Today was better. Much, much better. The ghosts had scattered. They’d be back eventually—they always came back—but for now, they were gone, and I was grounded in the present where I belonged. I made it through my shift without falling apart. By the time I was on my way to Mark’s, I was damn near twitching, but it was a new kind of restlessness. Or at least one I hadn’t felt recently.
I was horny.
Not just horny. I wanted Mark. We hadn’t had sex in days because I’d been too much of a wreck. After last night, I should’ve still been a wreck, but I wanted him. Especially after he’d swung by the club earlier to bring me dinner and check on me. He’d only been there a couple of minutes, but something about seeing him tonight, about the look in his eyes that said he was concerned and he cared and maybe even still wanted me, was driving me insane.
You’re going to know—tonight—how much I want you.
So as soon as he let me into the house, I grabbed him and kissed him hard. He hesitated at first, stiffening in my arms, but then he must’ve decided to follow my lead. Wrapping his arms around me, he gave as good as he got. His fingers raked through my hair, and we held each other so tight and so close I could feel his erection growing under his jeans.
“You’re—” He licked his lips. “I didn’t think you’d be in the mood tonight.”
“Neither did I.” Christ, I was out of breath. “But I have been ever since you showed up at the bar.”
He stared at me, and I thought for a second we were going to stop and pick apart exactly why that moment had made me so hungry for him. Instead, he cradled the back of my head, drew me in, and kissed me even harder than before. No more talking. No more questioning. I tugged him toward the stairs, and he groaned against my lips as he followed me.
We stumbled a few more steps until we hit the bannister. Then I broke the kiss, and we hurried up and into the bedroom.
“I want you naked,” he growled. The commanding tone made my spine prickle.
I grinned against his neck. “Do you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Maybe you should do something about it.”
He exhaled sharply, then shoved my shirt up and off. His nails raked down my bare skin, making my breath hitch. Clothes came off, even if they were a bit stubborn about it. I swore if I could tear denim with my bare hands, there’d be nothing left of those jeans. I couldn’t, though, and after some swearing, they were on the floor along with his boxers.
We finally sank onto the bed, completely naked and holding each other close. It had only been a week or so since we’d done this, but the heat of his skin against mine was as intoxicating as it had been the first time.
I moved to straddle him but flinched as a bolt of pain shot through my leg. Fuck. Just what I needed—my stupid leg to act up now that my brain had finally calmed down. Okay, plan B.
“I’ve got a better idea.” I moved onto my back and started stroking myself. “Get me a condom and get on.”
Mark’s eyes widened, but he quite clearly had no objection to the idea. He handed me a condom, and as I put it on, he poured some lube in his hand. When he started stroking it on me, I damn near lost it.
“Fuck, Mark . . .” I bit my lip, arching my back as he pumped my dick. “Get . . . get on, damn it.”
He didn’t even bother teasing me. He straddled me, and then he was easing himself down onto my cock, taking me in one long, slow stroke until I was all the way in.
“Oh God,” I breathed. “That’s . . . Oh God.”
“Mmm, yeah.” He planted his hands on the mattress on either side of my head, and I ran my palms up his arms as he found a steady rhythm with his hips. A low moan escaped his lips, and then “Fuck, you feel good.”
“You too. And you look . . .” I slid my hands down to his thighs. “Ungh. Christ.”
I was fucking drunk on him. Completely overwhelmed by all these sensations—being inside him, being under him, his hot skin and his hard, perfect thrusts—and ready to break down and cry from the sheer joy of not being scared. Because for the last several days, I’d been scared. Constantly. Of my own mind. Of my past. Of losing Mark. Of never feeling normal again. Of losing what little stability I had.
And right now—even if it was just until we were done fucking—I wasn’t scared of anything. That void where all the fear had been was full of warmth and lust. It was just him and me, bodies and sweat and whispered curses, and I was flying as he took my cock again and again.
“Oh God,” I moaned. “God, Mark, I’m . . . Yeah, that’s . . .” I slid my hands up his chest, palms gliding across the slick sweat and fingers parting the thin dark hair. “I’m gonna come.”
“Yeah?” he panted. “You close?”
I nodded because I’d forgotten how to talk. Fuck it. Didn’t need to talk. He knew. I dug my teeth into my lip and my heels into the mattress and lifted my hips, meeting him every time he came down.
“Oh yeah,” he growled. “You are so hot. Love . . . love watching you come apart. Jesus, Diego.”
I tried to speak, but he added some twist or roll or whatever to his hips, and that was all I could take. I yelled something that might or might not have been in Spanish, and as I came, Mark kept right on going, clenching hard around my dick and riding me fast until I couldn’t take any more.
He lifted himself off my cock but stayed on top of me.
“C’mere,” I ordered, and as he came down to kiss me, I closed my hand around his dick. He met my lips with a low groan. I slid my other hand behind his neck and kept a tight grip as I kissed him deeply and stroked him. His hips rocked like he was still riding me, and hot huffs of breath rushed past my cheek as he seemed to get even thicker and harder in my hand.
He broke the kiss, and his head fell beside mine. He fucked into my fist and groaned into my ear. “Fuck yeah, baby . . . God . . .” Then he shuddered hard, and my strokes were suddenly slick with cum, and he thrust a few more times before he collapsed over me. “Fuck.”
“We should . . .” I murmured. “We should definitely do it like this again.”
“Uh-huh.” He brushed a breathless kiss across my lips. “Shower?”
“Sure. Soon as I can stand.”
It was a good five minutes before either of us was steady on our feet. We finally made it into the shower, though, and the hot water felt good. Good, but not nearly as good as Mark’s body. Both at the same time? Fuck yes.
We didn’t paw at each other or try to get things started again. We just stood there under the running water, my cheek resting on his shoulder while he nuzzled my hair. And it was amazing. It was perfect. My skin had finally stopped crawling, and I loved the way it felt to be pressed against him. The PTSD episode had been long and horrible, but standing here in the shower with Mark, body satisfied and tingling after my orgasm, I felt like the episode was really over.
“Doing all right?” he asked after a while.
“Yeah.” I pulled back and met his eyes. It was weird how things between us weren’t weird. There was no pity in his expression. Concern, yes, but also other things. Warmth. Need. Lust. Christ, it was like he hadn’t had a front row seat to my breakdown. It was like . . . he still saw me. And he still wanted me.
Mark cocked his head, a few drops of water sliding down the side of his face. “What?”
Oh shit. I’d been staring. And spacing out. I cleared my throat. “I, um, I wasn’t expecting any of this tonight.”
He touched my face. “Why not?”
“I don’t know. I . . .” Avoiding his gaze, I brushed some wet hair out of my face. “After the last couple of days, I didn’t think you’d . . . I mean, it’s not really a turn-on, you know?”
“You’re a turn-on.” He said it simply and matter-of-factly. “You turn me on. You always do.”
I looked at him. “Even after . . .”
“Of course. I . . .” He blinked a few times, then slid his wet hands over my hips. “What kind of question is that?”
A valid one after you saw me melting down yesterday.
He must have seen the worry in my eyes, because he leaned in and kissed me. “Yes, you still turn me on. And yes, I still want you just like I did a week ago.” His forehead creased. “Why are you so surprised that I’m still into you? What kind of men have you been dating?”
“The kind that don’t get it, I guess.” I half shrugged as I brushed my dripping hair off my forehead. “Can’t really blame them, you know? They don’t understand. It’s got to be scary the first time you watch someone have a panic attack, right?”
Mark averted his eyes, but he nodded. “Yeah. It is.”
“Between that, the nightmares, the way I can be edgy for days at a time, and all the things that can trigger me?” I grimaced. “I get it, you know? When someone can’t handle it? Because I can barely handle it. I just don’t have a choice.”
“I can handle it.” He pulled me in closer. “And no, it’s not easy to watch,” he said so quietly it barely carried over the shower, “but it’s not going to send me running.”
I still watched him, trying to convince myself he was just blowing smoke, but his eyes and his voice were so fucking sincere. I smiled. “I thought you said something about being bad at relationships.”
He laughed before claiming a gentle kiss. “Well, my track record isn’t so good.”
I shrugged, wrapping my arms around his waist. “I’m not complaining.”
“Good. Because I’m not either.” Then he kissed me again.
It would have been easier if he had been shitty at relationships. Hell, that was probably part of the reason I’d let myself get this involved with him in the first place. Because in the back of my mind, I’d expected him to fuck it up.
But he wasn’t fucking it up.
In fact, he was making it really, really hard to not fall in love with him.
The bedroom was quiet. In the distance, the ocean crashed against the coast, and I could feel the thump and the roar more than I could hear them.
Here, the heater hummed in the background, and Mark snored softly beside me. Not loud enough to keep me awake—I couldn’t sleep anyway—and not annoying. I kind of liked it, actually. I liked listening to him sleeping peacefully next to me.
Nightmares weren’t a problem tonight. Those would require me to actually sleep.
I glanced at the clock. It was almost five on a Saturday morning, so he wouldn’t be jumping out of bed in the next few minutes. At least that meant one of us could sleep.
I pulled my attention from the clock and looked at him. I’d been watching him a lot tonight, and my mind kept going back to the night we’d told each other about our shaky pasts. That night, I’d started making peace with the idea of having a boyfriend who was military. Of really doing this. I’d been scared as hell he wouldn’t stick around once he saw just how bad my time in combat had screwed me up.
But he had.
When we’d started out, I hadn’t liked the idea of getting too close to someone who was military. Now that I was close to him, I was even more sure the other shoe was going to drop. I’d gone down the road my instincts had warned me about, and it was going to catch up with me sooner or later.
Before Mark and Dalton, I’d resisted service members because I was too bitter to go anywhere near the military. Their uniforms, their jobs, the familiar white ID cards that showed whenever they took out their wallets—it was all too poisonous, and I hadn’t wanted anything to do with it.
I hadn’t been scared, though.
Now I was. Even that night when I’d worried about him seeing my demons, I hadn’t been scared like this. What if what finally pulled us apart wasn’t him or me at all? What if neither of us screwed up, and shit still fell apart?
Eyes closed, I pushed out a breath. I couldn’t shake the feeling that sooner or later, the Navy was going to happen to us. I didn’t know when. I didn’t know how. It wasn’t like anyone could order him not to date me. Somehow, though, the fact that Mark had uniforms hanging in his closet was going to fuck this whole thing up. Right?
So why didn’t I worry about it when we were actually doing something together? When I was lying awake at night and working myself into a panic, I worried about it. When Mark and I were fooling around or watching a movie or eating . . . it didn’t cross my mind. Huh.
Maybe that meant I really was getting over some of my issues with the military. It would be a cold day in hell before I could drive past NAS Adams without muttering things I would never say around my mother, but maybe I could handle Mark in his uniform without being overcome with bitterness. That was a start, wasn’t it?
And was it enough?
My heart beat faster. I couldn’t resist sliding closer to him and draping my arm over his waist as I buried my face in his neck. He mumbled something and wriggled back against me. After feeling around blindly for a second, he found my hand and laced our fingers together. In no time, he was asleep again. I wasn’t sure if he’d ever been awake, or if he’d been on autopilot.
I smiled and pressed a kiss to the back of his shoulder. Second-guessing my rejection the night we’d met had been one of the smartest things I’d ever done. Now I just had to get past all the reasons I’d rejected him in the first place. He was Navy. That was the way it was. The only thing standing between us was my hang-ups.
If we had any hope of making this thing work, I had to let that shit go. Yeah, the Navy had fucked me. I had scars on my body and in my mind that would never be gone, and I’d lost my career and my stability, but that wasn’t Mark’s fault. None of it was. The only thing I could blame him for was how I’d been feeling these days, and that was mostly good.
I was scared, though. Not of facing the Navy—of losing Mark. To my own hang-ups or to him getting tired of the landmines in my head or . . . anything.
I closed my eyes and sighed. Mark shivered, probably from my breath across his neck. In his sleep, he murmured again, then brought our joined hands up to his chest and held them there.
I’d already let my past keep me from someone I absolutely could have loved. Losing Dalton had made me rethink my hang-ups about the military, but it was Mark who had me wanting to actually make peace with my past. Not because the Navy collectively deserved any kind of forgiveness, but because it was the only way I could give myself completely to Mark.
And . . . I wanted to. My throat tightened as that realization sank in. It was true, wasn’t it? I had no idea where this thing between us could go, only that my past wouldn’t—couldn’t—be the reason it crashed and burned. Even before the military had screwed me over, I’d never wanted someone to have as much of me as I wanted to lay at Mark’s feet.
That terrified me. And thrilled me. And worried me. And excited me.
You’re something else, Mark.
How do I keep you?
It was weird being the one off work and waiting for Mark. He’d gone to the ship’s Christmas party the other night, but I’d been at the club, so I hadn’t really been waiting around for him.
Tonight, the bar was closed. Hank might have worked us all into the ground, but his club was always closed on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.
I’d been seriously surprised when Mark had told me he wanted to go to the Christmas Eve service at the base chapel. And he’d been surprised when I’d told him there was no way in hell I was going to that, and not because it was on-base. He’d sort of sheepishly admitted he’d assumed I was Catholic, and I’d admitted I hadn’t expected him to be religious at all. The things you learn about the men you date.
He’d left for church an hour or so ago, and now I was kicked back on his plush sofa, scrolling through his Netflix queue while dinner cooked in the other room. It felt kind of domestic—like we were living together and I was cooking while I waited for him to get home from work. I kind of liked it too.
After he’d left, I’d called my family like I always did on Christmas. My mother was the only one home, so I’d call again tomorrow when everyone was there. I needed to call more often anyway; though now I remembered why I didn’t call as often as I should—because I was always homesick when I got off the phone.
Not for Juárez. I’d never been there and, from what my family had told me, had no desire to go. But I missed my family.
I’d lived north of the border since I was fourteen, and I hadn’t been back to my hometown of Rioverde in almost fifteen years. Even that had only been for a couple of weeks after my grandfather had died. If I went there now, I probably wouldn’t recognize it, and anyway, I had no one there now. Everyone I knew and loved in Mexico was in Juárez, begging me to stay away.
So like I always did, I got off the phone feeling homesick and depressed. And on top of that, guilty. I’d promised my mother I’d go to Mass because it was Christmas, but that lie was better than hurting her with the truth. I couldn’t tell her that my boyfriend was at church right now and I wasn’t because I didn’t believe anymore.
My parents had raised me Catholic, and I’d taken my faith for granted for almost thirty years. It would break my mother’s heart to know I’d lost my faith entirely in a single day, and it would hurt her even more to know why. How did a son explain what it was like to walk in on the chaplain and find him drinking and crying in blood-smeared camouflage? Or how quickly faith could crumble to ashes while a sobbing, bloody chaplain admitted he couldn’t reconcile the God he loved with the horrors he’d seen?
“I’ve always known the world was corrupted by sin,” I could still hear Father Perez saying between gulps of whatever’d been in that bottle, “but where is God when boys who aren’t even old enough to drink have to die in pain in a desert for a lost cause?”
Two weeks later, someone had found his body at the edge of our camp. No one had ever told me exactly how he’d killed himself, but what he’d said in his suicide note got around pretty fast.
Whatever hell God sends me to for ending my own life can’t be any worse than where I’ve already been.
That line alone had almost brought several of us with him.
I shuddered at the tangled mess of memories and took a few slow, deep breaths to keep the panic from surging up again. I was doing good. I needed to keep myself like this—calm and present.
But I couldn’t keep my mind out of the desert. Out of the things I’d seen, done, and felt. Sometimes I thought that last conversation with Father Perez had been more traumatic than the explosion that had nearly killed me or the day I’d tried like hell to hold a friend’s wounds together while we’d waited for medics who never came.
My peripheral vision darkened. I gripped the remote tighter, willing myself to stay here. This wasn’t the time for a flashback. Not on Christmas, for fuck’s sake.
I shook myself and got up to go check the pot on the stove. Or at least move around and shake off some of this nervous energy. Damn it, this was what happened when I had time alone to think—I thought. I didn’t need to do any more of that today.
I kept myself busy, and I was just taking the noodles off the heat when the front door opened. A second later, Mark appeared in the kitchen doorway. He was wearing a suit, not his uniform, and damn he looked good in it.
“Hey.” He inhaled deeply through his nose. “Oh my God, something smells amazing.”
“Don’t get too excited—pasta with store-bought sauce.”
“Mmm, carbs,” he said in a Homer Simpson voice. Then he put a hand on the small of my back and kissed my cheek. “You weren’t too bored here by yourself, were you?”
Not when I’ve got my demons to keep me company.
“Not at all.” I started pouring the noodles into the colander to drain them. “How was the service?”
“Meh.” He shrugged. “The chaplain’s got a monotone, so half the congregation was dozing off.”
“Oh, that must’ve been the Protestant guy. Haines, right?”
“Yeah. You’ve met him?”
“He did my ex’s wedding right before I met you.”
“And you went?”
“Of course I went.”
Mark’s eyebrows rose. “You went on-base?”
“For my friend’s wedding? Hell yeah.” I chuckled. “I’m not a monster.”
“Fair enough.” He shrugged out of his suit jacket. “It’s a shame the boat’s chaplain didn’t do the service tonight. I like him, and he probably wouldn’t put me to sleep.”
“Yeah?” I poured the noodles back in and splashed some olive oil on them. While I mixed in the oil, I said, “I’m . . . kind of surprised you go to church.”
Mark loosened his tie. “Why’s that?”
“Don’t know. Just didn’t expect it, I guess?”
“Eh.” He pulled off the tie and draped it over his jacket, which he’d hung over the back of a chair. “To be honest, I’m one of those half-assed Christians who only goes to church on Christmas and Easter.” He paused. “I mean, I’m a believer, don’t get me wrong. I’m just a slacker when it comes to going to church.” In a stage whisper, he added, “Don’t tell my mom.”
I laughed halfheartedly. I kind of expected myself to resent Mark for still having some faith, but more than anything, it surprised me. I remembered how much comfort I’d found in my religion back when I’d still had it. In fact, I missed that comfort. Why the hell would I hold it against him if he could still find it?
He appeared beside me and rested his hand on my back. “By the way, sorry I, uh, assumed you were Catholic. I—”
“Mark.” I shook my head. “It’s not like you assumed I eat babies or something. I get it—I’m Mexican, so people think I’m Catholic. And up until a few years ago, I was.”
“Oh. But you’re not anymore?”
“No. It’s . . .” The prickly feeling that had come with thinking about Father Perez started crawling up my neck again. I rolled my shoulders and shook my head. “It’s a long story. But no, I’m not Catholic anymore. I guess I’m an agnostic or something. Not really an atheist, but not a believer either.”
“Oh,” he said again, eyebrows up. I could tell he was curious, but he didn’t push it. Maybe someday I’d tell him the story. Not tonight, though. I’d need a few drinks to go there out loud.
I cleared my throat. “Ready to eat?”
“Yeah. Definitely. Just, um . . .” He gestured at his white dress shirt. “Let me change out of this before I get sauce on it.”
While I dished out the food, he jogged upstairs to change clothes, leaving me alone with my thoughts again.
Mark had it all. He still had his faith. He still had his career. He still had a closet full of uniforms because he was still military.
And it . . . didn’t bother me? It should have. Up until recently, it had, but now it didn’t. Suddenly, it was like poking at an old, fading bruise, expecting it to hurt, and being pleasantly surprised when it didn’t. In fact, now that I thought about it, it was getting harder and harder to hold anything against the military when it was the reason Mark was in Anchor Point. If not for the Navy, we’d never have met.
That thought sent a prickle down my spine.
I never would have met him.
Well, fuck that. If the Navy had brought me Mark, then maybe I could be a bit less hostile toward it. There was still shit in my past that happened because of the military. I didn’t see myself putting military bumper stickers on my truck or using my old uniforms for anything except rags to detail my truck, but the hostility wasn’t burning quite so hot anymore.
Footsteps shook me out of my thoughts, and Mark came back into the kitchen in a pair of jeans and a black sweatshirt.
I raked my eyes over him, and we both grinned. Yeah, he looked good. He always looked good.
“Thanks for making dinner.” He kissed me softly. “Merry Christmas.”
I smiled. “Merry Christmas.”
As we sat down to eat, I glanced at one of the many Navy-themed plaques he had hanging on the wall. For once, the sight of an anchor didn’t make my teeth grind.
Call it a Christmas miracle—maybe I could live with the Navy after all.