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They put Liam in a private room and brought me a comfortable chair to sleep in and keep watch. I didn’t think there was any danger for him in a military hospital, but I still didn’t want to leave him alone.
Someone on the hospital staff brought me some Ka’ak—cheese-filled flatbread—and coffee. I was just finishing my coffee when Liam cried out in pain. He started speaking, and at first, I couldn’t understand him. Then I realized he wasn’t speaking English. He was speaking French. “Je ne suis pas médicin. Je suis infirmière.”I’m not a doctor. I’m a nurse. Shit. Those assholes took him thinking he was a doctor and were going to kill him because he was a nurse.
I must have made some kind of noise because Liam’s head turned in my direction. “Who’s there?” he croaked, his eyes wide with terror. “Where am I?”
I got up and went over to him. “Hey,” I said quietly. “You’re okay. You’re in a hospital. You’re safe.”
Liam stared at me blankly before recognition slowly dawned and a sweet smile lit his battered face. “You’re Marco. You saved me.”
He tried to reach for me but was too weak, so I took his hand in mine. “I’m glad we got there in time.”
“Thank you,” he said, his lids drooping as the drugs pulled him under again. “My starlight savior.”
1
THREE MONTHS LATER
Marco
“Oof.” Sean came at me with another punch-kick combination. He got me square in the chest and knocked the wind out of me. Damn, the man was fast. I had to laugh at myself. I had four inches and at least thirty pounds on the guy, and he could still kick my ass in tae kwon do. But then again, he hadn’t gotten his second-degree senior black belt by collecting bottle caps.
Sean backed up and put his hands down. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to hit you so hard.”
I rubbed my hand over my chest. “Yeah, I’m good.”
He looked at his smartwatch and winced. “Shit, I have to go shower. I have to meet with a vendor this morning.” He removed his padded gloves and foot covers, and I did the same. “Thanks for sparring with me,” he said as he put away the gear. “I haven’t had a good sparring partner in ages.”
“No problem,” I replied. “It’s good to get the workout in.” Sean O’Neil was the owner of the Moonlight Inn. He was also dating our family friend, Jeremy Fitzgerald, a world-famous concert pianist. On top of all that, Sean was the older brother of Liam O’Neil, the man my team had rescued from Syrian militants. The man I couldn’t stop thinking about.
After we got Liam back home, I’d made myself scarce. Everything about him was too compelling. Those pale-green eyes that shone with flecks of blue and gold. His messy dark hair that stood out against his creamy fair skin. The sweet smile he gave me the day we boarded the plane to bring him back home.
God, that smile. I didn’t see it again for a while, first because I ran away from him like a coward and then because he took a turn for the worse. A week and a half after we got him home, Liam developed pneumonia due to his cracked ribs and had to go into the hospital for two weeks.
I’d finally pulled my head out of my ass and gone to see him in the hospital. The way his eyes had lit up when he saw me made me feel like a dick for essentially ghosting him. Not that we were dating or anything. I just felt responsible for him because he’d been in such a bad way when we rescued him. That was what I kept telling myself.
As Sean and I left the small gym attached to his hotel, I asked, “How’s Jeremy doing?”
Sean’s face lit up. “He’s good. His concerts have all gone well—standing ovations every time. He has a concert in Montreal tonight, and then he flies to Paris tomorrow.” His mouth turned down in a frown. “I was supposed to fly out to meet him this week, but I don’t want to leave Liam when he might need me.”
I raised a brow. I had a feeling I knew what Liam would think of that. “I’m thinking you’re being a little overprotective.”
He gave me a sad smile. “Maybe. I almost lost him once. I don’t want to take any chances.”
I nodded. “I hear you.” I still thought Liam was stronger than Sean gave him credit for, but I wouldn’t win that argument. I clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks for the workout. Next time, I’ll teach you some Krav Maga.”
Sean grinned. “Ooh, I get to take advantage of the SEAL training. It’s a deal.”
The drive to my house in Belmar, one town away from Spring Lake, where the hotel was, took less than ten minutes. I jumped in the shower to wash off the sweat from my workout with Sean. It was a good distraction for a while, but it wasn’t long before memories crept in again. Anniversaries sucked.
I dressed in jeans, a black Henley, and my black leather jacket. I laced up my black combat boots and grabbed my keys and wallet from the kitchen counter. Today was a good day to take the bike, so I headed into my garage, opening the outer door with the fob on my keyring. My black-and-chrome Harley Sportster sat patiently waiting for me next to my 1965 red Mustang convertible. I’d take the convertible out another day. I needed the freedom of the bike today. I put on my helmet, backed the bike out of the garage, past the late-model Dodge Charger in my driveway, and closed the garage door behind me.
The veteran’s cemetery was about an hour and a half north, up the Garden State Parkway and over on I280. It was a beautiful fall day and traffic was light. Since it was a weekday, there weren’t many people in the cemetery. I knew my way around the place pretty well after three years of Christmases, birthdays, Memorial Days, Veterans Days, and today—the anniversary of the day my lover took his own life.
The area around his grave was neat and tidy—a service I paid for. His shitty family certainly wouldn’t. They hadn’t even come to the funeral. I was the one who’d gotten his flag, not his parents. I knelt in front of the headstone and traced the letters of his name with my fingers.
Terrence Sanders, CPO, US Navy, May 24, 1988-October 22, 2019. Beloved Fiancé.
I took a quarter out of my jacket pocket and put it on top of the headstone. “Hey, Terry. It’s been three years.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “You should see the house I bought in Belmar. It’s a few blocks from the ocean. I used the money you left me for a down payment. It’s a great little house. Nice big windows, a big backyard, and a two-car garage.” I let out a short laugh. “Speaking of the garage, I finally bought that 1965 Mustang convertible I’ve wanted forever. It’s sweet. Candy-apple red, four-speed, black leather interior. And it’s fast. You would’ve loved it.”
