If Gabriel thought having sex with Blake in the back of an M35 was a goal, then driving one was a close second. When the big engine turned over and the entire bench seat vibrated under him, he groaned in pleasure. Maybe he could come back for this truck after everything was over with.
Jumping down from the M35, he looked around to see the mess they’d made. It was sad. Someone had curated this museum. They’d spent years, maybe even a lifetime, collecting and restoring these things. Researching and gathering funding. Putting it together just so they could share it with people. Not for money. Not for fame. But for passion. For love.
Now it was in disarray. Any vehicle that could be moved had been. A jumble of military green and boxy carriages lined the walls around the Iroquois. A lane had been created downthe center of the hangar between the helicopter and the door, a redneck runway.
Swallowing back the unnecessary emotions, he dove back into helping. It was well past midday when they finished, the splotchy light from the sky lights their only illumination. Shadows coalesced in the corners of the hangar. Blake said they were creepy. Gabriel agreed. He felt like he was being watched.
Shouldering his and Blake’s bag, he refused to look back as they filed out of the museum. Tommy and Phin emerged from the gift shop, a few toys in their hands.
“For the kid,” Phin groused, making a pained face.
Tommy beamed up at him. “My dad always brought me toys when he went on work trips. Made me excited for him to come home rather than sad he left.”
Phin grunted and put the toys in his bag.
“Really getting domesticated, isn’t he?” Blake asked, watching the two step out the broken door. Phin hovered around Tommy in case he slipped on the glass shards. “Think that’s what wolves looked like the first time they discovered belly pats?”
Blake was teasing, but there was a fond look on his face. The wind whipping through the door tousled the curls hanging out from under his hat. His nose was red, cheeks winter-bitten. There were deep wrinkles around his eyes, but not his mouth. A lifetime of someone laughing behind their scowl. Of vulnerability hidden behind sharp words. Even now, dirty and trodden. A little too thin. Heart aching and soul bruised, Blake was lovely.
And not just his pretty face. It was his contrasts—the same mouth that tore someone to shreds was the same one that would breathe for them. The man whose hands were balled into fists were the same ones he cried over when they couldn’t save a life. His apathy was a front. The wall of a storm designed to protect the eye, the calm. The true center of a storm.
In the military, Gabriel got used to focusing. Not on the big picture—geopolitical ideations and borders drawn on a map—no, he focused on what he could see. What he could touch. At first, it was the idea that he was doing the right thing. That, despite its flaws, he loved his country and was proud to fight for it. To stand on the line, defend those who couldn’t. To protect what he had. To carry on for the thousands who had done the same.
Then, when even that became difficult to grasp, he held onto something smaller. The men beside him. The guy snoring in his ear at night. The one who was born and raised only twenty minutes from Gabriel, but it took thousands of miles and a lot of sand for them to finally meet. He fought for that guy.
And later, when he took command, it became about responsibility. About the dirt-encrusted faces looking at him from under their helmets. He owed them. He owed their families.
When everything seemed overwhelming, he would focus on the next right move. The thing that would get them to see another day, another hour, another minute.
Now, it was Blake.
Maybe it had been from the moment he demanded the truth. It didn’t matter. There was a part of Gabriel who knew, without a doubt, that hell on earth be damned—even if they had met in a coffee shop on a regular Tuesday afternoon, he would still be here. Making Blake his mission.
He could argue with himself about it. How they didn’t fit the ‘correct’ timeline. How falling in love in a time of heightened emotion wasn’t real. It was lust. Adrenaline. He could make all those points, and he would be right.
But it didn’t matter. He didn’t meet Blake in a coffee shop. He didn’t agonize over buying him the first Valentine’s gift ortaking him to meet his parents. They didn’t argue over whose apartment to move into or if they should get a dog or a cat.
They survived together.
No, they lived together.
In a time when everything was uncertain, he had Blake. The man who called him dramatic and risked his life even when Gabriel was the one with the gun. It wasn’t about the big picture. It was about the now. About them. About what he could hold with his two hands. The next right move.
“I love you.” His voice was steady in truth. His lips spoke a truth his mind hadn’t quite caught up to, but it was true. Gabriel loved Blake. And had for a long time. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been such a revelation, and in many ways, it wasn’t. Not really. Not when saying the words felt as natural as kissing him. As just existing beside him.
Blake’s eyes were wide, lips parted. He inhaled quickly but didn’t speak.
“You don’t have to say it back,” Gabriel said, taking Blake’s hand. His fingers were cold, but they curled around Gabriel’s hand. “That’s not—I didn’t say it to hear it. I said it because I wanted to. Because it’s true and I promised to always tell you the truth.”
The silence curled between them, but it wasn’t stilted. Gabriel squeezed Blake’s hand before pulling it to his lips, kissing his knuckles.
“Thank you,” his voice was hoarse. “For always telling me the truth.”
Without taking his eyes off him, he brushed his lips against Gabriel’s knuckles.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
