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But that wasn’t happening, not ever again. And he’d be a piece of shit, not even worth his rank, if he let distraction over how things ended with Wes compromise the mission. So he put aside his melancholy, gave Wes the same sharp nod he gave Curly and Shiny, and tried like hell not to flash back to training when the explosion had gone too soon and those awful seconds when he’d been sure Wes was injured.
Trust. But he couldn’t—how could he trust a man who kissed him so sweetly, poured out his heart, then said it all meant nothing? Because he was protecting you and your career, not lying. Fuck. Get your head in the game, Lieutenant. Right the fuck now.
He raced the others out of the blast zone, making sure that this time they were all four clear before Wes hit the kill box switch. And nothing fucking happened.
“Not again.” Wes’s mouth thinned to a narrow line of skin and sweat. Fuck. What had Dustin missed in those precious seconds when he’d been caught up in his head yet again? What charge had been improperly place? Det cord kinked? “I’m going to have to go check—”
“Try again.” Checking could be deadly, and cold sweat gathered at the small of Dustin’s back. He simply refused to live in a world without Wes, and if Wes got blown up because he’d been irresponsible and distracted? Well, he’d never be able to live with that. “If there’s any checking to be done, I’ll do it, but try again.”
Wes hit the switch. This wasn’t a training exercise—no explosion meant that a weapons shipment would reach the wrong people’s hands in a few short moments, and they might face casualties in an open firefight on top of that. Everything in the mission hinged on the timing here. They had to have this explosion. Dustin tensed, every muscle ready to run back to the bridge and check the charges himself—no way was he letting Wes even think about being the one to do it.
Boom. The bridge blew up, right along with any pretense Dustin had had that he could carry on as usual. Maybe Wes could, but Dustin was a lousy excuse for a commanding officer who could have ruined everything with his distraction.
“It’s okay.” For a whisper of a second, their eyes met, first time all mission Dustin had let that happen, and it seemed like Wes was speaking directly to his fears and self-loathing.
Don’t beat yourself up, Wes commanded with his eyes.
I deserve it, Dustin flashed back. And then he looked away, because he’d promised no more long looks, no more eye conversations because Wes could see everything, always had, didn’t even need words to get inside Dustin’s head, know every last piece of shrapnel in the mess that was Dustin. Wes had seen him, really seen him, unfazed by all his kinks and quirks. Hell, Wes had made him feel...normal. Sexy. Wanted. He’d seen every last lonely inch of him and given him hope—however temporarily—that he might not have to be alone. And for that, Dustin should be grateful, but instead all he could manage was this unshakable feeling of loss.
That feeling accompanied him as they rejoined the rest of the team, through the subdued celebration after they intercepted the weapons shipment, and all went according to plan. Oh he did a better job of keeping his head about him, but that feeling was still there, dogging his every step. And when they were finally, finally, on the transport back to the States, he let his weary bones slump into a seat apart from the others.
Just like normal.
After all the time dark, without communication back home, all the other guys were busy sending messages and making plans. Not him. Didn’t feel up to being the third wheel with any of his partnered-up friends, wasn’t in the mood for drinking. Go to a bar, Wes had said. Ha. He no more wanted to flirt with a stranger than he wanted to paint himself green.
Behind him there was some commotion, guys moving around, and the senior chief making his way back. He swiveled his neck to watch the scene unfold. Bacon and Shiny were on either side of Wes, who looked utterly gutted, eyes wide, skin the color of old concrete, hands shaking on his phone.
It’s his sister. Dustin knew it in his bones. Wes had gotten bad news of some kind, and there was jack shit Dustin could do, even as his heart leaped out of his chest, taking all his emotional energy to right beside Wes, the spot he longed to be. Wes needed him, even if he’d never admit that, but Dustin was powerless. He knew the LT had been watching them both, suspicions not entirely laid to rest. And he’d promised Wes this was over, promised not to contact him, promised to move on. But how could he move on when Wes was hurting?
