pink cheeks and almost white-blond hair.
“Nah.” Apollo had to grind out the word. It was so bad that it hurt to simply breathe, each inhale triggering a fresh spasm. “You did your duty by the admiral. Get back to work.”
Only after he left did Apollo realize that he didn’t have a way home. He checked his phone. Darn it. His in-laws should already have the girls, and he didn’t want to interrupt their special time. His friends were likely all on duty. Guess that left the one person he’d rather not have see him like this.
Can you give me a ride home from the Naval Medical Center? At Urgent Care. Not an emergency. Just my back, he texted Dylan. Fuck. Typing hurt.
“Lieutenant Floros?” A young nurse in blue scrubs called his name. “This way please.”
Apollo struggled to follow her down the hall.
“Do you want me to get a wheelchair?” she asked.
“No.” Apollo forced his feet to take another step. He’d hiked in broiling temperatures, loaded down with a hundred pounds of supplies. He could make it to one little exam room.
He hadn’t had this level of pain in years, but he still knew the drill, a painful exam that went over his old injury and flare-up history followed by a two very long needles to his hip, one with opiate painkiller, one with muscle relaxer, an order to call his regular doctor and get an appointment ASAP for an updated MRI, and a handful of prescriptions.
Thanks to the shots, he was able to lurch out of the exam room more or less upright. But hell, he hated meds. They made the whole world fuzzy around the edges. He checked out then headed for the car...
Wait. No car.
He fished out his phone but heard his name before he could unlock the screen.
“Apollo!” Dylan bounded up. “I came as soon as I could.”
There you are. Apollo’s pulse sped up in a way that had nothing to do with the medication cocktail zooming its way through him.
“I’m fine.” Damn but he was tired of saying that. And why was he so fucking glad to see Dylan? Like man-I-want-to-hug-you glad? He didn’t get that happy over anyone. “We better get back before the girls are done with their dinner.”
“Already handled, my friend.” Dylan led the long walk to the car at Apollo’s water buffalo pace. “Check your messages. They’re willing to have the girls do a sleepover, and I’ve got bags with their pajamas and Bee Baby and Kitty ready for Marilyn to pick up.”
“You met Marilyn?” Apollo wasn’t really sure how that would go over. He loved his mother-in-law, but she was a bit of a force of nature.
“Yup, when they picked the kids up from day camp. We exchanged phone numbers just in case you got stuck at work. And luckily, that meant I could text them when you got sick.”
“I’m not sick. And you didn’t have to do that.” Apollo sounded like a grumpy beaver trying to protect his crumpling dam, but he didn’t care. And sure, the girls had slept over at Marilyn and Pat’s place, many times, but he wasn’t sure he liked how easily Dylan had taken charge of the whole situation.
“Yes, I did.” Dylan opened the passenger side door for him. He’d brought the SUV, not his own little hybrid, for which Apollo was profoundly grateful as it meant less bending. “And besides, this way I get you all to myself.”
Apollo’s gut gave a strange flutter, made worse by the fuzzy edges of his consciousness. Alone. No kids. Him high as kite. This should be fun.
Chapter Ten
Apollo on painkillers was hilarious.
“This reaction has happened before with the medications for your back, right?” Dylan asked as they finally pulled into the house after a brief stop at the pharmacy for Apollo’s prescriptions. He’d convinced Apollo to text Marilyn and let them keep the girls until tomorrow morning, but at the moment, corralling the twin terrors would be easier than Apollo on painkillers.
“Reaction?” Apollo blinked. He had wandered the aisles of the pharmacy in a daze, captivated by random objects like battery-powered fans.
“Yeah. I almost asked the pharmacist whether you tripping balls is normal.”
“It’s normal.” Apollo gave him a lopsided smile. “Muscle relaxers. Every damn time. And the painkiller just makes everything floaty.”
“You must be a fun drunk.” Dylan came around the car to get Apollo’s door before the guy faceplanted on the garage floor.
“Don’t get drunk,” Apollo said, all earnest seriousness. “I can handle liquor.”
“Ha.” Dylan snorted. “I’m asking Dustin about that, because I’m thinking that you drunk off your ass is too funny to miss.”
“This is different.” Apollo walked like he was trying desperately to pass a DUI test and failing miserably. “Drinking makes things loose. Pills make...pretty.”
“Pretty, huh?” Dylan steered him toward the stairs. “Let’s get your pretty self to lie down before you fall down.”
Apollo climbed the stairs leaning heavily on the rail, then lurched his way to—
“Wrong room.” Dylan tried to steer him away from the guest room back down the hall to the master, but it was like trying to move one of the ponderosa pines in his parent’s backyard.
“Sorry,” Apollo slurred. “Got so used to sleeping in there before you came—”
“Hold up. You weren’t sleeping in your own room?” A whole lot made sense—how tired Apollo had been since Dylan got there, his crankiness, and the falling asleep on the couch thing.
“Couldn’t.” Apollo made a sad face.
“Oh, dude, you should have said something. I would have taken your room.” Dylan patted Apollo’s arm, which made his face fall further. Crap. Of course Apollo wouldn’t want Dylan in the master bedroom he’d shared with Neal. “Or the couch.”
“Guests don’t take the couch.” Apollo started to take a step forward, but Dylan pushed him back into his room.
“Take my bed for a nap. Please.”
It was a sign of how high on the meds Apollo was that he didn’t argue, just lay down on the made bed still in his uniform. He landed in a heap, limbs akimbo, head not even on a pillow. Dylan tried shoving him into a more comfortable position.
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