“Sure.” Dylan took a small bite. His nose said the bread must be heavenly, but it felt like charcoal dust in his mouth, and he had to struggle to swallow.
A laugh came from the other room, and Dylan peeked his head around the kitchen wall to check out the living and dining room, which was a good size open space with a fireplace and sliding glass doors to a covered patio. Ben was sitting on the couch with some guy Dylan had never met before. The guy was the one who had laughed, dark eyes crinkling and full mouth curving into a smirk. Ben meanwhile looked like he was sitting on a stack of tumbleweeds, frowning and shifting about.
“Who’s the guy?” Dylan asked, trying again with the bread. His body was going to need to start working again at some point, right?
Maddox looked up from arranging slices of bread on platter shaped like a leaf. He dropped his voice. “Him? He’s why you’re here.”
“It is?” The bread turned to gravel in his stomach.
“Oh, don’t worry. Nothing nefarious.” Maddox’s words failed to reassure Dylan. “Ben picked him up last night at the Brass Rail. Guess he was looking to blow off some steam after the week we’ve all had. The crash and all, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.” Dylan didn’t mention how Apollo had come home in a temper. Seemed disloyal somehow to share that, but he knew that the long hours and little sleep and stress had to play a role in why Apollo had gone off. “But how does Ben’s hook-up involve me?”
“See, he turned out to be the one thing Ben can’t stand.”
“What’s that?”
“A nice guy. Made us breakfast and everything. But he doesn’t seem to be getting Ben’s message that he doesn’t make friends.” Maddox’s voice was resigned as he scooped spinach dip out of a plastic container.
“And how exactly do I fit into this?” No way was Dylan pretending to be Ben’s irate boyfriend or something.
“He’s a nice guy. You’re a nice guy. He’s apparently single. You’re single, right?”
Dylan’s eyes opened almost painfully wide. He was starting to get the picture, and man, what a dicey pile of onions this was. Was he single? Had he ever been not single this whole summer? Who the fuck knew. But he knew how Apollo would want him to answer, which fucking stung like a new patch of sunburn. “Yeah.”
Maddox raised an eyebrow as if he didn’t quite believe it but wasn’t going to press the point. “And this guy is around your age and seems a little lonely. I think Ben figured that—”
“He could dump him on me?” Dylan was so not liking this idea. “Why not, you know, actually try and make friends himself? Especially if this guy seems so nice?”
Maddox gave a long-suffering sigh. “Ben doesn’t do that. He’s not mean and not the type to kick the guy out without his shoes or anything, hence calling you, but Ben’s strictly a one-night kind of man.”
“I see.” Dylan put the dip container back in the fridge for Maddox, who was cutting up some carrot sticks now. “And you guys...you’re not a thing? Never?”
“Nope.” Maddox’s slow smile was definitely wistful.
“But you’d like it?” Dylan whispered. “That’s why you’re not out there claiming Mr. Nice Guy yourself, isn’t it?”
“It’s complicated.” Maddox whacked at the carrots, making Dylan fear for his fingers.
“Yeah.” Complicated couldn’t be worse than trying, but Dylan wasn’t in a place to be offering advice. He was still smarting from Apollo’s outright refusal to even try something with him. Just try. Why was that so hard for stubborn SEALs?
Maddox’s eyes were hooded and distant. “Sometimes the only thing worse than not having something is getting it. Now, can you put this tray on the table for me, and I’ll make introductions?”
Effectively dismissed, Dylan considered Maddox’s words. The only thing worse than not having something is getting it. Was that the case here? Was he so concerned about not having Apollo, about losing him before they even tried to make this work, that he hadn’t stopped to think about what he would be getting? Had he considered how much it would hurt to get something and have it still not be enough because maybe, like Ben and Maddox, Apollo simply wasn’t capable of giving him what he needed. Had he really thought about what was best for Apollo?
His chest squeezed. That was all he wanted. What was best for Apollo. Now just to figure what exactly that was.
Chapter Twenty-One
Apollo sensed the moment Dylan entered the kitchen, smelling his citrus shampoo and feeling the tension that surrounded him even before he turned around.
“I’ll be out with Allie and some people.” Dylan didn’t even look at him as he headed for the door. “I’ve got the phone on, so text if you have to head back.”
“Will do.” Apollo’s throat felt tourniquet tight, words barely squeaking by. It had been like this all week. He’d been putting in crazy hours at the base along with visiting the men in the hospital. Luciana Lopez had given birth two days ago, her husband in a hospital bed next to her, and Apollo had smiled his first smile in days at the baby picture she’d sent. But other than that bright spot, things were still pretty bleak, and Dylan had kept to his word and been there for the girls, even though Apollo had offered to call in Marilyn and Pat’s assistance. Dylan had insisted, however, and even though his body language to Apollo was better suited for an MMA brawl, he’d been nothing other than gentle with the girls.
But the second Apollo walked in the door each night Dylan was either gone or upstairs, door firmly closed, everything but a Keep Out sign signaling that talking was off the table. Not that Apollo was really making overtures to try to smooth things over. He honestly didn’t know where to start. There was so much that needed untangling, and he was so fucking tired and worn out and sad, even if he didn’t want to admit that last one.
Sad that things couldn’t be different. Sad and disappointed in himself at how he’d acted. Sad and missing Dylan so much that he physically ached and not sure what to do with that either, so yet again, he let Dylan walk out without stopping him.
“No Dylan?” A mournful-looking Chloe wandered into the kitchen.
“No Dylan. But I’m home and I get to stay all night.” Apollo tried to keep his voice bright even as he too wanted to pout about missing Dylan. “And there’s spaghetti. Can you help set the table?”
“Okay. I like it better when Dylan’s here.”
Me too, sweetie, me too. Apollo gave her a tight nod. “He deserves to go out with his friends.” He deserves so much more than I can give him.
“But we’re his friends.” Chloe’s eyes were big as she looked up from setting out forks.
Not very good ones. Apollo bit back a sigh. He’d been a damn awful friend to Dylan when it came right down to it.
Sophia came into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. “Is it bedtime yet?”
“You’re tired?” Apollo came out from behind the island to crouch in front of her. The girls never asked to go to bed.
“Sleepy.” She took a breath, then coughed, a nasty hacking sound.
“Uh-oh.” Apollo felt her head which was warm and sweaty. “Do you feel sick?”
“Uh-huh.” She started to cry. “Is... Dylan...here?” she asked gulping between words.
“No, sweetie. He went out. But I’m right here. Do you think you could eat a little dinner?”
As a response, Sophia’s face took on a stricken look right before she barfed all over Apollo’s uniform, which he hadn’t had a chance to change out of yet.
“Oh no.” Chloe swallowed hard. “I no like that smell.”
“Not you...” He didn’t get to finish his sentence before she threw up on the floor and his shoes.
“Baba?” She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “What do we do now?”
Pray. “Bath. Electrolyte drink. Bed.” Apollo thank
ed God that he wasn’t a sympathetic puker as he put one twin in each arm headed for the stairs.
An hour and a half later, Apollo stepped out of his fastest shower since boot camp to the sound of more crying. Hell. He’d thought he’d finally had the girls settled nicely in their beds, puke bowl for each of them. He yanked on sweatpants and what he hoped was a patient expression and headed down the hall. “What’s wrong? Did you throw up again?”
“No.” Chloe stood in the middle of the room. “I can’t find Bee Baby anywhere. And I can’t go ni-ni without her! What if she’s sick too?”
“Bee Baby is not sick.” Apollo lifted her back into her bed, back muscles screaming a protest about all the lifting of kids he’d done already that night. “I’ll go look downstairs.”
But Bee Baby was nowhere to be found and when he got back upstairs, Sophia was the one crying. “What’s the matter now?”
“Dylan could find her. I...miss... Dylan.” She collapsed into full-out sobbing.
“Honey, I’m sorry. But Baba’s here. What can I do?” He tried rubbing her back, but she only cried louder, which set Chloe off into a series of wails about Bee Baby.
“Can you sing ‘Oh My Fleas’ with us?” Chloe asked at last.
“Uh. I don’t know that one.” He’d grabbed his phone when looking for the baby doll and typed in the song. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and all he needed was some lyrics to quiet the girls, but nothing came up. “Is it a real song?”
“Baba! ‘’’Course it is. Dylan made it up. He sings it to us for bedtime when you’re not here. Which is lots.”
Way to stab the knife in, kid. Apollo nodded. “I’m sorry. But I’m here now, and you need to sleep. It’s the best thing for a little virus like this.”
Truth be told, even their minor fevers had him on edge, but he’d already had a call into the advice nurse who told him a bug was going around and to push fluids and give it a day or two to pass, but call back if they got worse. But what was worse? Apollo hated this. In the Navy almost everything was quantifiable, discrete variables that told him how to act. Kid stuff was like driving around with no map and a blind driver with a backseat full of poodles.
“I don’t wanna sleep. Not without Dylan.”
Hell, now Apollo was almost ready to cry alongside her. “There’s been a big problem at work,” he tried to explain, knowing that a five-year-old was unlikely to care. “A lot of hurt people. And Baba’s been needed there. But I’ve missed you. Just like I’m sure Dylan’s missing you right now.”
“Then call him,” Chloe demanded. “Call him and ask him where Bee Baby is.”
Oh, Apollo did not want to do this, not even a little bit, but there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his little girls, even brave contacting the guy who probably hated his guts, and rightfully so. “Okay. I’ll text—”
“No. Call.” Sophia piped up. “So he can sing to me.”
“Okay, okay.” Apollo sat on the floor with his aching back against her bed and dialed.
“Hey, whoa. Hello? Apollo?” Dylan answered the phone with a laugh that quickly turned serious. The background noise was full of clinking glasses and happy voices. Damn it, he was out at a bar and now Apollo had to disturb him. “You have to go back to base already?”
“No, not that.”
“Then what?” Dylan sounded as exasperated with Apollo’s very existence as he had all week.
“It’s the girls. They’re both sick—”
“I’m on my way.”
“No, wait. We just need to know where Bee Baby is... You don’t need to give up your night.”
“Dylan? I miss you,” Chloe called weakly from her bed.
“I’m on my way,” Dylan repeated, more firmly this time, then hung up.
Great. Now Apollo wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that the cavalry was coming to save his sorry ass or dread having to interact with Dylan, even for the girls’ sake. And the part of him that wanted to see Dylan for himself? The part that wanted Dylan to tell him that it would be okay and that he was doing a good job? Well, that part could stay hidden, thank you very much. Last thing Dylan wanted or needed was to deal with Apollo and all these inconvenient feelings he kept having.
* * *
Making fast apologies at the bar, Dylan sped home. Wait. Not home. Apollo’s house. He’d been doing a ton of thinking all week, ever since Ben and Maddox’s and the weird setup. Thank God, the other guy, Isaiah, hadn’t been remotely into him in anything other than a friendly way, saving him any awkwardness, but watching Ben try to sidestep Isaiah’s flirting had been a good distraction. And between Isaiah and Maddox, it was a damn good lesson in how one couldn’t force a person to return feelings.
Not that Dylan needed much reinforcement. Apollo hadn’t made even the slightest move to talk things out beyond being uber-polite about arranging for the girls’ care. The nights Apollo was home, there might be only a few feet of drywall between then, but there might as well have been the whole Cascade mountain range for all the closeness he felt.
But even Apollo’s ghosting him couldn’t keep him away if the girls were sick. And damn it to hell, try as he might, he couldn’t help worrying about Apollo too. Apollo was overprotective of the girls on a good day—he must be freaking out. But when Dylan let himself into the house, he was met with silence. And an uncharacteristically messy kitchen—pot of pasta sauce that had boiled over and a congealed nasty mass of spaghetti along with what looked like a hastily scrubbed spot on the floor.
Dylan cleaned up as he went on a hunt for the Bee Baby doll, throwing out the food, putting the pots on to soak, and getting out the cleaner for a better try at the floor stain, all the while racking his brain about where he’d seen the doll. Then he glanced up from the floor, only to discover her at the dining room table, stuffed in one of the table’s drawers to make it look like she was sitting at the table.
“There you are!” Dylan had to laugh at himself, talking to a doll, as he quickly finished with the floor and tiptoed upstairs.
He’d thought he might find the girls asleep, but what he found instead was Apollo asleep on the floor of their room, one hand on Sophia’s bed, the other under his head, snoring softly. Both girls were watching him, Chloe singing a lullaby in low tones.
“Hey, pumpkins,” Dylan whispered. He handed Chloe the doll. “Looking for this?”
“Bee Baby!”
“Sssh,” Dylan reminded her. “Did you guys break Baba?”
“Maybe.” Sophia looked far more concerned about this than Chloe. “Think he’ll ever wake up?”
“Yes,” Apollo groaned and hefted himself into a sitting position. “F—fudge. Now I’m covered in carpet lint. But hi. And thanks for coming.”
“No problem.” Dylan tried not to admire Apollo’s bare torso as he made a shooing gesture with his hand. “You go shower the dust off, and I’ll get these ladies to sleep.”
“Good luck with that. You sure?” Apollo hesitated in the doorway.
“Yes. I’m here to help. Now go. We’ve got songs to sing.” Dylan moved next to Sophia’s bed and started in on one of the silly songs he’d made up for them.
A half hour or so later, he crept from their room, sighing at how hoarse his throat was from singing. For two feverish kids, they certainly had resisted rest like champs. He found a glassy-eyed Apollo in the kitchen, staring into the fridge.
“I have no idea whether I’m hungry,” he said as Dylan came into the kitchen. “Man, what a night.”
“You’re hungry.” Dylan shoved him in the direction of the stools at the island separating the kitchen and dining space. “I’ll make you a toasted cheese sandwich. Something that won’t be too awful if you get the bug too.”
“Don’t even think that,” Apollo groaned as Dylan grabbed the bread and cheese from the fridge. “
Last thing I need is to get sick. And I mean last thing. My mom’s back tomorrow, but I can’t afford any sick time, not with work the way it is right now.”
“Is it still crazy? Any news on the injured SEALs?” Dylan placed a skillet on the stove to preheat while he made the sandwich.
“Not much I can tell you, sorry, but the doctors think they are all going to make it, which is good. Our investigation will be ongoing for some time.”
“All the more reason to let me help you tonight. And I can pick up your mother if necessary,” he offered, even though that was likely to be an awkward dance of avoiding revealing what had happened during her absence.
“I might need to take you up on that.” Apollo rubbed at his eyes. “Hate needing help.”
“I know.” Dylan put the sandwich in the pan and crossed to stand behind Apollo. “But sometimes we all need help.”
Unable to resist the need to help ease the man’s utter exhaustion, he started rubbing Apollo’s shoulders. Instead of squirming away as he’d expected, Apollo leaned into the touch, rolling his back muscles.
“God, that feels good.” Apollo tipped his head back. “Thank you.”
There was a world of meanings behind that look and those words, and Dylan wasn’t sure he was up to unpacking them all. One of Apollo’s hands snaked up to touch Dylan’s jaw and he was lost, unable to reason beyond dipping his head and brushing his lips over Apollo’s.
The kiss was more ravenous than sweet, like they’d both been starving all week and this was the first crumb they’d uncovered. Apollo’s hands held him close even as he shifted so the angle was less back breaking. The kiss was everything he’d been craving—catharsis for a week of worry and uncertainty.
“Stay—”
Beep. Beep. The smoke alarm trilled, and Dylan became aware of the smell of burning bread and cheese.
“Fuck. The sandwich.” He raced to the stove, but it was too late for the sandwich. And them. And he’d known that even before the kiss, but the acrid smoke in the air was potent reminder that they couldn’t do this.
At Attention Page 20
