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“Let’s rock and roll,” Dustin called over the com to his part of the team—the portion with Wes—that would be handling the destruction.
When it was time to set the charges, Wes was mindful of the minor snafu from training, taking extra care with each placement. Everything else was blocked from his mind—Sam, this transfer, the leave denial, Dustin—none of it mattered as much as the mission at hand.
This time when the LT gave his mark, the explosion happened with the first flick of the remote. Debris rained, but the mountain stayed put, no rock slides or avalanches on his watch. Relief flooded Wes’s senses. It had worked.
“Time to head home,” Dustin said over the com, but his eyes found Wes’s and for a section—a breath really, no longer—the look in his eyes was everything. Joy. Pride. Happiness. Relief. All for Wes. They weren’t done, of course—they still had a treacherous hike back, then a tricky extraction. But as Wes accepted the congrats from the team on successful demo, he let that brief flash of emotion from Dustin live deep inside his chest, where he could take it out later, revel in how good Dustin’s pride felt, how damn awesome it felt having Dustin on his side, even in some small way.
Chapter Ten
Dustin headed right for his shower the moment he let himself into his condo. It had been days since he’d last seen hot water, and while he could have showered on base, he’d been desperate to be home where he didn’t have to worry about running out of hot water anytime soon and where he could collapse without the rest of the team seeing how exhausted he was.
Coming out of the shower, he wrapped himself up in a big fluffy towel that felt like utter luxury after a week in the same uniform. He supposed he should think about food before falling into bed. He was leafing through a stack of delivery menus when his phone buzzed.
He wasn’t signed into chat, but he had an offline message. Wes. His pulse started to gallop even before he clicked open.
Surgery went south. On transplant list. Losing my shit.
There went Dustin’s appetite. He hit reply. You okay? Need to talk?
Nothing. Long minutes passed, and then he tried again. Talk to me. It’ll help.
Still nothing. Dustin wanted to tear over to base, find Wes, make sure he wasn’t falling apart or on the verge of doing something stupid. But he couldn’t do that.
Finally, a message back. Nothing will help.
Fuck. Dustin hated feeling this powerless. Come over, he typed, heart shaking like he’d just survived a blast. I’ve got beer. Come over and we’ll talk.
Another long wait. I should say no. But got anything stronger than beer?
Dustin should pull the offer, get some sense, but instead he fired off his address. This was a quiet little complex on the water. Lot of retirees, not many people who worked at the base, and no SEALs that he was aware of. Risk was low, but it wasn’t nonexistent. He was crossing a line here, big time, but he couldn’t let Wes suffer alone.
Knowing that Wes liked pizza, he made an order for a large pie and some breadsticks while he waited for him. If Wes was in a drinking mood, Dustin needed to get some real food in him too. Oh and get clothes on. Those would be good too. He threw on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt right before a knock sounded at the door.
Wes looked wrecked—his hair was damp and he was in clean jeans and a T-shirt, but his eyes were red and haunted and his shoulders slumped. In all Dustin’s fantasies about Wes in his space, it had never been like this.
He held the door open, letting Wes in, then the second it shut, he did the only thing that made sense and gathered Wes into a tight hug. Which Wes didn’t seem to be expecting—his body stayed tense, arms at his sides. His torso shuddered, and it took Dustin a moment to realize that he was fighting tears.
“Hey. You’re here now.” Dustin wrapped him up tighter. Wes was just enough shorter to fit perfectly against him, and finally he relaxed into the embrace, burying his head in Dustin’s shoulder. Wes smelled like woodsy soap and his hair tickled Dustin’s neck and face and Dustin wasn’t sure how he was ever going to let him go again. They stood like that for ages, Dustin helplessly rubbing his back and muttering nonsense words, and probably would have kept him there half the night if the pizza guy hadn’t shown up, startling them both apart with a loud knock.
“Fuck. I’m a mess.” Wes scrubbed at his face before heading to the couch while Dustin paid for the food.
“Do I owe you anything?” Fishing out his wallet, Wes still looked like he might collapse any second.
