CHAPTER 15
TYLER
Sam and I working together to make dinner is kind of surreal. I don’t want to admit how good it feels to have someone go to the trouble of making a nice dinner to share with me. Strangely, none of my bar bathroom hookups have wanted that.
When he comes in from the BBQ, the smell of grilled meat makes my mouth water. He sets the platter down on the counter with a flourish and waves the tongs around like a magic wand. “Your dinner, kind sir,” he says, and he’s such a goof I can’t help but laugh. He’s too damn sweet not to.
A few minutes later, we’re sitting at the table, our delicious meals in front of us. Sam tops up our wine and sends me a fond look.
“Well, this is it. The beginning of our adventure on the wild and woolly Washington coast. Hope you’re up for it,” he says. We both laugh before taking a drink, and then it’s quiet for a few moments while we dig in. I don’t know if it’s all the fresh ocean air I got this afternoon, the long drive, or just a function of being here, but it’s one of the best meals I’ve ever had. I’m so wrapped up in the food I’m almost startled when Sam speaks.
“I texted Mason while the steaks were on the grill,” he says. “He messaged the owner and expects to hear back tomorrow. Whatever the owner says though, we’ll figure out the sleeping situation. I don’t want you to worry about it.” Concern is etched across his face, and I hate that I’ve put it there. I don’t want him to worry about me. In fact, I don’t want Sam to worry about anything.
In the pit of my stomach, a little stab of disappointment pokes me. I shouldn’t be surprised. Sam’s a professional, and I know he wants me to feel comfortable here. There’s no way he’s going to make a move on me. In the back of my mind, I think I was hoping the “only one bed” situation might lead to something more… but that’s clearly not going to happen.
I force a smile. “We’ll figure it out. I really am fine with taking turns on the couch, you know.”
“Nope. No way, dude. You came back from the Middle East missing one of your five senses and chunks of Taliban IED embedded in your body as a souvenir. There is absolutely no fucking way I’m letting you sleep on the couch. We’ll figure something else out.”
I roll my eyes, but I can tell arguing won’t get me far. Evidently, Sam can be very determined when he wants to be. My dick appears to think this stubborn streak is meant to be sexy as it twitches under the table.
“Speaking of your service,” he says between bites. “What made you decide to join up? Was the military something you always wanted to do?”
I never know how much is socially acceptable to share when I get asked this question. The only reason I joined the military was to get the hell away from my life. Things were already heading down a path that wasn’t leading anywhere good, and I had to get out.
“No, I hadn’t really thought about joining up until I was pretty close to graduation, actually,” I say, and Sam nods.
“So what made you want to do it?”
“I wanted out of Tacoma, and there was no other way open to me.” I shrug, taking another bite of steak before continuing. “As you might have guessed from this afternoon, my childhood was kind of a shitshow.” I snort, giving my head a shake. “I never knew my father, and my mom wasn’t exactly a stable, upstanding citizen. She was an alcoholic with a bad co-dependency habit. She’d get hooked up with a guy and would follow him to the ends of the earth, doing anything he asked, including ignoring and effectively abandoning her two kids.”
Sam sets down his silverware and reaches across the table, putting his hand on mine. “Hey, you don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to pry, I’m sorry.” His eyes are filled with concern.
“No, it’s fine. It’s not a secret or anything,” I say. “Anyway, my senior year of high school, Mom wasn’t around. She’d followed her latest man, yet again, to some shithole town. I don’t even remember where. My older brother, Aaron, had been planning to move to Nashville, but he ended up staying with me so I could graduate. I’d wanted to be an art teacher, but my grades were nowhere near good enough to get me into college, and even if they were, I’d never have been able to afford it.”
I stare at the table, running my thumb along the edge of the wood. When I look up, I brace myself, expecting to see pity on Sam’s face. But while he looks concerned, he also looks interested. Most people, especially if they’re from nice, middle-class backgrounds, are uncomfortable with “tales of the poor in America” like the one from my childhood. Often, they act like I’m some kind of charity case or, worse, some kind of leper, like if they get too close to me, the stink of my poverty-stricken childhood will somehow rub off on them, so they want to get as far away from the subject as possible.
Sam shakes his head. “Fuck. That’s rough for a kid. I’m sorry you had to deal with that shit.”
I shrug again. “It is what it is. But anyway, my high school art teacher kind of took me under his wing. He would have me over for dinner a few nights a week with his family. He had a couple of daughters who were in college, but I think he’d always wanted a son, so he kind of took a shine to me.” I laugh, thinking about Mr. Davison and his wife, Elaine.
“Anyway, he put the idea in my head about joining up so that when I came back, I could use the GI bill to go to college to become an art teacher, like I wanted. I wasn’t super stoked about it, but I really wanted to go to college, and the military seemed like the most straightforward way to make it happen.”
I lean back, taking a sip of wine, as Sam gives me a confused look.
“But if you wanted to go to college, why aren’t you doing that now?” he asks. “How come you’re working with us?”
“I have a few more years to use it. When I got home, I wasn’t in the right headspace.” I snort. “That’s a very diplomatic way of putting it. The truth is, I was a hot fucking mess. I was getting blackout drunk every night because I couldn’t deal with what had happened to me, and to top it off, my mother’s dementia had gotten so bad that she had to go into a care home. My brother dealt with that, but it was just another thing, you know?” I take a drink of wine, not meeting Sam’s eyes. I hate talking about my family, especially my mother, but there’s something about the way Sam listens that makes it a little easier.
“I didn’t realize your mom was in a care home. Fuck, man, you’re carrying a lot on your shoulders.” Sam shakes his head. But there’s no pity on his face, and for the first time ever, I don’t feel shame as I’m talking about my life. Sam accepts it, accepts me, without judging.
“So, is your mom in Tacoma?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah. Most of the time, she doesn’t remember who I am, and I think my visits make her agitated, so I don’t go much.”
“That really sucks,” Sam says, shaking his head. “Are you close with your brother?”
Ah, there’s the hard question. I suppose I could gloss over the shitshow my relationship with Aaron has become, but Sam is so genuine, like he actually wants to know, that I feel safe telling him. I clear my throat.
