“But, Baba—”
“Now.” Apollo’s voice was barely level and both girls sped into the garage.
“What’s wrong?” Dylan honestly had no clue. Maybe something more had gone wrong with Apollo’s job. Maybe—
“Not here.” Apollo wasn’t meeting his eyes as he jerked his hand in the direction of the garage. “Not in front of the neighbors.”
Okay, so this was definitely about Dylan and he was genuinely baffled as to what the issue was. He followed Apollo into the garage. “What’s up?” He reached for Apollo’s arm, trying to soothe him, but Apollo jerked away.
“How could you? What were you thinking? Bikes?” Apollo sputtered.
“You’re mad because I let them ride the bikes?” Dylan spoke slowly, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong here. “I thought about texting, but I didn’t want to bug you—”
“How about not doing it at all? You had no right, no right at all—”
“Hey now.” Dylan was trying not to get mad, but something in Apollo’s tone had the hair on the back of his neck prickling. “No right? That’s a bit harsh. You wanted to be the one to teach them? I can get that, and I’m sorry—”
“No, I didn’t want to be the one to teach them. It’s dangerous. I should have donated the stupid things a long time ago. And they certainly weren’t ready now for them.”
“Apollo. Come on, man. You’ve had a horrific three days, I’m sure. But these are little kid bikes. They’re almost too big for them actually. It’s good they got some use before they need the next size up. Did you see how happy they were?”
“That’s not the point.”
“Sure it is.” Dylan tried again to reach for Apollo, wanting to do something to calm the man down, but he paced away. Okay, fine. Be that way. Dylan’s voice took on a harsher edge. “Why’d you even buy the things if you hate the idea so much?”
“I didn’t.” Apollo’s voice was pure anguish. “Neal did. He got them when the girls were still babies. He was so damn excited for them to learn, for them to be able to ride with him some day.”
“Oh.” Dylan was starting to understand, and tried to make his anger at Apollo’s tone back up. “But it’s a good thing for them to learn. It’s like the memory books. A way for them to connect to Neal—”
“What? So they can die like him?”
“Neal died on a bike?” Dylan racked his mind, trying to remember what he’d heard two years ago. He’d thought his mother had said car accident.
“Yes.” Apollo’s voice suggested that Dylan should have known this. “He was sideswiped by a car on University. He thought it was fun too, riding around the city, never listening to me about the dangers.”
“I’m so sorry. So sorry. I had no idea—”
Apollo made a scoffing noise that suggested that Dylan might as well be apologizing to the tool bench.
“You know maybe if you ever talked about him, I would have known. But you don’t, so how was I supposed to know this was a huge phobia for you?”
“It’s not a phobia. It’s common sense. All I’ve ever wanted was to keep the girls safe.”
“I know.” Dylan ignored Apollo’s denial of it being a phobia because it was clear the guy wasn’t going to listen to reason here. “But you can’t roll them in bubble wrap, just because you’re afraid—”
“I’m not afraid. I’m angry because I expect more from their babysitters—”
“Whoa. Whoa.” Dylan had been trying to keep his temper, but Apollo had crossed a line that had Dylan’s face heating and his hands clenching. “Babysitter? Is that really all I am here?”
“Right now? In this situation? Yes.” Apollo might as well have ripped out Dylan’s heart and spat on it. “You’re the person I trusted to exercise good judgment and keep them safe.”
“Really? You’re going to treat me like some thirteen-year-old neighbor boy you hired to watch the kids for a few hours? Is that really what you want to do here?”
“This isn’t about us.” Apollo made a dismissive gesture. “It’s about you respecting my wishes about my children.”
“Wishes that I might have known about had you actually tried telling me.” Dylan bounced on the balls of his feet. “And this is entirely about us. You’re talking about respect, but you’re not respecting me. I’m not just the babysitter, and we both know it.”
Apollo muttered something indistinguishable.
“What? I do one thing you don’t like, and you’re ready to take back the whole summer? Or is it that you’ve never stopped seeing me as the babysitter?” Forget Apollo’s big fears, Dylan was voicing one of his own now. One he already knew the truth of—Apollo was never going to stop seeing him as the little kid brother of Dustin, too stupid to make adult choices and too young to be trusted.
Apollo’s stony silence was louder than any news briefing. “Look, we’ve all made mistakes,” he said at last.
“A mistake? That’s really all this is to you? A mistake?” Dylan’s voice shook, and he had to lean against the car.
“You knew where this thing was going.” Apollo scrubbed at his face, and even in his anger, Dylan could see how tired the man was with deep lines around his eyes and mouth. “But you had to go and apply for that job in secret—”
“Ah.” Dylan sighed. He’d known this was coming. “That’s really what this is all about, right? My job? It’s not about the girls’ safety—”
“It is. It’s about whether I can trust you. And yes, the job’s part of that. If you’re keeping big secrets from me, how in the hell do I trust you with my kids?”
That stung. Dylan had never been anything other than trustworthy with the girls, and Apollo had to know that. “Look. I get that you’re not happy about the job. If it’s that you don’t want to try to keep this going, just say that. Don’t...” Voice breaking, he trailed off. Don’t hurt me with these cruel words just because you’re scared of a future together. Don’t stomp on me and tell me what you really think.
Dylan hated messy conversations like this. They reminded him too much of his parents before their divorce in his late teens. If Apollo didn’t want a future together, fine. Dylan didn’t want a future with a guy who had so little respect for him either, a guy who was always going to see him as the babysitter.
“I don’t. I can’t. We can’t.”
“We could. You just won’t let us.” Dylan pushed away from the car, pacing in front of Apollo. “You don’t want to admit what we have—”
“Baba?” Chloe called from inside the house. “The TV went weebly wonky again?”
“Be right there,” Apollo called, eyes still shooting darts at Dylan even as his voice softened. He waited until they heard footsteps racing away to speak again. “I’ll deal with you later—”
“Apollo.” Dylan kept his voice down, but still urgent. “I am not a pesky problem to be dealt with later.”
“I need to go help the girls.” Apollo shook his head, looking skyward like he needed strength to deal with Dylan. And that was the last straw for Dylan.
“And I need to get out of here for bit.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Not permanently. Even I wouldn’t leave you in the lurch right now. Text me when you have to head back to base, but right now, yeah, I think we both need some space and to cool down.”
Stop me. Tell me I’m overreacting. Tell me that you do respect me, that you want something together. Don’t let me go.
But of course Apollo didn’t hear a one of Dylan’s silent pleas, only nodding, sending a sliver of glass straight to Dylan’s heart. “That’s probably for the best.”
Chapter Twenty
Apollo didn’t watch Dylan walk away, didn’t watch him head to his little car parked on the street out front, didn’t watch him drive away. Couldn’t. Wo
uldn’t.
Instead he headed in, helped the girls get the TV set, all the while his head was roaring. They might have talked to him. He might have replied. He wasn’t sure.
“Baba? You need a nap.” Chloe penetrated his fog, shoving at his arm. “You keep making sleepy sounds.”
“Sleepy sounds?”
“Hmmphf. Harrumph.” Chloe imitated heavy sighing.
“Oh.” Apollo guessed he wasn’t doing such a good job keeping it together after all. “I’m not tired, sweetie. Just... Baba needs...” Dylan. More time. Better control over his temper. A time machine. Might as well wish big as long as he was wishing. “A minute, okay? I’ll be right back. You watch your show.”
They both nodded, attention riveted to the dancing ABCs on the screen. He fled to the hall bath, which was a mistake, one he recognized as soon as he shut the door. Too many memories of Dylan here. Their desperate kissing, the first fumbling touches, the laughing and shoving in the shower...
Oh fuck. What have I done? It had been such a horrible string of days—the discovery of Dylan’s secret at the play, then the message about the crisis on the training mission. It was his worst nightmare, the sort of scenario that kept him awake at night and alert to every detail in mission planning.
He’d been happy—no, relieved—to work the long hours the admiral wanted from them. Keeping busy was the only way to avoid drowning in what-ifs. After spending all Friday night at the hospital, a great deal of it with Luciana Lopez awaiting word that her young husband was out of surgery, there had been an early morning trip out to the crash site with the admiral to pore over the wreckage. Some sort of catastrophic mechanical failure was the working theory, but that didn’t make Apollo rest any easier. His job was to prevent failure of any kind, and he hadn’t done that, and it didn’t much matter if it was a mechanic who’d missed something or a faulty manufacturing job. Being a leader meant taking responsibility, but some days, responsibility frankly sucked.
Apollo hadn’t gone this many hours without more than an hour or two of shut-eye since the last time he was overseas on a mission, and his body was protesting. He turned on the sink, splashing cold water on his face and neck. Maybe Chloe was right and he did need a nap.
But that wasn’t happening now. No way could he sleep after the fight with Dylan. The things I said...
Had he really meant to blow up like that? Over bikes?
The wreckage at the crash site had turned even his well-seasoned stomach. And not surprisingly, the mangled metal had him thinking about Neal all weekend, visions of that crash too playing through his head even as he tried to focus on the task at hand. Then he’d seen the girls on the bikes, happy as the gulls down by the water, and all he could think about was how he couldn’t lose them too, wouldn’t know how to keep living if anything happened to them.
And he knew deep down that Dylan would never let anything happen to the girls, would die first himself, but that hadn’t been enough to counter the icy spikes of dread coursing through his body at the sight of them on the bikes Neal had so lovingly picked out, every assumption in the world that he’d be around to teach them.
He took off his uniform shirt, hung it on the hook on the back of the door, then opened the door wide enough to call to the girls that he was taking a shower. He stepped under the water before it had a chance to fully heat, welcoming the bite of the cold. Hell, he deserved to freeze after how he’d treated Dylan.
And yes, now under the water, sanity gradually restoring, he could see that his anger about Dylan’s job had been fueling his harsh words. Because he did feel duped, like Dylan had yanked his nice cozy comforter out from under Apollo, cast him onto the floor. Knowing they had only a few days before goodbye had felt safe. Secure. Like he could enjoy every second with Dylan and not have to think.
Was that so wrong? To want to not think, just for a little while?
It’s not fair to Dylan. He rinsed the soap off his body, giving one of the sighs that Chloe had complained about. It wasn’t fair to him. Dylan was a great guy, and no matter that he’d lied, he was about to get majorly hurt that Apollo couldn’t give him what he wanted. What he deserved. And maybe their fight didn’t have to be so ugly, but it did have to happen because no way was this ending the way Dylan hoped.
What about the way you wanted? Did you really want to say goodbye? Fuck. Apollo didn’t know any longer. No, he hadn’t wanted to say goodbye, but damn it what choice did he have?
He shut off the water with more force than necessary, scrambling for a towel but there wasn’t one on the hook. Oh crap. He remembered them using the last towel and opened the cupboard with growing dread only to find...
A nice big stack of fluffy white towels, neatly folded.
Dylan. Yet again making Apollo’s life easier even in ways Apollo resisted. And how did you treat him?
He fished his phone out of the pocket of his pants on the floor, finger hovering over Dylan’s name in his contacts. The need to know Dylan was safe bubbled up, that he hadn’t gone storming off only for something unthinkable to happen, and before Apollo could stop himself, he sent a text.
Are you safe?
While he waited for the reply, he tried to rehearse what he should say next. Should he apologize? Did he want to apologize? And if so, for what? He couldn’t give Dylan false hope, right? But still, the need to say sorry made his throat burn with words he couldn’t even whisper to the mirror.
Buzz. Blip. Buzz. Yeah, he’d totally assigned Dylan his own special vibration tone, and no, he didn’t particularly want to think about what that meant. Dylan’s message was short.
You really think I’d go do something stupid?
Apollo typed fast. No, just worried.
Dylan’s response didn’t take long. Well don’t. I’m at Ben’s and Maddox’s playing video games. Text if you have to go back to base.
Even Apollo could see the translation there: Leave me alone unless you’ve got good reason to bug me again. And could Apollo really blame him? Of course Dylan was mad. And of course he’d...run straight to Ben and Maddox.
Oh fuck. Any thought of apology died as he realized what that meant. Had Dylan spilled all about their fight? He wouldn’t, right? Because the only thing worse than this would be everyone knowing. Fuck. Even if part of Apollo wanted to, he couldn’t strap the girls in their car seats, race over there, beg Dylan to forgive his harsh words.
And then what? Dylan had still lied. Was still staying. Still wanted more than Apollo could give. Maybe it was best this way. Clean break. He wrapped the towel around himself with shaky hands and headed upstairs. He paused in the doorway to his bedroom.
The room suddenly seemed claustrophobic, almost daunting in its somber tones. He hadn’t been in here for more than changing clothes and a few furtive hours of sleep after a night in Dylan’s bed in weeks. He caught sight of the picture on the far wall of him and Neal on their wedding day.
Neal. Neal was why he couldn’t give Dylan false hope. He thought of the SEALs injured in the crash, lying in ICU, him still not sure whether he’d be delivering bad news to the waiting families. Luciana Lopez was now on bedrest in the maternity ward, and it tore Apollo apart that he couldn’t guarantee her husband would be at her side when the baby came. So, so much bad news in this world. He couldn’t open himself up to more of it, couldn’t risk that for Dylan.
* * *
“Come in, come in. I’m just about to take the bread out of the oven.” Maddox greeted Dylan with a smile, opening the door to the Coronado apartment he shared with Ben. The complex had a French name but terracotta Spanish styling and was far homier than Dylan would have picked for the two of them. Adding to the surrealness of this whole damn day, Maddox was wearing an apron and with matching quilted oven mitts. It wasn’t a frilly apron or anything—simply a brown apron with some sort of woodland creature on it, a bear or ott
er maybe. Nonetheless, it was still disconcerting to see a guy who Dylan knew was nothing short of a deadly marksman playing Betty Crocker and ushering him into a tastefully decorated apartment.
An oven timer buzzed and Maddox motioned for Dylan to follow him to the galley kitchen around the corner from the entry hall. “I’ll give you the first piece. It’s rye, which not everyone likes, but it goes great with my spinach dip.”
“Thanks.” Dylan fell back on his manners. He hadn’t thought he’d ever be hungry again, but the place did smell amazing—warm and yeasty with overtones of butter. He’d been driving around aimlessly, on the verge of texting Allie when his phone had chimed. Stupid him, his heart had leaped thinking it might be Apollo with an apology. Ha.
Instead, it had been Ben texting to see if he wanted to come over and play video games. Which was a bit bizarre since they hadn’t really hung out like that before, but what the hell, Dylan’s day was already a crock of shit, and he didn’t really want to be alone. Alone was bad. Alone meant replaying the scene with Apollo over and over until he’d almost bent his steering wheel in half with the force of his grip. Sure, it had been his idea to leave, but that didn’t mean he was happy about that outcome. And God, Apollo’s strident voice and angry face kept echoing in his head. So yeah, he’d been grateful for Ben’s offer.
Especially since he’d gotten a text from Apollo right as he’d pulled into a visitor parking space at the complex, wanting to know if he was safe. Safe? What the hell was up with that? No, no he was not safe. His chest felt cracked open, heart fragile and exposed, one wrong move away from stopping forever. He was wounded and aimless and so far from safe it was laughable. But he wasn’t telling Apollo any of that. He’d sent a terse reply. Let Apollo assume he was running to Ben and Maddox to tattle, even though he had no such intention of spilling his guts.
“I said, bread?” Maddox held out a slice with melting butter on it. His kind eyes were patient, but he’d clearly had to repeat the question a few times to bring Dylan out of his fog.
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