Page 5 of Everything Changes

As he watched Carey make his way back to his chair, no overt indication in his graceful movements that he was an amputee, Jase suddenly remembered Carey playing football at Pendleton on their liberty days, strong legs pumping as he ran the ball into the end zone, muscles bunching as he jumped to receive the ball, the sight of his taut ass as he bent over in a huddle. Immediately those pleasant memories were overlaid with the haze of smoke, screams from the injured and dying, Carey lying so still, bloody, in pieces….

Jase felt himself gasp for air for an entirely different reason, his body trembling, and he staggered back to the dressing room, opening his locker where he’d stashed his messenger bag, fumbling around in the depths until he found what he was looking for. Lighting the joint with shaking hands, he took several puffs, pulling the drug deep into his lungs and holding it, letting it out slowly. Gradually, along with the high, calm returned, and Jase carefully pinched out the glowing end of the joint with wet fingers and returned the remainder to his bag. Checking the mirror one more time, he headed back to the party.

Seeing that Carey was content for the moment, Jase turned away and began to work the room again, networking with the fans and industry insiders who had been allowed backstage. He brought out his considerable charm, knowing sex appeal was a big draw in this industry. Without conceit he knew he had it, and he took advantage of it. Jase was a realist; talent only got you so far in the entertainment business, and the rest was how good you looked doing it.

Jase grabbed a beer, wanting something to do with his hands as he schmoozed, and at one point he caught Carey’s eye, grimacing and making an I-have-to-do-this motion with a shrug of his shoulders. Carey quirked his lips and nodded, lifting his hand to Jase in a lazy salute.

Jase broke free of the crowd as soon as he could, making his way over to Carey and then clapping him on the back before leaning down and kissing Layla on the cheek.

“So,” Quinn drawled, “Jayden polish your knob good there, hoss?” A couple of the other people sitting there snorted, and Jase was mortified to feel a flush creep up his neck as he refrained from looking in Carey’s direction. He knew he hadn’t fooled anyone with his long absence from the room, and now he had to deal with the consequences of the choice he’d made to let Jayden blow him instead of just getting rid of him.

“Shut up, Patterson,” he muttered, catching Layla’s disapproving eye. She frowned at him.

“Jase, he’s such a whiny bitch,” she complained. “I wish you’d tell him to stop coming around.”

“Come on, honey, he puts out. He’s a sure thing. And he can’t whine when his mouth is full, can he?” Quinn said slyly, and Jase wanted to punch him in the face and make him shut the fuck up.

The others were laughing, except for Carey, who just gave Jase that steady, inscrutable look that he always had. There was nothing on his face that made Jase think Carey was judging or condemning him, but Jase still felt a wave of shame go through him that Carey knew full well what Jase had been doing a few minutes ago. Jase wasn’t used to feeling shame, but for some reason, he felt it now.

He turned away and bit his lip, catching Layla’s eye again. The disapproval was gone, replaced by a disconcerting shrewdness as she searched his face, reading something in his eyes. Jase looked at her, shaking his head imperceptibly and mouthing, “Don’t.” She looked back at him meaningfully for another long moment before winking at him and finally releasing him from her gaze. He sighed in relief, reaching down to hug her close.

“I’m in love with your wife, Patterson,” he said lightly, keeping his arm around Layla’s shoulders.

“Who isn’t?” was Quinn’s unconcerned response as he drank his beer to the quiet laughter of the others around.

Jase pulled a chair over and flopped down next to Carey, sighing, exhaustion suddenly overwhelming him as the adrenaline finally bled completely away.

“Thanks for coming tonight, man. I thought maybe with the long drive….” he nodded significantly at Carey’s leg.

Carey smiled faintly. “I’m okay, Jase. It’s good.”

Jase nodded. “No trouble getting in the house?”

“Nah, the key was right where you said it would be, thanks.” They lapsed into a brief silence before Carey continued, “How was your ambulance shift last night?”

Jase was a reserve EMT, and he rode along with an ambulance service twenty hours a month. It suited Jase perfectly, kept his hand in the game and also gave him a supply source for his personal medical kit, the one he kept in the back of his Jeep close to hand at all times. Working with the ambulance service kept him supplied in fresh morphine and antibiotics, plus the best professional-grade medical supplies.

“It was good. Quiet, but that means good,” Jase said wryly. “Makes the night drag ass, though. Hey, let’s get out of here, go to the pub.” Jase had a favorite Irish pub along the Silver Strand on Coronado Island that was known to be a hangout for military types, both active duty and otherwise.

Carey looked at him thoughtfully. “You were up all last night on a ride along, and now you want to go out? How come you’re not wiped, man?”

“Caught a few hours at Quinn’s this afternoon. I’m fine. You know the old saying, I can sleep when I’m dead.” Jase finished his beer. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Less than an hour later, Jase sat back and watched Carey as he stood at the bar ordering another round for the table. His eyes wandered over Carey’s ass in the snug jeans, the way it flexed as he leaned over the bar and flirted lightly with the bartender, waiting for her to fill his order.

Jase loved this neighborhood pub, and it wasn’t too far from his tiny condo off the Strand. He and Carey had dropped their vehicles off at home before walking over together, enjoying the balmy early summer night, talking and catching up. When they’d arrived at the pub, there was a nice crowd, but they hadn’t had any trouble finding a table on the patio and were soon joined by a cheerful, rowdy bunch of sailors from the Navy bases nearby, men and women telling war stories and bonding over shared experiences.

Carey came back to the table clutching a tray precariously balanced with several drinks, a waitress right behind him with more. Carey smiled at her as he slipped her a large tip, and it was amusing to watch her face flush and hear her stammer all over herself. This pub saw no shortage of alpha men, Navy SEALs and pilots, but Carey with his stunning good looks and quiet, confident manner had her flustered beyond belief. Jase watched him, and his heart ached with love. He clenched his fingers on his beer glass and forced himself to look away from Carey’s beautiful smile, knowing his feelings were probably etched all over his face. It was getting more and more difficult to hide them.

Carey settled back next to Jase, and Jase casually put his arm along the back of Carey’s chair, all buddy-like. He let his thumb rest a few inches from his shoulder, feeling his body heat, wishing he could stroke the ball of Carey’s shoulder, the back of his neck. It was only a few inches—Jase gripped his beer bottle again as he fought the urge to touch.

One of the other men at the table, a salty old retired Navy chief, asked Carey companionably, “So what do you do now that you’re out of the Marines, son?”

Carey leaned back farther, and for one brief second, his shoulder brushed Jase’s hand, sending a tingle shooting through him. He casually shifted his hand like he was giving Carey room, hooking his fingers over the rungs on the back of the chair. Just buddies hanging out. That’s all this was.

“I work with a man named Bill Barkley at a place called Hope Ranch. It’s in Colorado.”

“Oh, I heard of that place,” another man said enthusiastically. “He runs a camp for wounded veterans, right?”