Spencer hated having to wait. He needed to talk to Del. Their midweek respite in San Clemente had been great, but he’d spent the past few days dealing with his agent, and now they really did need to talk, but he really didn’t want to do it over the phone. Luckily, Del was due any time now—
Buzz. As if on cue, his phone vibrated, and somehow he knew he wasn’t going to like the text even before he opened it.
Got as far as Carlsbad. Called back to base. Deploying. Hate canceling on you so, so much. I’ll be in touch when I can, but it’s likely gonna be a while. Keep my side of the bed warm for me?
Spencer’s stomach sank. No way could he unload on Del now. The last thing he needed was Del upset or distracted as he left the country. Instead, he typed a fast reply.
You know I will. He wanted to add something about staying safe, but knew that was pretty pointless and would put pressure on Del that he didn’t need. Instead, he typed, You’ll be in my thoughts. Don’t feel bad about taking a rain check. I’ll be here when you get back. Be thinking about what you want for dinner.
The reply came sometime later, right when he’d figured he might not hear anything. You. I want you for dinner ;) Heading out now. Take care.
And then he really did have to wait as the days rolled into a week, rolled into two. In the meantime, he tried to keep busy with work. He did several more mentorship meetings with the paper, and those were fun and good distraction, and the young people were full of ideas and enthusiasm. While he was still wrestling with what to do about the book, he got a text from Harry’s widow.
Did you hear back on your book proposal? I’ve got fifteen vets lined up for you to talk with—the PTSD foundation we’re involved with is inundated with new requests every day. Trying my best to keep up. God bless you for thinking of us for this book project.
Guilt slammed into Spencer. How could he even think of not doing this book? Harry’s much-too-young widow, Caroline, was counting on him. Harry’s memory deserved this project. And fifteen sources. After just a casual inquiry. There were undoubtedly dozens more stories waiting for him to uncover. And if his work could save one person in a similar situation to Harry, shouldn’t he take it? He scrolled back on his phone until he got to Harry’s texts. Nothing about the passage of time had convinced him that he wasn’t partly responsible for his death. Now Caroline had a foundation, not a husband. A foundation with more work than funds.
If Spencer mentioned them prominently in the book promotion, they could help save more vets, prevent more young widows and widowers. And more than any fundraising, if his book raised consciousness, made people see the scope of the problem, maybe they could finally get real momentum for change.
Del will hate it, a voice in his head reminded him. And yeah, in an ideal world, he’d talk this through with him first, but that just wasn’t feasible or practical. It could be months before he heard from his guy. And like it or not, Del really was his guy now. He wasn’t remotely tempted to go get laid, even though the wait could drag on without an end date.
He’d been separated from Greg for long swathes of their relationship, but it had been different because he’d been able to follow him, a long trail of news stories and late-night phone calls. This solitary business sucked, and he had a new sympathy for military families. Having only paper-thin optimism and longing for company was hard. And wasn’t that part of why he had to write this book? All the military families out there struggling quietly. All the separations that Caroline had endured only to end up losing Harry forever anyway.
And given the gravity of others’ situations, Spencer moaning about missing Del for a few weeks felt supremely shallow.
Maybe it won’t be forever, that same voice suggested. Del had friends in private security now. Maybe he’d be interested in doing the same. And then Spencer could have both: him and the book. Could keep the most important thing in his life and not let Harry down. It was a plan made out of little more than straw and hope, but it was what he had, what he clung to as he finally typed out a reply to his agent.
* * *
“This one’s going to be hard.” The LT shook his head with a seriousness Bacon had seldom seen from the man. Which was saying something as he could count on his fingers the number of smiles he’d seen from the man.
“I’m ready,” Bacon assured him. They were in a mission-planning room at the forward base, and the leadership team was explaining exactly what they’d be needing his sniper expertise for. He was back on Team Alpha, and taking out a key terrorist mastermind was a big part of their current strategy to disrupt this terror cell.
“I have no doubt you are,” the LT assured him, a rare hit of confidence from his hard-nosed leader. “But this... They keep recruiting younger and younger, you know?” He slid a blurry photograph toward Bacon. “This is your target.”
“But...” Bacon blinked, looking down at the picture. The slender face was so young he couldn’t even make a guess at gender identity.
“Our intel is watertight on their high-level involvement in the embassy bombing. Explosives skills rivaling our spec ops guys, and apparently a genius leader to boot.”
“Wow.” Bacon’s mouth opened and closed a number of times, not sure what else to say. This was his job, and he had no choice but to follow his orders. He knew damn well the LT was right—the terror cells kept recruiting members who were little more than kids, using their youth as a strategic advantage.
“Can we count on you?” The LT leaned forward, eyes boring into Bacon’s.
“Yes, sir,” Bacon said, because it really was the only answer. But his stomach churned. Unbidden, an image of Spencer’s face crept into his mind. Spencer traveled, quite extensively. What if he were in the vicinity of the next terrorist bombing? And not just Spencer—Curly’s fiancée, Rachel, was a flight attendant now. So many people he cared about at risk, not to mention his SEAL team. If Bacon didn’t take that shot, if he wavered at all, the risk to his team soared. The chances of them recovering the biological weapon would drop with each second he hesitated. So when he nodded, repeating his acceptance of the mission, he did so knowing that his full buy-in was utterly crucial.
But deep inside, he knew the LT was right. This one was going to leave a scar.
* * *
It was a Tuesday morning when Spencer’s phone chimed with the special ring tone he’d assigned Del in a fit of loneliness.
Tell me you want company tonight. On our way back, and I need to see you in the worst way. Sorry for the no notice. No phone access until literally moments ago. Sorry.
Spencer’s heart flopped about, so many emotions swamping him—relief chiefly, but also something infinitely tender that he wasn’t ready to name. There was only one reply he was capable of typing.
Don’t apologize. Just happy to have you back. Want to meet halfway or even in San Diego? I could come to you.
Del’s reply chimed a few minutes later. Need the drive to clear my head. That and your shower and you are all I need, but if you wanted to make that tart for dessert, I’d love you forever.
Love you forever. Spencer’s chest pinched. Del meant it flippantly, he knew. In fact, he could picture his sleepy, worn-out guy trying for humor, trying not to let on how much he needed him. And being needed like that did something for Spencer, made him feel warm and strong and filled him with energy.
He put fresh linens on the bed, set out his best towels and the shower gel Del loved, and made the tart along with a soup that would be easy to reheat. The plan he’d come up with a few weeks ago, the one in which he could have both Del and the book, loomed large over him. After a few weeks of working on the project, he was more convinced than ever how vital it was, and how his solution really was the best one for all of them. Now, he’d finally get the chance to talk. Reasonably. After Del had had his shower and food.
But when he opened the door that evening to Del, he instantly realized that talk-soon plan might not be feasible. Del looked like shit—dark circles under his eyes, sagging shoulders, dusty hair and skin. He hadn’t shaved in what looked like weeks, the stubbly beard making him look years older than usual.
“Oh, baby, come in.” Spencer enfolded him in a tight hug. Del dropped his backpack in the entryway and clung to Spencer. Knowing how much the shower always helped Del, he started tugging him that way, but Del stopped him with a desperate kiss, more a wordless plea than a romantic hello.
“Getting you dirty,” Del mumbled.
“Like I care.” Spencer held him closer. “But let’s get you in the shower, okay?”
“Okay.” Del squished his eyes shut and scrubbed at his shaggy hair. “Promise I’ll be human soon. Just...”
“You don’t have to be anything for me.”
“Yeah, but I gotta be something for me.” His voice broke, a sob racking his big body. Trying not to let on how alarmed he was, Spencer wrapped him up in his embrace best he could. He held Del while he silently cried and shuddered. Held him even after he stopped and his breathing slowed to big gulps of air. “Fuck. I hate this. I shouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t be unloading on you—”
“Yes, you should. I’m here for you. I want to be here for you.” Spencer had never meant words more. He wanted to be everything this man needed. “What happened? Did someone die?”
“Can’t tell you specifics. But no one on our team was hurt this go-around. Guess you could say mission was a success. I did my job, took the shots they needed me to take, but fuck some shots are easier than others, Spence. But I did it. And I held it together just fine until it was time to go home. Don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t usually fall apart post-mission. Not my MO. Just...this one got to me. It really did.”
Spencer could guess at a few scenarios that would provoke this reaction. “Targets were more...vulnerable than you were expecting?”
“Yeah.” He nodded sharply, considering Spencer through bloodshot eyes. “Something like that. Can’t tell you more. Sorry.”
“Quit apologizing. I understand.” He kept holding Del close. Held him close under the pulsing water when they finally made their way to the shower. Held him close in bed until he went boneless, exhaustion finally claiming his big body. Held him close while he slept, held him tighter when the nightmares came. There in the dark, holding Del, Spencer understood the true meaning of helplessness, and made all sorts of bargains with the universe if it would only guide him to do what was right for Del, what would help, not hurt.