The Complete Veterans Affairs Romances: Gay Military Romances

by A. E. Wasp

  Troy shook his head in disbelief. “Wow. Okay. Do you want to pay them, then? They might take it.”

  “Yeah? You think? That would make me feel better.”

  “Let’s see.”

  Danny and Ravi were washing out the paintbrushes in the sink and covering up the paint cans when they got back downstairs.

  “Looks great, guys,” Dmitri said. “Let me pay you for your time, okay?”

  Ravi shook his head.

  “Oh, no,” Danny said, holding out his hand. “No way. We’re just helping out. You and Troy, man, you’re like our role models. Our friends. We couldn’t take any money. Right?” He turned to Ravi.

  “Right. I mean, Troy helped me come out to my family. I owe you.”

  Great. The circle of obligation never ended. “Are you sure?” he asked again, just to be sure.

  “A hundred percent.”

  “Well, how about a beer?” Troy asked.

  “Sure,” they both answered.

  Troy pulled out what was becoming his favorite local brew for each of them and had them bring the leftover pizza into the living room.

  Golden light from the sun setting behind the house filled the room, tinting everything sepia. Dust mites danced in the beams. All the windows were open, and the smell of heat on the dry prairie grass competed with the astringent smell of fresh paint. It didn’t get completely dark until after nine this time of year. The boys settled into the couch, looking perfectly content to get into some underage drinking.

  Dmitri was going to need something stronger if they were going to hang out now. He dug through the hooch hutch for some gin he thought he remembered seeing there. Oh, there were some dusty cans of tonic water in the bottom of the cabinet. Bonus.

  He went into the kitchen to make himself a gin and tonic and to see if there was anything more edible than cold pizza in the fridge.

  He half-listened to the conversation as he quickly downed the first gin and tonic and heated up some leftover baked ziti from Vincent’s. One of them was really going to have to go food shopping and cook some things this weekend.

  One of them? He rolled that around in his head as fixed himself another gin and tonic, going crazy and slicing up a semi-dried out lime for the second drink. Obviously, he would be going food shopping. It was his house, his life, his food. He didn’t need Troy cooking for him, painting his house. Muscling his way into Dmitri’s life. He could take care of himself. He needed to take care of himself.

  This second gin and tonic was going down faster than the first one. He was going to need more ice, so he poured the remains of his drink into a larger glass and added more ice. Now the gin ratio was off, so he added a large splash just to fix it. Juggling the cold glass and the hot plate of pasta, he rejoined the group in the living room.

  “I just couldn’t stop talking about him,” Ravi was saying as Dmitri sat down. “I kind of had to come out. You were right.”

  “Right about what?” Dmitri asked, blowing on a forkful of ziti.

  “Troy said I wouldn’t be happy hiding my relationship with Danny and that it would be easier in the long run if I just got it out in the open.”

  Dmitri raised an eyebrow. “Troy said that, did he?” He bit into the pasta and made a face. How did food manage to come out of the microwave freezing cold in some parts and burn your tongue hot in other? “How’d that work for you, Troy?”

  Troy didn’t answer.

  “Maybe you should try Skype, too.” Dmitri finished the last of the gin and tonic. Well, mostly gin. It felt icy cold and sharp against his teeth.

  “You’re not out to your family?” Danny asked Troy.

  “It’s complicated,” Troy answered to the floor.

  “My family had an arranged marriage waiting for me!” Ravi interjected. “Talk about complicated.”

  Dmitri contemplated pouring some more gin, but it was all the way in the kitchen. He weighed the costs and benefits of getting up. The mental argument came down on the side of going to the kitchen for more gin. He stood up, just a little shaky on his legs. “Maybe that’s what it will take for Troy. What do you think, Detroit? Would you tell your family you’re gay then, or just marry the girl and keep some poor guy on the side?”

  Danny stood up abruptly, smacking Ravi on the shoulder and jerking his head towards the kitchen. “Hey, um, thanks for the beer and pizza. We gotta go. Homework. You know how it is.” They were halfway to the backdoor by the end of his speech.

  Dmitri followed them to the kitchen. “Thanks for painting guys. It looks great.”

  “No problem,” Danny said. “See you tomorrow at work?” he asked Troy.

  Troy nodded. “Bye.”

  “Bye,” Ravi added.

  chapter twenty-eight

  Dmitri poured himself another drink consisting of the tiny bit of remaining tonic and a nice, healthy slug of gin, and three slices of lime. He could feel Troy’s eyes on him. “What?”

  A thousand answers to that question raced from Troy’s brain to his mouth. Why are you being such a dick? crossed the finish line first, but are you mad at me? and did I do something wrong? were tied neck and neck for second place. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer to either of those, so he bit them all back and went for levity instead. “You’re gonna have quite the headache tomorrow if you keep drinking like that.” It came out more accusatory than lighthearted.

  Dmitri grimaced, then gave a one-shoulder shrug and threw back the last of his drink. “Gonna have a headache tomorrow no matter what. Might as well salvage something out of this craptastic day.”

  He took his cup, just water and ice now, and went back into the living room. Troy trailed after him, not sure of his welcome. Dmitri’s reaction was so far from what Troy had expected; it had thrown him for a loop. The ground had been pulled out from under him, the relationship he’d thought was pretty steady now seemed like a creation of his own mind. He was an idiot. What did he think? Coming in and painting a man’s house without his permission? Who did that? No wonder Dmitri was pissed.

  Troy hovered in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room as Dmitri flicked on the television and looked at his phone at the same time.

  “So, how’s school going?” Dmitri asked, not really paying attention to Troy.

  How it was going was a hundred times more difficult for Troy than he’d expected.

  He couldn’t relate to his classmates, most of whom seemed like children to him. He’d spent more than one class period imagining an IED going off in class and trying to predict the reactions of each kid. He thought his PoliSci teacher might survive. He looked like he had a good head on his shoulders. Some of the dudebros in the class wouldn’t be so lucky, probably pee their pants at the sight of a weapon.

  And to top it off, his brain wasn’t working right. He couldn’t remember shit and had to write every little thing down. Math class was killing him. He lost time sometimes, drifting off to find out he was late for class. And the crowds of people made him uneasy. You couldn’t see anything. There was no security at all at the school; in a state with open carry laws and legalized marijuana. What the hell were they thinking?

  But he wasn’t going to tell Dmitri that now. “It’s fine,” was all he said.

  Dmitri grunted, swirling the ice cubes in his cup and looking at it like he really wanted another drink.

  “You want another?” Troy asked.

  Dmitri raised an eyebrow. “I got the feeling you disapproved of my drinking.”

  “I’m a bartender.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s my job.”

  “That would be awesome, babe.” Dmitri held out his glass with a grin.

  Troy looked in the hooch hutch. “Gin is gone. Do you want vodka?”

  Dmitri leaned back against the couch with a sigh, pressing the heels of his hands into his closed eyes. “What I want is a nice, hot bath.”

  Troy grimaced and splashed a little more vodka into the glass than he’d been planning. He handed the glass to D
mitri. “We might have painted the upstairs bathroom, too. And it’s kind of a mess of tarps, and stuff is off the walls... Sorry.”

  Dmitri sighed again and pointed the remote at the television. The Netflix logo filled the screen. “Holy crap,” Dmitri said.

  Troy stared at the screen, trying to figure out what had caught Dmitri’s attention. Looked like the normal screen. There weren’t even any new episodes of anything this time of year. But Dmitri wasn’t looking at the television, he stared at his phone, scrolling through a long message. Troy moved closer to the couch. “What is it?”

  Dmitri shook his head. “I got the job offer. Well, an interview. They want to see me.”

  “What job?”

  Dmitri looked up at Troy, and then blinked, like he was trying to clear the alcohol from his brain. “The California one I was talking about with my sister, remember? I assumed I hadn’t gotten it, it’s been so long.” He chuckled. “I guess the government moves slow.”

  Troy hadn’t remembered. He sat down on the couch next to Dmitri, not touching him. “What’s the job?”

  “Public vet for the USDA. Doing research and epidemiology and outreach kind of things. Decent salary with twenty-five thousand tax free dollars paid towards my student loans.”

  Dmitri looked excited. Troy felt like he’d be hit by a truck. “In California.”

  At that, Dmitri looked away from his phone. His opened his mouth, closed it again, looking back at his phone. “I’ve always wanted to go. It was mine and Angel’s dream escape plan.”

  “Oh. It’s nice. It’s a nice state.” Of course, Dmitri was leaving. Troy wasn’t that much of an idiot to think that Dmitri would turn down an opportunity like that for him. For some war-damaged loser who couldn’t pass an algebra class.

  “I – I mean, it’s just an interview.” Dmitri looked pained, and couldn’t quite make eye contact with Troy.

  Troy stood up. “I should get going. Get out of your hair. I got a lot of homework.”

  Dmitri frowned. “You’re not staying over?”

  “I don’t think so. But I’ll straighten up the bathroom before I go.”

  Dmitri tossed his phone on the table and crossed his leg over the other. He waved a hand at Troy. “Leave it. I’m more used to it not working than working. So, when do I get to see you again? This was the one night we had this week.”

  “I’m not working tomorrow night,” Troy said. “Oh, wait. I have study group. But I’ll be done by nine.”

  “I’ll be half asleep by then. You work the rest of the week, I assume?”

  Troy nodded. “We should try to go camping again before the winter.”

  “We can barely have dinner together.”

  “I’ll ask Vincent for next Saturday and Sunday off. Would that work?”

  Dmitri closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the couch. “Yeah. I think so. I have nothing planned.” He opened his eyes and tilted his head to look at Troy. “So almost two weeks before I can have you to myself? Not going to ask everyone and make it a group camping trip?”

  Troy had actually been contemplating asking a few of the guys if they wanted to go together. Might be fun to do some fishing, have some beers and trash talking around the fire. “No,” he answered. “Just us.”

  Dmitri nodded. “Good.” He took two long pulls of his drink, his cheeks starting to flush with the effects of the alcohol. His eyes were glassy, and he was having a hard time focusing on Troy. “Hell, if these budget cuts they threatened today go through, I may not have a job. Then we’ll have all kind of time.”

  “Are they doing layoffs?”

  Dmitri shrugged. “Hints and allegations, that’s all.” He nudged his phone with his foot. “At least there’s always California.”

  “Yeah.” Troy stuffed his hands in his pocket, his heart like lead in his chest. He’d been an idiot to think this thing between him and Dmitri meant the same thing to Dmitri that it did to him. “You’ll take it, right, if they offer?”

  Dmitri groaned. “I don’t know, Troy. I don’t know. Maybe. It’s a way out from all of this.” He waved his hand again, indicated the room, the house, the town.

  What about us? hung unspoken in the room.

  “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Are you staying?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  Dmitri nodded his head and waved vaguely at the couch. “Yes. Of course. Just. Sit. No talking.”

  chapter twenty-nine

  It was pitch black, but Troy could hear the bombing. Boom, boom, boom. Relentless. He thrashed around, trying to find a way out of the layers of scarves and bolts of fabric that covered him as the bombs shook the metal walls of the small tailor shop.

  His arms flailed, connecting with soft piles of fabric and, finally, something solid.

  Someone was calling his name, but he couldn’t hear over the yelling and the explosions. Something was whining, like an incoming rocket or a tea kettle.

  “Troy!” He rocked back with the force of a blow from an unseen assailant, and he lashed out in that direction.

  “Fuck.” There was a thud, and the attack stopped.

  Something leaped on him, something cold pressed against his neck. He struggled, hands landing in a pile of fur. The last of the nightmare slipped away as Moby whined and licked his face over and over.

  He shook his head to clear away the cobwebs, to center himself in the here and now. Here: Dmitri’s bed. Now: the middle of the night.

  Dmitri stood in the doorway. He looked like crap. He’d been pretty drunk by the time they went to bed. They’d collapsed onto separate sides of the bed with barely a good night. Troy had thought for sure he would be awake all night, but sleep had claimed him quickly, dragging him down into a morass of fear and grief. Just like most nights.

  Dmitri’s eyes were puffy, his hair stuck up in every direction, and he held a hand to his cheek. “We can’t keep doing this,” he said, exhaustion and defeat in his voice. “It’s too much. I can’t…I can’t deal with it.”

  Troy pushed Moby off of him and struggled to sit up. “I was having a nightmare.”

  Dmitri nodded, eyes narrowed. “You better have been. Because you hit me. Punched me in the face. I didn’t roll away fast enough this time.”

  All the blood drained from Troy’s face. He felt chills, then sweat shuddered across his skin. “Oh no. Oh, God.” He climbed off the bed, ripping the sheets off from where they had twined around his legs. He stood in front of Dmitri. “Let me see.” He reached for Dmitri’s hands.

  Dmitri flinched, turning his head away.

  Troy dropped his hands. “I’m sorry.”

  Dmitri nodded quickly, looking at the floor. “You gotta do something about this. It’s PTSD, even I can see it, and you can’t deal with it yourself. You need help.”

  Troy shook his head, denying it, even as he knew deep in his heart that Dmitri was right. “I know. I don’t…I can’t.”

  “I don’t get it.” Dmitri threw up his hands. “What’s the big deal? Why can’t you just get help? It has to be obvious even to you that something isn’t right. You have nightmares like every other night. You’re angry a lot. Jumpy as hell. You have to deal with it. You’re sick, you go to the doctor. It’s that simple.” He took a few deep breaths, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing his temples in pain. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “I need another drink for this.” He opened his eyes and looked directly at Troy. “Look. Just tell me what you need, tell me how to help. We can fix this.”

  Troy recoiled. “Fix me? You think you can fix me. Like I’m broken and some kind of project for you? You won’t even help a dog, a real, live dog. Not some, some, cells in a Petri dish. And you think you can help me?”

  “Troy, baby -”

  “Don’t.” He held up a hand in warning that stopped Dmitri in his tracks. “I don’t need anything from you. How can you help anyway? You’re right. I’m just broken. I’m no good to anyone, I’ll go. Just let me go. I’m going to let
people down, and do you know what happens if you let people down? They die.”

  He had to get out of there, right then. He dug through the sheets and blankets strewn across the floor. His clothes were under there somewhere. He tossed everything he could find across the room. Moby whined and crawled towards him on her belly. He stopped, breathing heavily through his nose. Running a hand through his hair and over his face, dragging the skin down almost painfully, he bent down stiffly to pet the dog. “It’s okay, Moby. You’re a good girl. It’s okay.” Fuck it. He could drive home in his underwear.

  From outside, a train whistled off in the distance. It sounded like loneliness.

  Dmitri pressed back against the doorframe, eyes wide. “You can’t go on like this. I’m only saying this because I care about you. I love you. But I can’t -”

  “Can’t what? Stay?” Troy straightened up. Every bone in his body ached. His joints ached, and gravity pulled him down to the earth like he wore a lead suit. “I know it. I knew you wouldn’t from the beginning. I got nothing to give you, except sex, and you can get that from anyone. And I can fix your house, but I even screwed that up. And now you’re leaving anyway, so what does it matter?”

  Dmitri took a step closer to him, hands out like he was approaching a wild animal. The tears in his eyes glinted in the moonlight coming in through the curtain-less window. “No, that’s not - you think that’s all I care about? What you can do for me?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what you think. You never let me in, never tell me what you’re thinking. You think you know all about me and can have both sides of a conversation with everyone. You think you know what I’m thinking all the time. You think you’re smarter than I am.”

  “No. That’s not true.”

  “Come on, I’ve seen you roll your eyes when you’re trying to help me with math.”

  “No, I haven’t. I never would!”

  Maybe Dmitri was right. Maybe Troy was being irrational. He felt like his head was going to explode. He didn’t care. He just needed to get out. To get away. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. His pulse beat in his temples, pain stabbed behind his eyes. He was just so angry. At Dmitri, at the men who sent kids to war, at the kids in his school who had no idea what he’d been through, at the Taliban, at the world for being what it was.