Wesley spent the rest of the day searching through every news site and discussion board he could find. When he didn’t find much, he dedicated his next day at work on searching, too.

He didn’t find much about Sam. The occasional mention of his name in a press report and a couple of Facebook posts he’d been tagged in, but other than that, the internet had come to the conclusion that Sam Carlisle didn’t exist.

Frustrated, Wes turned his attention from Sam himself to Navy SEALs in general. He’d never been much into internet research so differentiating between what might be real and what wasn’t took more effort than he expected. Wes wasn’t sure what to believe but the job looked twice as dangerous than he’d ever considered

It had been months since Tom had heard from Sam. Months. Wes didn’t know if that meant something but it meant something to Tommy.

His chest hurt in a new way that night.

He was used to feeling disappointed and heartbroken and a little too empty. But this new ache curled around his bones and into his muscles, vibrations spreading beneath his skin. He tasted fear on his tongue and felt it pulse through his veins. It was something unique that flared up every time he thought Sam’s name anew.

He could be hurt or bleeding or—

He could be fine, maybe.

Wes thought he was probably fine.

A knock on his door had Wes jumping. He clicked out of the article on the SEALs as quickly as he could, heart pounding as he looked up to his door.

Ashley stood against the opening with her arms crossed.

“Hey there, Adams.” She cocked her head, a little piece of her red hair falling in front of her eyes. She was a nice woman, a fair boss, and Wes had always been fond of her.

“Hey, Ash.” He leaned back in his chair, wincing at the way his spine cracked. “What’s up?”

She looked at him with a raised eyebrow and a hard expression. “You plan on going home at any point?”

Wes frowned, about to refute her tone. he glanced at the clock. 6:45. Well, shit.

“Just a little later than usual,” he said, feigning ignorance as to why she was concerned. He wasn’t really one for unnecessary overtime.

“You’ve just been sitting here for hours, Wesley.” She straightened up and unfolded her arms. “Sure you’re okay?”

Wes’s face burned a little. So, he’d lost track of time worrying about a guy he’d made out with once, a year ago. Everyone had been there.

Okay. Maybe not.

Wes tried to shake off her concern with a grin. “Just lost track of time. Think I’ll head out now, though.”

He shut off his computer and gathered his stuff, reaching behind him for the jacket he had slung around his chair.

Suddenly, Ash jumped a little. “OH! Yeah!”

Wes stood up, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Wes—“ she cut herself off, frowning. Wes motioned for her to go ahead and continue.

Ashley took a deep breath and shrugged. “So I know we’ve never really talked about it but I’m pretty sure I heard you or Tom or someone say you were interested in guys?”

“So?” Wes didn’t think Ash would have anything to say about that but he couldn’t help the hackles that raised a little in defense.

Her eyes widened and she shook her head quickly. “So nothing! I mean, something, but, like, nothing bad. It’s just—see, there’s this guy I know. Real sweet, a good guy. Like one of the best, kinda the way you’re one of the best. I think you guys would really hit it off.”

Wes’s jaw dropped. His manager was trying to set him up on a date. God, this day couldn’t get worse.

“I’m good, Ash. I don’t really do blind setups.”

Ash nodded, averting her gaze away from him and to her shoes quickly. “Right, sure, of course. I just thought I’d mention it. He really is great.”

“I’m sure he is.” Wes paused until she glanced back up at him, saying pointedly, “But I’m not interested.”

She nodded again, holding her hands up. Then Ash grinned and made the motion of zipping her lips and throwing the key behind her shoulder.

The two made their way through the office to shut off all the lights. Wes struggled with his bag, following Ash around as she chatted about the shitty customers she’d dealt with throughout the day.

He hummed noncommittally and held the door open for her as she ducked out. It had started raining since lunch and Wes waved goodbye through the downpour as they both raced towards their cars.

By the time Wes yanked open the door of his old, blue truck, he was drenched. His hair stuck to his forehead and his clothes plastered on his skin. He threw himself into the cab of the truck, slamming the door beside him.

God, it had been a day. The rain splattered against the windshield, angry and loud inside the cab. God, it had been a day.

Wesley ran his hands down his face, fingertips catching on the dips and planes of his face. The pages he’d researched kept flickering through his mind along with the articles, videos, and pictures of various reasons someone would go missing on a mission. So few of them were anything he could imagine Sam doing.

Sam wouldn’t desert his country; and he wouldn’t desert Tom, not ever. Tom knew that and Wesley knew that.

He shook his head; droplets fell onto the steering wheel and splattered against his already wet pants.

Sam was fine.

Sam had to be fine.

Wes pushed the thoughts as far away from the front of his mind as he could, turning the car’s heat and radio up as far as they would go. The music hurt a little but he found himself bopping along to it before he even pulled out of the bank’s parking lot.

The drive took less than ten minutes, even with the atrocious weather. Wes focused harder than he needed to on each aspect of driving, on the music, on the proper time before each turn to use his blinker.

Still, he couldn’t keep Sam far from his mind. That was hardly surprising; he couldn’t do that on a good day, either.

He darted inside, barely managing to take the key out of the ignition before hopping out of the truck and bolting towards the door. He was soaked again before he got there.

The apartment felt colder than it was outside. Emptier, too.

He dropped his bag, shrugging off his jacket, and let them both fall in a big, wet heap on the ground.

Wesley poured himself a glass of water.

Sam’s face was etched into the center of his mind. Sam was all he could think of, all he could feel. It was worry and anger and that same damned longing he tried so hard to rid himself of.

Sam was fine.

Wes ran through the conversation he had with Tommy again.

Tommy’s worry felt like a knot in his gut. Sam had been a part of the Navy SEALs since before Wes was ever really a part of Tom’s life. Wes couldn’t remember a time when Tom had been this worried about Sam; about his visit last year, sure. Tom had been a wreck for a month before that, worried that their relationship would never really go back to how it was or that the two men had changed too much and wanted too much from one another to work.

But he’d never been worried that Sam wasn’t okay. He’d never been worried that Sam wasn’t alive.

The thought tasted like gravel in his mouth. He downed the water in two large, breathless gulps.

Fuck Sam.

He was okay. He had to be.

Wes was sure that Sam was okay. And the more sure he became, the more he was absolutely fucking positive that Sam was fine and dandy and just ignoring his little brother, the more pissed off he got.

Of course Sam was fine. And of course he was ignoring Tommy again. After all, wasn’t that what prompted the whole visit last year? That Sam had pretty much ignored Tom for five goddamn years, even missing the birth of John, so that Tom had to threaten to stop talking to him permanently to even get him to come home once?

And it wasn’t like Sam was known for keeping in touch with people. Even people he swore he would. Even people he kissed and promised more to.

Sam was probably just laughing about how goddamn worried everyone back home was for him with whoever he spent his time with. Wes wouldn’t know who those people were.

He set the cup on the counter, wincing when the motion was more of a slam than anything else.

Wesley considered skipping his shower until morning, but the water from the rain had made him feel gross and wet, even hours later.

He climbed into the shower, letting the hot water splatter across his back. It melted the tension in his neck and down his spine, warming him instantly. He groaned and rolled his neck, letting his head fall. Wes threw one hand out for balance against the shower wall as he focused on the incredible heat surrounding him.

His stomach clenched, the water feeling so good that his cock started to bob on his stomach. He ignored it.

After a few minutes of just standing and letting the water relax all the tight muscles in his body, he reached blindly for the shampoo he kept in the corner. He rubbed a generous amount in his head, letting his fingernails scrape against his scalp.

He let the shampoo sit while he washed, rinsing both his head and soapy body at the same time.

He felt at once completely relaxed and drawn taut from the needing desire inside his stomach. He considered running a hand lower, grabbing himself, and taking care of the situation.

He climbed out of the shower instead and brushed his teeth. He hadn’t brought pajamas with him into the bathroom so he hung the towel around his waist loosely, running a second towel in his hair until the strands were just wet rather than dripping.

He turned off all the lights, counting in his head to occupy his thoughts and keep them from trailing onto a subject he really didn't want to entertain this late at night.

He fell into bed, tossing the towel to the ground and pulling the sheet up to his chest.

God, he was tired. He wasn’t sure if it was being at the office longer than usual, the conversation with Tommy, or the flux of emotions he’d had throughout the day, but Wes was exhausted.

His body felt confused. His head swam as if he’d been crying and his hands were still a little trembly from adrenaline and his goddamn dick was crying for attention.

Wes tried to ignore it and fall asleep. He was tired.

After about five minutes, he realized that his fight was futile. He was never going to be able to sleep that hard.

He rolled his eyes and threw the sheet away from his body.

Wes trailed his hand down his chest, nails scraping and dragging against the thin hair. His whole body felt tight, like a rope ready to snap, and he knew even as his fingers slowly worked their way down his body that he was playing with fire.

Wes didn’t care. He wanted to burn.

The first touch was the match, dragging and catching before lighting up. He bit down hard on his fist, conscious of the thin walls separating him and his neighbors, while his other hand copied the movement, tightening around his already hard cock. It didn’t take much, just a few strokes while he thought about a man with thick shoulders and blue eyes. He tried to change the image, tried to focus on someone unfamiliar and dark-eyed.

Like he usually did, Wes failed at keeping Sam’s face away from his thoughts.

Without his permission, Sam’s face in Wesley’s mind was enough to have him swell completely full. He thrust up once, twice, picturing the way Sam’s face would darken, the way his lips would feel against Wes’s throat, the hard bite of his teeth. The way his heart would pound so loud that Sam would be able to feel it against his own beating chest.

God, he was so far gone for that man.

Wes’s pace fell lazily, carefully, his hips rising and falling in a small, circular motion to meet his fist. He clenched his eyes shut and and let his hips fall away from his other hand. The little sounds he couldn’t manage to keep inside his throat spurred him on, made him imagine the sounds that Sam would make, how he’d look if it was his fist around Wes’s cock; the way Sam’s cock would feel in his palm, between his lips, inside of him.

The dark of his bedroom was familiar. His sheets were soft and worn from many washes, the pillow flat from his own head lying against it night after night. He’d lived in this apartment, in this room, for so long that each groove in the floor and divot in the wall were as familiar to him as the freckles on his skin. And, too, this fantasy— this image of Sam, rolling his tongue across said freckles and his cock hanging heavy and wet between them, was familiar. He played it so often, he could sometimes forget it wasn’t a memory at all.

His hips jutted up, Wes’s thumb catching on the tip of his cock. He growled out a profanity and moved faster, chasing the spark that was so close to igniting.

Wes pictured Sam’s smile, just this side of lopsided. His lips swollen and red, shiny with spit. The blue of his eyes nearly gone, swallowed whole by the dark pupil, consumed with how badly he wanted Wes, the same desperation that Wes felt low in his stomach. He’d be hard, beautiful, and he’d close his eyes just in time to let Wes’s name fall from his throat, guttural and wanton, and—

Shit.

Wes groaned, loud, hips stuttering to a stop an inch above the bed. His head fell back with a thud, slamming into the headboard, as his cock strained, spilling all over his fist and stomach. He stroked himself through his orgasm, cock twitching from overstimulation as he emptied himself.

“God damn,” he muttered, shuddering.

He laid in the quiet, listening to his own ragged breathing. He hadn’t meant to do that. To think of Sam. He never did.

A little bit of guilt curled around his lungs, a heavy, slick feeling that reminded him he didn’t want to want Sam, that he shouldn’t be thinking about someone who was clearly uninterested, and the reason Sam was on his thoughts more than usual was because Tommy was worried about him.

God, was he so far gone that he couldn’t even consider that? Had he spent so many years quasi-loving the man from afar that everything real about him was second to the fantasy in his own head?

He was too tired to consider any of that. He brushed the thought away easily.

Wes wiped his hands and stomach with the sheet before throwing it off the bed.

He needed sleep. A lot of sleep and a lot of therapy, probably.

His body finally satiated, he curled into the mattress, pulling the blanket up to his chin. He felt warm and dry and good. Finally, he was tired enough that his thoughts were empty, buzzing nothings rather than sentences and names and men he needed to stop thinking about.

And so, Sam’s name finally out of his head for a moment, Wes fell asleep as soundly as if he didn’t know he’d wake up waterlogged.

* * *

Wes woke up with a start, jerking himself awake in his bed. His dream lingered in his thoughts faintly, throbbing lightly as he slowly blinked away his sleep.

He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, digging them hard enough that he saw stars.

Padding into the bathroom, he splashed water on his face.

There were dark, bruise-blue circles underneath his eyes, punctuating each nightmare and drowning sensation he’d had in the last week. He wanted to down half a bottle of NyQuil and a few fingers of brandy.

He poured a glass of water and sucked it dry.

Wes padded out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, cracking his back and stretching. He started the coffee and contemplated.

So, Sam was back to his old ways, most likely.

Assuming he was okay, which Wesley was nearly convinced he was one hundred percent okay, Sam was ignoring Tom again.

It sucked. And it would suck even more when Tom inevitably figured it out. But Sam was probably just ignoring his family.

Wes had told him that they had different priorities; he had told him that he cared about family while Sam just cared about himself. Really, it was Wes’s fault for thinking that Sam was capable of changing.

Wes wouldn’t tell Tom. He’d mention that he’d done research and nothing had come up, that it didn’t seem like anything was going on internationally. Then he’d let it sit for a little while, give Sam the chance to be an actual decent human being and call his brother.

If another week, or maybe two, passed, then Wes would casually mention that it wasn’t uncommon for Sam to go awhile without talking to the people he claimed to care about. He didn’t want to have to say it all out loud, didn’t want to admit to the torch he carried and the way that Sam so thoroughly broke his heart without even really trying. But if he had to, he had to. It would suck and it would hurt, but he’d do it for Tom. He would do anything for Tom.

The coffee gurgled to a finish. Wes was out of clean dishes so he rinsed out yesterday’s mug and filled it with piping hot coffee.

It burned his throat a little on the way down. He didn't mind much.

His phone buzzed and he grabbed it off the counter where he’d abandoned it last night.

A new message from Tommy.

John not feeling well. Not coming into work today.

Wes frowned; he doubted this sick day had anything to do with Tom’s baby.

OK. Cya tmrw.

He sent the message before groaning and sliding into his kitchen chair.

A day at the office without Tom would be fine; maybe even good. Maybe he’d be able to spend the day not thinking about Sam.

He’d love to spend one day without thinking about Sam.

Last night was still roaring in his ears and his thoughts. He couldn’t seem to get that man out of his thoughts, let alone his fantasies. It was like every breath and every surge of arousal was somehow tied to that one kiss a million nights ago.

Maybe that was the real issue. Maybe Wes needed to kiss someone new, needed to focus his thoughts in some way on someone else.

He drank a second cup of coffee with his cellphone still in his hand, the dim light bright enough to remind him that no one else was texting. His whole world had become the Carlisle brothers and only one of them even cared.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true, he guessed. The whole town was kind. He liked his co-workers and the girl that bagged his groceries was sweet and he liked the mechanics that changed the oil in his truck. He liked his town.

If he could force himself out of his house, routine, and head for just one day, maybe he’d remember that a little more clearly.

Wesley wanted to experience life and people instead of just thinking about it.

That was what the whole point of Sam really ended up being last year, anyway. The possibility of a life full of love and partnership. So what if it wasn’t with Sam? So what if his happy life wasn’t being the brother-in-law-of his best friend and the uncle to the little boy that he adored? Life could still be really great.

Wes just had to go out there and live it. He had to at least try.

He rinsed out the coffee pot after pouring a third cup and stared out the window above his sink. The light was starting to pour through a little more earnestly.

He grabbed his cell from where he’d dropped it and opened up a new message. Taking a huge breath, he let the air work its way through his lungs and out his mouth. He did it again, then a third time, before he felt ready to type.

Send me his #. Thnx.

His heart hammering a bit too fast, Wes sent the message to Ash.

Was he ready to date? To try to be a regular person not obsessed with a might-have-been?

Maybe not.

His phone buzzed.

A-M-A-Z-I-N-G!!! He’s g8. Sending contact now. XOXO

The contact details loaded quickly. Nick Thompson. Resident nice guy and potential good match for Wes.

It didn’t matter. Ready or not, Wes was getting back out there.

He was going to set up a mother fucking date and not think about Sam for a whole night or he was going to die trying.

Shooting back the last of his coffee, Wes groaned aloud.

“Here goes nothing.”