Bacon liked running, liked anything that got his body moving. Being still and alone with his thoughts was harder on him than any twenty-mile trek. And generally, he liked company, was never the sort to turn down being around people. But, he was trying hard not to like being around Bryant—getting too comfortable with the journalist seemed like a recipe for disaster. Who knew what would make it into his articles? And fuck this being on Team Bravo nonsense. Why the hell did he have to hang back on their next mission and babysit the reporter? He was still not over the LT assigning him this duty, and it didn’t matter how good a runner Spencer Bryant was, Bacon’s mood wasn’t improving.
Bryant hadn’t been kidding about being in shape, at least as far as running was concerned. He easily matched the pace of the men at the rear of the pack, no hanging back like Bacon had been prepared for. They’d put him in the same physical training uniform as the rest of them, but Bacon had expected it to be painfully obvious that Bryant wasn’t cut out for this. However, not even breathing that hard, Bryant moved with a natural grace. He was built more like an aging dancer than marathoner with long, lean, muscular legs, slim torso, and arms that were capped by expressive hands. Even when running, he’d managed to talk with his hands. Once they caught up to the pack, though, Bryant talked less, seemingly content to observe the team.
“So us getting the journalist, that’s gotta mean we’re shipping out soon, right?” Curly asked around the halfway point, huffing between words. As usual, he was to the rear of the pack, his naturally burly build more suited to long hikes and carrying loads than running.
“No clue,” Bacon replied.
“Not before the weekend, man,” Rooster groaned. “I got plans.”
“Making workout videos for your thirsty Instagram fans doesn’t count as plans,” Bacon joked before he remembered to watch what was revealed in front of Bryant.
“Oh, fuck off. You just wish you had my numbers.”
“Dude. Some of your followers aren’t even chicks.” Donaldson mock shuddered. “Gotta shut that shit down.”
“I am here for all the thirsty people.” Rooster laughed. Bacon still hadn’t figured him out—Rooster, whose real name was Renzo and who wore a Catholic medallion he fingered before missions, seemed pretty damn straight, just cocky as fuck. He could be bi or pan, but he hadn’t said as much to the team, and he put up with Donaldson’s homophobic crap with far more grace than Bacon did. “And I’m going to a buddy’s sick backyard obstacle course. Can’t wait.”
Technically, the navy didn’t like them having social media, and Rooster’s videos and images of himself doing killer workouts were definitely a gray area, but he didn’t use his real name or say he was navy on there so no one had busted him for it yet.
“You men planning to still be running come lunch? Let’s pick up the pace,” the senior chief ordered. He was a good guy, and he’d probably just pretend he hadn’t heard Rooster’s plans. But would the reporter? Fuck. Bacon was not going to get used to this having to watch every word thing.
“Hey, Rooster, let’s try to catch Shiny,” Donaldson yelled. Shiny was up front by the LT—he might be young and skinny, but he could run.
“Can we join the chase?” Bryant sounded eager and not at all winded.
“LT probably thinks we’re still back down the hill.”
“Then let’s prove him wrong.” Bryant flashed a smile that had Bacon seeing exactly why that magazine had picked him for most eligible bachelor. It was an almost feral grin, dirty without trying to be so, challenging and secretive in equal measures and way too damn appealing.
“Okay.” Bacon usually ran in the back out of loyalty to Curly, but he couldn’t deny the urge to show off some himself. “But if you injure yourself—”
“Stop worrying, Petty Officer.” Bryant added a wink.
Oh fuck. The man was dangerous in so very many ways.
But Bacon couldn’t worry too much about that right then because Bryant sped up and Bacon had to put some extra kick in to keep up with the pursuit of the lead group. They passed Rooster and Donaldson, who had settled in mid-pack, and fell in with Shiny, Bullets, and the LT.
“Bacon. What the... You looking to take out our...guest?” Bullets goggled at them.
“Nice run.” Somehow Bryant managed to keep his voice even and steady, even after the effort required to catch up to the leaders. “I told you, Lieutenant Thomas, you don’t have to worry about me keeping up.”
“Good.” The LT all but grunted his reply as they came back around to the starting point. As always, he didn’t have to work to catch his breath as they came to a stop. Man was a machine. “Now we hydrate, get changed, and then eat before we’ve got meetings. Those will be of no interest to Mr. Bryant, so, Bacon, you’ll take him on a base tour. The BUD/S recruits are in the grinder today. He can observe that.”
Bacon read between the lines that they’d be talking mission strategy for the upcoming deployment and the team leadership didn’t want Bryant there. But that meant Bacon missing the strategy talks, further underscoring that he’d been given this shit assignment. He should be in there, finding out which targets they needed him to take out. And he knew this had less to do with his bum finger than with him being Lowe’s friend, and the LT still being pissed about Lowe leaving.
And to make matters worse, he’d sat for his chief’s exam recently. Luckily, his LT didn’t make the promotion decisions on his own, but still he probably wouldn’t be singling Bacon out for any praise anytime soon either.
Fuck it. He drank his water and changed to his uniform with angry movements, trying to ignore Bryant best he could.
“They gave me fatigues for when we deploy. Should I wear those or civvies for the tour?” Bryant asked him, seemingly oblivious to Bacon’s bad mood.
“Civilian clothes are fine on base,” the LT answered for him. “And stick to Petty Officer Bacon.” With that last order, he headed out, seemingly satisfied that Bacon could keep the reporter in line.
Bryant changed to cargo pants and a blue shirt with buttons. It wasn’t as inappropriate as a suit would be nor was it sloppy, but he still stuck out. Not that him in camo was going to be an improvement—it didn’t matter what they put Bryant in, he was still a damned distraction who didn’t belong with their team.
On the way to the chow hall, Bryant did more of what he’d done on the run, letting the guys chatter without interrupting them with a lot of questions. Bacon figured he was still taking tons of mental notes, though. His eyes were sharp and piercing, the kind that didn’t miss the slightest detail.
“I just hope we don’t go wheels up tomorrow,” Curly said. “We’ve got a cake tasting.” He managed to drop in wedding prep in every other conversation. It would be the fifth wedding Bacon had been in over the last year, and he’d lost track of the ones he was just a guest at. He guessed some of it was their age—even their civilian friends were partnering up and marrying off.
“How’s the bachelor party plans coming?” Donaldson asked Bacon as they entered the chow hall and got on the long line for food. “Tell me we’re doing strippers for Curly. If you need recs—”
“We’re doing paintball and drinks after.” It wasn’t that Bacon wasn’t capable of planning a raunchy party, but he just didn’t seem to have the energy for it lately.
“Awww. Come on, man.” Curly faked indignation—they’d talked about this and no way did his fiancée want him having an X-rated party anyway.
“You can’t have a party without girls,” Donaldson whined. “That’s just gay.”
Bacon waited a beat for someone other than him to be the one to speak up and put Donaldson in his place, but as usual, no one censored him. Especially recently, the guys—Donaldson wasn’t the only one—seemed to think they were super funny when they trotted out their homophobic wisecracks.
“It’ll be fun. And you can’t be saying shit like that,” Bacon warned him, not wanting to start a fight, but he really couldn’t let him run off at the mouth, even if Bryant wasn’t at his side.
“What?” Donaldson acted all ignorant, same as always. They were almost to the food, but not close enough as far as Bacon was concerned.
“Dude. We’ve got the reporter here.” Curly shook his head.” You want him reporting we’re a bunch of Neanderthals?”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Bryant said mildly.
“See?” Donaldson crowed triumphantly as he bumped Bryant’s shoulders. “And I’m right. Everything’s better with hot chicks.”
“Wouldn’t say that,” Bryant drawled, and Bacon tried to beam him a shut up message. He respected the hell out of Bryant for being out, but he had no idea what a minefield he was walking into here. Luckily, they reached the food and their attention shifted to filling their plates. Bacon took double portions of eggs and biscuits, while Bryant accepted a scoop of oatmeal and some toast. He was going to have to eat more if he wanted to keep up with them in the field.
Bacon took the chair next to Bryant, uneasiness making his back itch. Maybe it would all be okay. Maybe he wouldn’t have to add protecting Bryant from the team’s fucked-up attitude to the list of jobs he did not want. All went okay as they ate, Bryant going back to observing and jotting some notes in a little book, old-school style, while Curly returned to humble-bragging about the wedding. But then Donaldson turned his attention back to Bryant, and Bacon’s stomach sank.
“So what does your chick think of you being gone for a few weeks? You married? You look married.”
“You mean I look old? Like I need a minivan?” Bryant laughed.
“Well, if the dad jeans fit,” Curly teased around a big bite of toast.
“Not married. No kids.” Bryant shrugged, and Bacon tried to will him to leave it at that. But of course he couldn’t stop here. “Ex-husband would think it’s pretty cool, though. He embedded with the army a few years back himself before he got on the White House beat.”
“Husband?” Donaldson made a sour face. “A reporter husband?” He said it like the only thing worse than being in a same-sex relationship would be being in one with a member of the press.
“Yup.” Bryant gave him a smile that was far more relaxed than Bacon could have managed. “Ex, though. He’s remarried now.”
Donaldson looked like someone had poured vinegar all over his eggs, and Bacon figured something ignorant was about to come out of his mouth. Thinking fast, Bacon shoveled in the last of his food.
“You ready to see BUD/S?” he asked Bryant. “We should probably get going.”
“I’m not in any rush, but sure.” Bryant kept giving off the same easygoing vibe, seemingly oblivious to how his admission had been a bucket of ice water over the table.
“Let’s go.” Bacon stood, scooping up both his and Bryant’s trays, leaving Bryant to put away his little notebook. Maybe Bryant would be content to stay, but Bacon needed out of there, away from the tension and Donaldson’s mouth and everyone else’s complicity. Even as he barreled out of there, he was hardly eager. He did not want to spend the rest of the morning one-on-one with Bryant. Fuck his life and this long-ass day that was barely underway.
* * *
Spencer didn’t really need a tour of the base—he’d been on military installations before, and honestly he found the interpersonal relations of the team far more fascinating than any landmarks or history lessons. He didn’t put up a fuss, though, when Bacon hurried him away from the table.
And sure, the Donaldson guy was an unmitigated ass, but Spencer found that intriguing. What made him that way? What had happened in his past to make him intolerant? Why was Petty Officer Bacon the only one to call him on his antics? These were the sorts of questions that drove Spencer as a reporter, the desire to seek out the human truth at the center of every story. It wasn’t enough to just dismiss Donaldson and the rest of the guys as a Neanderthal—Spencer wanted to dig deep into the culture that created guys like that.
As he followed Bacon out of the dining facility, he didn’t regret being open about Greg to the team. He’d never really been in the closet, but he’d spent too many years when he was younger watching his words, worrying about what others might think. Screw that. Life was far too short to hide, and besides, it was bound to come up at some point the next few weeks. Better to just get it out in the open now.
But Petty Officer Bacon did not seem to agree, all but glowering as he stomped ahead.
“You okay with walking or should I get a Jeep?” he barked at Spencer. Damn. He’d thought Bacon was the open-minded one of the group, but he was sure as hell acting put out.
“Totally fine with walking. Listen, if you have a problem with me—”
“I don’t.” A muscle worked in his jaw.
“You don’t like me,” Spencer said bluntly. Speaking of getting things out in the open, they needed to address this now. If Bacon was to be his handler, it benefited them both to not have an actively hostile relationship.
“I’d like you a lot better on any team other than mine,” Bacon shot back as he sped up his walking pace. “And at the risk of inflating what has to be a Super Duty size ego, I’m a fan of your writing stuff. But you’re the last thing my team needs.”
“You’re a fan?” Spencer couldn’t help but smile.
“Knew that would be the part you focused on,” Bacon grumbled. “You’re not a bad writer, okay? But we don’t need a reporter—any reporter—potentially fucking up our mission. And if you tell the LT I said that—”
“I won’t,” Spencer promised before Bacon could finish his threat. “I get your reservations, I do. But just give me a chance, okay? I’m not out to make you or your buddies look bad.”
“Why do you want this assignment anyway?” Bacon demanded. They were passing nondescript buildings and carefully manicured grounds, but Bacon didn’t slow down and point out the sights to Spencer, instead marching on.
“My book about injured vets sold well. My publisher would like to see more like that from me, and this was an easy freelance pitch to my old paper for the feature piece, so there’s that.” Spencer tried for light, which only made Bacon glower more. He was going to just leave it at that, let Bacon frown himself into next week, but then some of the truth spilled out. “I saw a number of spec ops guys in my research at Walter Reed. It got me intrigued about how modern warfare operates out in the field. And then one of them died last year. Felt like maybe I owed it to him to pursue this story, jump through all the PR hoops to make it happen.”
“He died in the line of duty?” Bacon sounded marginally less combative.
“No. Suicide.” The word hurt, almost like it scraped his throat on the way out, and his voice was unnaturally rough. Bacon went pale and slowed his pace.
“Fucking sucks,” he said with far more feeling than Spencer would have expected.
“Yeah, it does,” Spencer agreed. It did fucking suck, no two ways about it. Even now, his back went slick with sweat, stomach full of guilt and dread, as he remembered that awful phone call from Harry’s wife. But nothing would be served by telling Bacon how Harry’s death had utterly gutted him, so he kept his voice even. “But he saw things that few people ever do. And those stories, they feel...significant.”
Bacon was silent a long time, plodding along, looking down at his feet.
“I get it,” he said at last. “But not gonna lie, wish they’d assigned you elsewhere. Rangers, maybe.” He gave a forced laugh, then straightened his posture to point at the giant obstacle course they were coming up to. “This is the grinder. It’s where the recruits spend significant time, but we train here too.”
“Awesome,” Spencer said as a long column of young men jogged up. He thought he spied a few females in there too, but it was hard to say with all of them in identical camo uniforms and short haircuts. They were all young, many looking not yet out of their teens. They were accompanied by a couple of older men, the instructors most likely, judging from how they barked orders at the assembled recruits.
“Bacon?” One of the instructors broke away from the group. “What are you doing here, man?”
“Hey, Wizard. This is reporter Spencer Bryant.” Bacon gestured at him. His tone was far warmer than Spencer had heard it so far, personable even. Maybe he wasn’t a perpetual bad-mood guy, after all. “He’s going to embed with our team. LT wants him to see BUD/S today, so we’re going to watch your guys do their thing, if that’s okay.”
“Fine. They’ll like the chance to show off.” Wizard, who was probably just shy of thirty, had a winning smile and the sort of good looks that could grace a recruitment poster. “We’re going to do a round with each team getting two-hundred-pound dummies through the course, then we’re going to assign a person on each team to play wounded and do it again.”
“Why make one play injured?” Spencer asked. “Don’t you want them to all get the workout?”
“It’s not about the workout,” Wizard answered. “Being carried is its own challenge. They have to know how to safely transport the wounded and infirm over difficult terrain, but they also need to be prepared to work short-handed and also to be the one out of commission.”
“Because it will happen,” Bacon added grimly. “And you need to pay close attention because if things go sideways when we’re out there, it’ll be your ass we’re hauling back. Can’t have you making it harder on the team.”
“Hey. I can help. I’m not necessarily going to be a liability,” Spencer protested.
“Help can get you—and everyone with you—dead, if you’re not careful.” Bacon shook his head.
“Actually...” Wizard’s eyes narrowed as he considered Spencer. “They had you sign waivers, right?”
“Dozens of them,” Spencer confirmed.
“How’d you feel about helping us out instead of just watching?”
“Bring it on.” Like with the run, Spencer was eager to prove himself.
“Okay, hang on.” Wizard jogged away.
“You’re not going to like this.” Bacon’s laugh was more genuine than it had been earlier. “Still time to say no.”
“Not a chance.” Spencer smiled at him, still trying to wear him down. “Nothing beats hands-on experience. I love being in the thick of things.”
“Don’t we all,” Bacon said, bitterness tingeing his words. And finally, Spencer got it. Bacon wasn’t a tour-guide sort of guy. Spencer was keeping him from his real work.
“Is that what’s up with you? You’re pissed that you have to hang with me instead of being in the action? Would it help if I say I’m sorry? I know this is a shit assignment.”
“It’s not that bad.” Bacon sighed but his animosity seemed to dial back a fair chunk.
“Mr. Bryant? Can you come here?” Wizard waved him over. Spencer hurried to where Wizard was facing the recruits. “Boat team three, front and center,” he ordered, and a group of eight recruits stepped forward. “This is Mr. Bryant. He’s a journalist. And today, he’s the hostage you just rescued. He’s got a hurt leg.”
“I don’t—” Spencer started to protest but Wizard was already slapping some sort of splint on his lower leg, over his pants.
“He can’t bend his leg,” Wizard continued. “And your mission is to get him through the first three obstacles in under five minutes without him putting weight on that leg. I will be watching you very closely. One hair out of place on his head at the end, and I’ll be cycling you. You’re going to show us how it’s done.” Wizard managed to be both strict and encouraging in his delivery.
“Yes, Chief,” the team yelled in unison.
“Mr. Bryant, your job is to listen to Seaman Briggs. He’s the leader of this team, and he’s going to get you through the obstacles safely. Right, Briggs?”
“Yes, Chief.” A tall, gangly kid stepped forward.
“Team. Your time starts now. Go.”
All but ignoring Spencer, Briggs conferred with his team about strategy. “We’ll need to carry him.”
“I can probably walk to the wall,” Spencer offered. He didn’t want to look totally incapable of holding his own. The first obstacle was a huge wall, probably nine feet tall, with ropes and handholds. Challenging, but until Wizard had splinted him, he could have handled it pretty easily on his own.
“No, sir,” Briggs told him firmly. “We need to move. Tritt, Misk, Underhill. You’ve got Mr. Bryant to start. Watch the leg. Go. Go. Go.”
Then before Spencer really realized what was happening, three recruits picked him up like he was a ladder, and started running at a fast clip after Briggs and the rest of the group.
“That’s it,” Wizard called after them, apparently approving of Briggs’s plan.
Spencer quickly realized that struggle was only going to make things harder on all of them, and tried to relax as much as possible as they tossed him around. When they reached the wall, some recruits used the ropes and handholds on the wall while others positioned themselves on the ground and the top of the wall, and working as a team, they passed Spencer up the wall like he was a load of lumber. He had to admit, it was impressive how the team supported each other as well as him, making sure that no single recruit ever had his full weight, and that they all made it up and over.
It was more than a bit unnerving, and even though he had decades more experience keeping his cool than these kids, he had to force himself to not focus on how high up he was, how helpless, how dependent he was on these green recruits. And things only got harder when they reached a rope net. One wrong move and Spencer would plunge to the ground below, but all he could do was breathe and trust. Freaking out or arguing with Briggs was only going to prove to Bacon that he wasn’t cut out for this.
Why he cared so much about impressing Bacon, he didn’t really want to examine. And it wasn’t just him—he wanted to show all of them that he could meet the challenge at hand, even if that challenge was being human cargo.
“Ninety seconds,” Wizard called out. “Haul ass.”
“Hooyah!” Briggs yelled at his team. The next obstacle involved swinging tires, which the team maneuvered around by passing Spencer over the top of the tires, high above the ground. He’d never had a fear of heights before, and he wasn’t about to start now, but still... He had to admit he was a little rattled, and not just from all the jostling around.
“You’re doing great,” one of the smaller recruits told him as he passed Spencer over to the next in line.
I’m doing nothing, Spencer thought, but he supposed that was the point. He was helping by doing nothing, staying quiet and out of the way.
“Mr. Bryant delivered, Chief,” Briggs reported as they dropped back to the ground, coming in under the time allotted. His trio of handlers gently set him upright.
Wizard came over and inspected Spencer like he genuinely was looking for out-of-place dust, checking the splint before removing it, finally saying, “Good work.” After dismissing the recruits, he said to Spencer, “Not as easy as it seems, huh?”
“No,” Spencer admitted. “It’s hard to not want to get in there and help, but I do get the point, so thank you.”
“Anytime.” Wizard jogged back to the recruits, getting the teams set with large weighted dummies, leaving Spencer to walk back over to where Bacon was standing at the edge of the course, frown on his face.
“So how was it?” Bacon asked, looking over Spencer critically, like maybe he thought Spencer would be shaken up enough to want to call off this embedding business.
“Humbling. Sucked not doing any of the work. But I’m still up for this if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“You did good.” Bacon gave a sharp nod. “I gotta say, I thought you’d try to take over but you let him and his team do their jobs.”
Bacon’s attention shifted to the grinder, where the recruit teams were racing against each other. But Spencer’s attention stayed on Bacon. He was such a contradiction. Warm and joking with his friends, cold as ice with him, passionate about his job, yet guarded. Spencer was here to get the story he’d promised his editors, but he couldn’t help but wonder about the enigmatic Bacon, what his personal story was.
You’ve got a job to do, he reminded himself. He had no time for mental detours—his focus had to be on the assignment, not any personal curiosity about the cranky petty officer.