Page 31 of Point of Contact

“Well, we deserve it.”

“Fuck yeah, we do. And by the time we get back, it won’t be long till we’re leaving that hellhole in our rearview mirror for good.”

Jesse closed his eyes. “God, that day can’t come soon enough,” he said fervently. “Not soon enough.”

“It’s all gonna be a piece of cake from here, Jess. A piece of cake.”

After reaching over to give Riley a weary knuckle bump, Jesse fell asleep to the sound of him trying to wheedle some champagne from the flight attendant.

* * *

“Oh, hello.”

Riley’s voice was drowsy, lazy, but with an undercurrent of interest that made Jesse lift his head up from his towel to see what was going on. A group of bikini-clad women were walking along the shore near the water, throwing them both sidelong glances.

“How about a swim, Jess?”

Without waiting for an answer, Riley got to his feet and strolled toward the water, his body tanned from the Hawaiian sun and toned from the hardships of Afghanistan. The women grinned at him as he approached, and before long he was wandering in the direction of a Waikiki beach bar with them.

Jesse rolled his eyes, about to lie back down when he walked by again—a tall, blond, deliciously muscled guy about Jesse’s age. For the past few hours Jesse had been watching him behind the safety of his mirrored sunglasses, enjoying the view of broad shoulders, long legs and a lightly furred chest. It was probably his sex-deprived, fevered imagination playing tricks on him, but a couple of times he thought maybe the guy was checking him out, too. He paused now, glancing in Jesse’s direction, and since Jesse didn’t feel right about approaching him with Riley anywhere around, he ignored him and lay back down on his towel, jamming his forearm across his eyes. When he peeked again a few minutes later, the guy was gone. Shit.

Jesse heaved a regretful sigh, jumping a mile at the sound of Riley’s quiet voice behind him. “Go for it, Jess.”

Jesse jackknifed to sitting. “Whoa, you startled me! And go for what?”

Riley dropped to the sand, passing Jesse a cold can of beer and cracking one open for himself. Jesse raised his eyebrow, and Riley grinned. “Marisol bought them. She thinks it’s fucked up I can die for my country but I can’t buy a beer.” He took a long slug, smacking his lips. “And I meant go for it with that guy.”

It was said in such an offhand, casual manner that it took a moment for his meaning to sink in. When it did, Jesse choked on his sip of beer as it went down the wrong pipe, and Riley enthusiastically pounded him on the back until he stopped coughing. Jesse set his can in the sand and wiped his streaming eyes with a nearby T-shirt, striving for calm.

“What guy?” he managed to say.

Riley nudged him with his shoulder. “The guy you’ve been trading looks with all day. The one who keeps walking by hoping you’ll give him a sign that you’re interested.”

Jesse clasped his arms around his knees to hide how his hands were suddenly shaking.

Were they really gonna do this here? Now?

“What the fuck? Why would I be looking at some dude?”

“You know why. I know why.” Riley’s voice was firm. “No reason to hide it here, Jess. No reason at all.”

Jesse swallowed hard. “Riley—”

“Have you forgotten I’ve lived with a gay man my entire life?” Riley asked, his tone both reasonable and reassuring. “When you got back to the barracks after you went up to Denver that time, I recognized those types of bruises. When my dad was single, that’s exactly how he used to come home from the club, too.”

Jesse stared straight ahead, not quite ready to admit anything out loud.

“Look,” Riley said gently. “I’m not trying to force you to come out to me. If you punch me in the face and tell me to shut the hell up, I will, and I’ll never mention it again.”

Jesse sucked in a deep breath through his nose and blew it out his mouth, clenching his shaking hands together. This was Riley, his best friend. His brother. One of the guys he trusted most in the world. “Does everybody—” He cleared his throat and tried again. “Does everybody think that—”

“Everybody? You mean the guys in the platoon?” Riley shook his head. “No, I doubt it. The thought wouldn’t even occur to them.” He cocked his head, seeming to make a decision. “When we were in Italy before going downrange, remember that girl I hooked up with? Carmen, Carlotta, something like that?”

“I think it’s Carlotta.” Heat rushed through Jesse at the sudden memory of her brother Pietro on his knees in that church courtyard, his lips swollen and wet.

“Yeah. While I was with her, her brother came home singing at the top of his lungs. Carlotta got out of bed and went to see what was going on, and when she came back, she was laughing. She said, ‘My brother is so happy because, just like me, he had a very handsome soldier make love to him tonight.’ I—Jess, I know it was you. I remember you talking to him, and walking off with him.”

“We were just going to get more wine,” Jesse said lamely, his voice trailing away when Riley squeezed his shoulder.