Doesn’t speak.
I think I’m smelling dinner cooking a few minutes later when he finally nuzzles my cheek again. “You didn’t do anything but follow orders,” he says. “They were going to fire on your patrol whether you went further toward the center of town or if you’d turned around sooner. Your patrol was going to come under attack either way.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Idoknow that.” Something about the quiet certainty in his words makes me look at him. “I know because I checked into it. What you just told me was the missing piece I’ve always needed to understand everything, though.”
“What?”
“They captured the insurgents who attacked your patrol. They knew there would be a patrol that day because they had a local guy working at the base who kept them informed. They were going to attack whoever showed up regardless of where they went in town. They had orders, too. To fire on the Americans even if all you did was park, get out, and stand right next to the Humvees. You absolutely didnotget those men killed. I know it feels wrong to frame it like that but you followed your orders. If anything, you might have saved lives by not going all the way into the center of town. By falling back when you did, they didn’t have time to prepare and aim as accurately as they might have.”
He cups my face in his hands and makes me look him in the eyes. “Do youhonestlythink you’re the only closeted gay guy in the military who looked at eye candy while on patrol in-country? Hell, if it wasn’t for the fact many of their women wear those fucking burqas there’d be plenty of straight guys trying to prolong a patrol so they could bank their own wank fodder. Not to make light of this but fuckingduh.”
I stare at him. “What?”
“Youaregoing to talk to someone about this. I say this as not just your Master but as your husband and the man who will always walk through fire for you. It’s long past time to deal with this and stop being an emotional martyr. Climb off the fricking cross because we need the goddamned wood, Woodley. We’re building a house, you know.”
My eyes widen and I don’t know when I started laughing, but then I find myself caught in a laugh-cry cycle for a few minutes as Leo holds and comforts me. After I calm down—again—he kisses me and sits back, checking out his soaked shirt. He peels it off and tosses it onto the pile with my dirty clothes.
“We won’t discuss any of this with Jordan unless you want to. Dinner’s in ten.” He reaches into the water, splashing and flicking it at me with a smile. “If you aren’t feeling bastardly tonight at least make sure to snuggle with the boy during dinner, okay? Please? He’s starting to feel like he’s failing you and he needs to be reassured he’s not the problem.”
I nod.
“Thank you.” Another kiss. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
He slowly climbs to his feet and heads out, grabbing the T-shirt I’d planned on wearing and pulling it on over his head.
I settle into the water, slowly sinking below the surface again after filling my lungs with air.
Around me, the water distorts and oddly amplifies sounds and I think about my life. My decisions.
How I’ve lived.
The choices I’ve made.
The fear.
Always the fear.
Of course it’s possible my fear has been like that water, distorting everything until the truth is right there but impossible to accurately view because of my position relative to it.
I don’t deserve these two men but they love me.
I don’t want to fail them.
Except…
Leo’s absolutely right.
I do need to climb off the fucking cross.
The problem is I’ve hung up there for so long I’m not sure I know how to live any other way.
CHAPTEREIGHTY-THREE
When I wheelout of the bedroom I can smell the wings cooking. Jordan frequently makes them for us because they’re one of my favorites. Mimi’s special rub recipe, of course. Jordan’s tweaked it a little to use an air fryer instead of baking them or frying them. It’s faster, and delicious, and healthy.
