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Dustin, what the fuck did you do? “Yeah, that’s what I heard too,” Wes said weakly, surprised he could talk at all.
“But there is a shit ton of moolah to be made in private security consulting—I mean we are talking rolling in it. Bet that’s what he wants to do. With the navy downsizing, just makes sense to get out while you can, follow the cash before there’s too much competition.” Bacon continued to talk around large mouthfuls of food, his own appetite undiminished, and he sounded almost gleeful at the prospect of Dustin getting rich in the private sector. And he was apparently undeterred by the lack of response from Wes. “When I get out though, I’m going the other direction. Want to have fun. Maybe travel. How about you? You ever think about what you’re going to do after you get out?”
Only every other moment the past few weeks. But through some miracle, Wes kept his expression neutral. “Nah. Not sure. Something closer to home, for sure. But I’m not all about money. No big dreams.”
Other than Dustin. He finally managed to choke down a bite of food. Couldn’t taste a damn thing, but he didn’t want an interrogation about his appetite.
“Aw, man, that sucks.” Bacon made a face. “Gotta get you out there, find your passion as my mom’s always saying.”
I found it. It’s about six foot four, blond, and damn impossible to have, but still I dream. Wes nodded. “I’ll find it.”
“Next leave, if your sister’s still healthy—” Bacon knocked on the table “—I’m taking you down to this little place I love in Mexico. You and me and the open road. Trust me there’s no rush like it.”
“I’ll hold you to it.” Wes wasn’t entirely sure how he was still talking and making sense what with freaking out over the news about Dustin.
Somehow, he made it through the rest of the meal, Bacon waxing on about trips he’d been on. He kept him on that topic with as many questions as he could, trying to keep Bacon off speculation about Dustin and why he was leaving.
But that didn’t stop his own head from reeling, wild guesses and speculation of his own roaming around unchecked. He managed through sheer force of will not to race away from Bacon the second they were back on base, making small talk, greeting guys they passed, seeming in no hurry at all. Just give me my Oscar now, please and thank you.
The whole while, he just bided his time, counting down until he could freak the fuck out. And get angry. Furious even. Someone had some serious explaining to do.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sleep and Dustin were mortal enemies now. Made him have new sympathy for Wes’s chronic insomnia complaints. Which, not surprisingly, made him long for the man more. He lay in bed, counting weeks and days and hours and minutes, not sheep.
Knock. Knock. He couldn’t even say he was that startled by the late-night knock coming from the front door. Part of him had been waiting for this for days now, anticipating. Dreading, more than a little, but underneath all that anticipation was hope, stark and clear. Hope that cut through all the worry he had over the source of the knock.
Not bothering to pull on a shirt, he headed for the door. He checked the peephole, just to be prudent, but again, no surprises there.
“What the actual fuck are you thinking?” Wes said the second Dustin opened the door, pushing by him into the condo. “Have you lost your ever-loving mind?”
“Well, hello to you too,” Dustin said mildly, shutting the door behind him. God, Wes looked good—even in rumpled jeans and black T-shirt with dark circles under his eyes that said Dustin wasn’t the only one not sleeping. He wanted to hug him so badly, but Wes’s angry porcupine expression made that a dicey proposition. “Safe trip back? How’s Sam?”
“Fucker.” Wes paced in front of him. “You know why I’m here. Bacon couldn’t hold the news in. You’re the talk of the team. Everyone in the barracks is buzzing with it, and me not able to say a damn thing. You know how many hours I’ve had to bite my damn tongue? And you want to talk about my trip? Fuck you.”
“You have. And we both liked it.” Dustin tried to defuse him, but his blue eyes still spit lethal sparks at him. “And I was planning to discreetly message you soon. Just had a few things to work out—”
“Work out?” Wes shook his head. “Details? Dude. You resigned your commission. Don’t you think that’s a big enough thing to warrant a fucking text? Especially after I told y’all in no uncertain terms not to fucking do that.”
“Which is why I didn’t message.” If Wes kept up this level of anger, Dustin was going to end up pissed off right alongside him. “I didn’t need your permission, and I already knew what you’d say. But guess what? You don’t get to decide my future for me.”
