Squared Away

by Annabeth Albert

  Dylan made a frustrated noise. “Well it’s time to get sure. Visualize next year. Where do you want to be?”

  Mark. I want to be with Mark. But that was an impossibility so he just shrugged. “Gotta think on it.”

  “Well get to thinking. And get over yourself. You’re not going to be able to do this on your own.”

  “F—heck. Why can’t anyone believe in me?” Isaiah set the plastic plates for the kids down with more force than necessary, clanking the silverware and rattling the cups.

  “I do. But I also know it takes a village.”

  That was not what Isaiah wanted to hear right then. “I’ll figure it out.”

  “Just like you’ll figure out whatever you’ve got going on with Wizard?”

  Damn it. Dylan was too perceptive by half. “I’m not talking about him.” Isaiah didn’t know why he continued to feel this weird loyalty to Mark, who’d totally screwed him over, and still Isaiah didn’t want to out him.

  “My advice is to just get over him. You need—”

  “To focus on the plan to keep the kids. No offense, man, but I meant it. Not talking about Wizard.”

  The oven timer went off, saving him from Dylan trying again to get him to spill about what was really going on with Mark. He wasn’t sure he agreed with much of Dylan’s advice—asking friends and family for help was only going to make him look weaker. But you may not have a choice. But Dylan was right about one thing—he needed to get over Mark. There was no future there. He might need a village, but Mark wasn’t going to be in it.

  * * *

  After Isaiah drove away with Liam and half of Mark’s heart, Mark stood in the driveway for a long time, wondering how he’d fucked up so badly. And what the fuck was he supposed to do now? He had the day off, but no family to spend it with like he’d been planning. And when had that happened, when had the guy who jealously guarded his alone time become a family man, counting down the minutes until he got to see the kids again. And Isaiah.

  Isaiah who was understandably pissed at Mark. Isaiah who might never forgive him. How was Mark supposed to go on without him?

  One step. Then another. Move forward. He had to yell at himself, the same way he’d urged his recruits on, the way he’d managed to keep going in the first terrible days after Danielle and Cal’s deaths. Start with something small.

  Going back into the house, he started by cleaning up, trying to ensure that they wouldn’t have a repeat of the shoe debacle. All the shoes to the shoe cubby. The toys to the play area in the family room or the kids’ rooms. Then vacuuming because that was a nice, high gratification task. He was doing the upstairs hall when he caught sight of the master bedroom door.

  What the fuck were you thinking, Danielle? It was the millionth time he’d had the thought, but for the first time he really let himself feel his rage. Rage at Danielle for driving drunk. Rage at everyone around her who had suspected she had a drinking problem and said nothing. Rage at himself for not realizing sooner, for not intervening somehow, for not being here to stop her. Rage at the navy, keeping him deployed so long. Rage at Cal for climbing in the passenger seat. Rage at Isaiah for letting them go to the party. Rage at everyone else at the party. Rage. Rage. Rage.

  Not conscious of his footsteps, he stormed into the room. She’d left them all this mess. Hadn’t even left behind a clear blueprint for dealing. Would an updated will have been too much to ask? What did she really want for the kids? Or more precisely, who did she want? Mark hated that they’d never know. Driven by the unrelenting anger, he started doing what they’d all put off for so long, going through their personal effects.

  One pile for things Isaiah might want to look at, keep for himself or the kids. Another pile for trash. Bag after bag of clothes that could be donated. He’d had to do this same task after his parents died, Danielle not up to it. And he’d had rage driving him then too. Why did everyone in his life have to leave? Why? He worked faster, harder, pushing himself to move faster, not feel the hurt.

  One thing he’d learned when his parents died was that you never completely knew people—he’d learned things about each of them he’d rather have not known. Things that said people were never as trustworthy as they seemed. And it was the same here. The flask in the bedside table. Several more in the closet, strategically hidden in different purses. More signs of the problem never fully realized.

  Mom was the same way. Fuck. Mark did not want that thought. Not now. Not when he was already so raw. But it was true. Heredity had not been kind to Danielle. And maybe that was why Mark hadn’t intervened—he couldn’t remember their mother in the evenings without a glass of wine or cocktail. When Dani had gone down the same path, he hadn’t stopped her, hadn’t thought how problematic the behavior was.

  You can’t save everyone. Isaiah’s voice rang in his ears, the same voice that told him he did good, tried his best, wasn’t God. But fuck. She was his big sister, and he’d let her down, and no amount of logic could convince him otherwise. Shouldn’t Mark have stopped this? Shouldn’t he have been able to stop her? Save her?

  Why? Why? Why? The questions piled up in his brain until they were flowing out, huge rivers of tears he wasn’t even aware he was shedding until his neck and collar were damp. Fuck. He didn’t cry. Not him. But he was, years’ worth of tears. Tears for Danielle. For Cal. For his parents. For the kids. For himself.

  And when he was done, when he’d pulled himself together, he found a new clarity. He had to save this family. Isaiah was wrong. It was Mark’s job to protect them all. And that was exactly what he was going to do. He had to be there for the kids, show them that he wouldn’t be the one to leave. And if that cost him Isaiah, cost him everything they’d been building, then maybe he hadn’t ever really deserved it.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mark wasn’t there to greet them when Isaiah finally arrived back at the house with the sleepy kids. The only light on was the one at the back of the house, Mark’s room. But he didn’t come out. And if Isaiah felt sad about that, if his heart sank as he put the kids in bed alone, if he missed Mark with a ferocity that surprised him, well that was to be expected. New routine. New reality and all that. This was how it had to be. He got the kids down, then decided to lose himself in a long shower where he could try to find the strength for the days to come. Grabbing a towel, he headed for the master bath, chest no longer constricting as he passed through—

  Holy hell. A tornado had been through the room. A rather tidy one, but an upheaval nonetheless. Row upon row of bags and boxes, each neatly labeled in Mark’s blocky writing—donate, kids, trash, Isaiah. What the fuck? Isaiah had always assumed that they’d do this task together. When they were ready. Guess he’d been wrong about that too.

  Unable to keep his rising anger down, he thundered down the stairs, beat on Mark’s closed door.

  “What?” Mark came to the door.

  “What do you mean what? We’re back. Kids in bed. Thanks for asking. What the fuck happened to Cal and Danielle’s stuff? What the fuck were you thinking?”

  “It needed to be done, so I did it.” Mark’s face was stony, no trace of emotion other than eyes that were far redder and more swollen than when Isaiah had left him. He stayed in the doorway, big body that much more imposing filling up the small space. “You didn’t want to do it.”

  “You didn’t ask. You were always just as reluctant as me to go through their stuff. Figured neither of us was ready yet. How dare you just presume I wouldn’t give a fuck about you doing it without me—”

  “I made piles of stuff for you to look through. Didn’t toss anything I thought you might want.” Mark sounded weary, but Isaiah couldn’t be bothered to care. “I put labels—”

  “I saw. You didn’t think I might want to make those sorting decisions with you?”

  “I figured I was saving you some effort and a lot of heartache—”

 
“Saving me. More protector crap. You tell me earlier that you respect me, then you go and pull this crap? How am I supposed to believe that you can ever see us as equals?” Isaiah paced back and forth in the hallway.

  “This has nothing to do with equals. It’s soul-killing work, going through two lives. I’ve done it before and—”

  “And it didn’t occur to you that I might want to share that burden with you? Might want to help? Might want to save you?” His fists clenched, more anger than he could control gathering.

  “I don’t need saving,” Mark scoffed.

  “No, of course not. You’re Wizard, the almighty, the impenetrable. You’re a SEAL, Mark, not Superman. And even Superman had to learn to rely on the Justice League, let people help. Trust people.”

  “I do trust you.”

  “Yeah? Really? You’ve got a piss poor way of showing it. How much do you trust me? Enough to drop your suit? Enough to help you with the hard stuff?”

  “I can’t drop the suit.” Mark made a frustrated noise. “As I tried to tell you earlier, before you were so hell bent on leaving, my uncle’s involved too. He’s saying some homophobic stuff. I know you don’t think you need protecting, but I’m not letting you take the brunt of his shit. I’m just not.”

  “So you’ll protect me, but you won’t consider an option where we work together?” Maybe this was salvageable. Maybe they could have a partnership after all...

  “This is the better option. I’ve talked to my attorney. You may not understand all the moving pieces here—”

  Nope. Not savable in the slightest. Isaiah let every ounce of frustration enter his voice. “You are a condescending prick. Just say what you mean. This isn’t worth coming out for. You’ll protect me because you think I do an okay job watching the kids, but you don’t want to really partner up. And God forbid anyone in your life learn about us. That’s what’s really at stake here. You’d rather make all the decisions for me than risk...what, Mark? What are you so afraid of?”

  “I’m not afraid of anything.” Mark shuffled his feet even as he crossed his arms in front of him, like he was walling himself off that much further from Isaiah.

  “Liar. You’re terrified of committing to a relationship for reasons I just don’t understand. I’m good enough to watch the kids but not good enough for you?”

  “You don’t really want a relationship.” Mark looked at the ceiling. “You’d get tired of—”

  “There you go again. Making decisions for me. Well, you know what? You’re right. I’m tired of this. Tired of your excuses. Tired of your protector crap. Tired period.” He backed down the hall, leaving Mark there, still not meeting Isaiah’s eyes. “Peace out. I’m done with this BS.”

  Right as he reached the stairs, Mark’s voice called out, “Will you still—”

  “Do you have to even ask? Yes, I’ve got the kids this week. Don’t worry.” And then because despite everything, Isaiah did care, he added, “And for the love of God, please don’t go getting yourself killed on duty. We’ll let the lawyers settle this for us.”

  Part of him wanted Mark to protest, wanted Mark to say anything other than the weary “Okay” that slipped from his lips.

  Fuck. Couldn’t Mark fight for them? Even just a little? Was that asking too much? Apparently. Isaiah fled upstairs before Mark could see his face, see how deeply hurt he was. Hell and damn. He felt speared clean through. He’d known Mark would break his heart. Known it ever since that first kiss. Since that dance, really, if he were honest. He just hadn’t expected it to hurt this bad, to feel like he’d lost his whole right side. He flopped onto his bed. Never. Never again was he opening himself up to this kind of hurt. Mark wasn’t worth it. No one was.

  * * *

  The hospital was eerily quiet in the wee hours of the morning. Visiting time wouldn’t be for hours yet, but Mark wasn’t above using his clearance to circumvent that. He wasn’t sure what had driven him to check in with how Swenson was doing before heading to base. Maybe because he couldn’t sleep. He’d gotten too used to having Isaiah next to him. Too used to his scent and warmth and welcoming arms. Collateral damage. Don’t focus on what you lost, think about what you’re saving.

  But he wasn’t sure he believed his own lectures anymore, tossing and turning all night, racked by guilt. God, the look on Isaiah’s face as he’d headed to the stairs. Disappointment. Disgust. Anger. It had all been there, vivid on his expressive face, begging Mark to say something, do something. But he hadn’t. Couldn’t. So yeah, he’d needed an excuse to be up this early.

  “He’s doing remarkably well, all things considered,” the nurse on duty told Mark about Swenson. She was a long-time medical center employee, and Mark recognized her from other cases over the years. “He should be discharged in the next few days, then start rehab. He’s still having some neurological issues, but they’ll work on those in therapy. He’s lucky it’s not worse—I’ve seen guys in similar situations never come out of the coma.”

  “Yeah.” Mark didn’t like thinking about how close they’d come to losing him.

  “You want to poke your head in? He woke up with the last vitals check and hasn’t been able to drift back to sleep. I put on some quiet TV for him, but I bet he’d be happier to see you.”

  “Sure.” Mark was here after all. He supposed he could say hello, even if he wasn’t sure what else to say, still wasn’t entirely sure why he was here. He followed the nurse to a room at the end of the floor.

  Swenson didn’t have a roommate, so Mark bypassed the empty bed nearest the door, heading to the cubicle where a very pale, very young looking Swenson was watching some cooking competition show on the TV. He looked smaller in the bed, more vulnerable than he had at training, and Mark was hit with fresh guilt at not being able to stop the accident.

  “Chief.” Swenson struggled to sit up.

  “Easy there.” Mark put a hand on his shoulder, then helped him adjust the bed so he could see Mark and the TV better. “I hear you’re terrorizing the nurses. Refusing to sleep.”

  “Can’t. They’re in and out all d—dang night. Guy can’t get more than an hour or two of rest before they’re back.”

  “Well, I hear they’re looking to discharge you soon. You’ll get more rest on the rehab floor.”

  “I get to go home for rehab.” Swenson offered a shy smile. “My parents drove over from Tucson because I can’t fly yet. We got permission for me to do my rehab back home so I can stay with them, not have to be in a hospital so long.”

  “That’s great.” Mark forced the words out past his surprisingly tight throat. It was great that Swenson had a family who cared that much for him. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to have you back.”

  “Yeah. Mom says she’s not letting me out of her sight for six months.” Swenson gave a weak laugh. “Can’t believe they all came—my parents and both sisters. They drove straight through, just to make it here.”

  “They care about you. It was a pretty close call. Bet they were scared for you.” Mark was glad he wasn’t the one who’d had to call them. Those sorts of phone calls were the worst.

  “It was, wasn’t it? They said you saved my life. That I was a goner but you wouldn’t stop the CPR.”

  “You’re a fighter,” Mark said, sinuses stinging. “I didn’t do it. Just helped you along until your body could remember what to do. You did the real work.”

  “You’re too humble. And I’m trying to say thanks. You didn’t have to try so hard—”

  “I wouldn’t have quit.” Mark could still remember how his arms had ached, how his lungs had burned, how sweat had poured down his face. “I wasn’t giving up on you. Like I said, you’re a fighter. You have been since day one. But, I would have worked that hard for anyone. You’re all my men.”

  “You...you think I’ve got what it takes?” Swenson whispered. “For reals?”

  “You focu
s on getting better first. You’ve got a long road ahead of you.” Mark didn’t want to say it, but a disability discharge was a real possibility. “You might decide you want to take a different rate, maybe go out on a ship. But if you make it back, yeah, I do. Any team would be lucky to get someone like you. You’ve got guts.”

  Unlike me. Fuck. Mark was being such a coward, refusing to even think about going public with Isaiah, or hell even to just take a risk with him period. He had no gumption and even worse, he wasn’t sure how to get the courage to do things differently.

  “Thanks. That means a lot.” Swenson’s eyes were bright. “You’re the best.”

  I’m really not. Can’t even hold my family together. Mark nodded stiffly. He could picture Swenson’s family making the seven-hour drive from Tucson in a panic, holding hands, banding together. That was what a real family did. They stuck it out, through good times and bad. Mark wanted that back, wanted a family like that in his life. He wished he knew how to get it back.

  “You take care. I should probably head to base. But I want to hear you’re on the mend, you hear?”

  “Yes, sir. Thanks for checking in on me.”

  “Least I could do.” Mark seemed pretty good at doing the least lately. Or not even that. What happened to giving his 110 percent effort? Was he really doing that to fix things with Isaiah or was he just letting him go, not trying, sandbagging any chance of a future together?

  Hell if he knew. You wouldn’t put up with this lackluster attitude from the recruits. Still in a funk, he headed to base, where he had the distraction of getting the recruits through the grinder. They were doing the giant obstacle course wet and sandy and exhausted by a punishing morning run. But this exercise was to see precisely how the boat crew leaders reacted, whether they could dig deep and consolidate their crew, deal with the chaos of the unexpected.

  “Go, go, go,” Mark urged them. The groups scaled the first of several tall wall obstacles, pulling each other up and over. “Do you want this? Work together! No man left behind.”