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“You coming in?” Canaan barely got the words out.
“Got an early morning tomorrow. Can’t stay over.” Renzo rolled his shoulders. “But...”
There was a world of hope in that but, and Canaan was gonna seize it.
“It’ll help,” he whispered, hoping like hell he was right and that sex wouldn’t make everything worse. But then Renzo was kissing him urgently, pushing him back against the door.
“Bed,” Canaan pulled away long enough to gasp.
“Mine,” Renzo growled, tugging him out of the truck and down the path to Canaan’s apartment.
“Yours,” Canaan confirmed. He wasn’t naive enough to think that this was going to solve Renzo’s discomfort or that this issue was resolved, but damn, he wanted Renzo in the worst way, wanted to tell him things with his body that his voice couldn’t vocalize yet.
As he pulled Renzo toward the bedroom, certain words were right there on his tongue, but he didn’t want to scare Renzo with the force of the feelings welling up in him. He was falling for this man so damn hard. They could figure this thing between them out together, could get through the scary parts, if only Renzo would trust.
Worries licked at the base of his spine, made his back stiffen even as he gave himself up to Renzo’s kiss before they tumbled to the bed. And even as he gathered Renzo close, lost himself to the pleasure they could make together, he had to wonder who would they be if Renzo couldn’t do that, couldn’t trust?
Chapter Twenty-One
“Rooster should know this desert, right?” Curly said, apparently thinking he was quite funny as they waited to board a plane headed to the Arizona desert. Renzo’s body thrummed with anticipation over their scheduled jumps, even though it had meant turning down a night in Canaan’s bed after their strained conversation the night before to ensure he was on time for their departure this morning.
“Shut it,” he groused.
“Yeah, I feel like a hike.” Even Bacon wasn’t immune from joining in the teasing.
“Listen up.” The senior chief silenced them before he and LT went over the plans for the day, which would include two jumps. Similar to what they’d been practicing in the water, they had to get some bulky, heavy equipment to target locations.
“Bianchi?”
“Yes, sir?” Renzo stood straighter as the LT addressed him.
“I want you assisting Buddinger and the flight crew. You’re responsible for your gear, but I want you observing and double-checking everything. And I mean everything. Anything looks off, you report directly to me and Buddinger. We want good, clean, safe jumps today. No surprises.”
“Yes, sir. You can count on me.” In fact, he welcomed the distraction from last night, from everything he was coming to feel for Canaan, from the worries that had plagued him all night that maybe Canaan wasn’t as serious, that maybe he just liked banging SEALs. None of that mattered as they prepared for departure, and he had to push it from his mind.
Buddinger was a quiet SEAL chief who did a lot of different tasks for the team, but he was their usual jumpmaster. Being asked to assist him was something new for Renzo. In the mission plan, Curly and Shiny would assume Renzo’s usual duties in terms of managing the extra equipment they’d be expected to carry. Each of them jumped with around a hundred pounds of gear, more so on these sorts of missions where they were also sending down equipment via parachutes. It was complicated, dangerous work to make sure that everything and everyone arrived at the target zones.
Being Buddinger’s assistant as it were meant that both of them would stay behind during the first jump, to monitor the team’s descent and maintain constant radio communication. The second jump, to mimic how they’d handle this in the field, they’d jump last, after all the equipment and personnel were deployed, again using radio communication to stay in contact with the team. The LT, XO, and senior chief might be their leadership team, but on a jump, the jumpmaster had the last word. Early on as a SEAL, Renzo had had a situation where his main chute tangled, and it was the jumpmaster, not the LT who gave him the order in a steady, calm voice to cut the chute and deploy the backup. That situation had been part of what had sparked his interest in being a jumpmaster himself someday.
And no detail was too small for Buddinger’s critical eye even before they departed the base. Straps and buckles were checked and rechecked. Loads weighed. He had Shiny retie his shoelaces. Cleaned Curly’s goggles. Discussed jump order with the flight personnel and made sure everyone was in the correct order for exiting the aircraft—no last-minute jostling for position. The pallets of equipment would leave first, and those too had rigging and chutes to triple-check.
