Three days after I’d walked away from Mark, I was getting stir-crazy in my apartment. I had to work tonight, but not for a few hours, and I needed a distraction until then.
I sent Dalton a text: Hang out?
He replied almost immediately, Gotta work at 7, but free till then. Come over?
I was out the door before I’d even responded that I was on my way. When I got to his apartment, I parked in the usual guest spot and headed up to their front door. I loved that Dalton lived off-base now. We could hang out at his place instead of making do with mine.
In the kitchen, either Dalton or Chris had left a camouflage blouse draped over the back of a chair, and I tried not to look at it. On a good day, the sight of a uniform made me flinch. Today, it was enough to make me sick.
Dalton pulled a couple of sodas from the fridge, and we sat on his couch.
“Chris at work?” I asked.
He nodded. “At least I’ll see him during shift change.”
“Better than nothing?”
“Yep.”
“Think you guys will be on the same shift at your next command?”
Dalton rolled his eyes. “God, I hope so. Working opposite shifts gets old fast.”
“I believe it.” I didn’t know how they did it. Dalton was on nights, Chris was on days, and even though they had the same days off, their sleep schedules were staggered.
That was just part of their jobs, though. Initially, working separate shifts had meant they could stay together even after Chris was promoted to Dalton’s supervisor. Now that they were both E-6s, they were peers, which meant they couldn’t be busted for fraternization. Plus they were married. But of course, their department only had so many E-6 jobs available in each shift, so they were still on separate shifts.
Such was life in the Navy.
My heart sank. Mark was probably at work right now. He’d be off a little after I went to work. Similar schedules to Chris’s and Dalton’s, except I couldn’t blame the Navy for the time we were spending apart.
Just me. Just my own damn head, and my own fucking issues, and . . . Fuck. How did Chris and Dalton do it? They knew it was worth it, that was how. They’d had their relationship tested by the Navy. They’d had to choose between love and careers, and they’d fought until they’d had both, because they’d known damn well it was fucking worth it.
And me? I couldn’t make it through a stupid party.
Walking out the other night had been a mistake because it meant walking away from Mark. Seeing all those Navy people and all that Navy shit? That had hurt. Every second since I’d walked away from Mark? Fuck. That had hurt like hell.
Except I hadn’t had any other choice. Sitting there in that Holiday Inn ballroom, surrounded by reminders of the life I couldn’t have because I’d had the audacity to get too close to an IED and not be fully recovered by the time I was up for reenlistment? Fuck that.
There was no avoiding any of that if I was with Mark. Even if I never had to attend another military function, dating Mark meant dating the Navy. That was how things were.
Which meant there wasn’t any point in trying to make it work. No matter how much it hurt to let him go, it still hurt way too much to be anywhere near the Navy. Subjecting myself to that shit had cut deep, and even now I started getting choked up just thinking about it.
Not that I could stop thinking about it. Any of it. I couldn’t get that senior chief or his red fuck-up stripes out of my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about the younger guys who were already a rank or two ahead of where I’d been when I’d been kicked out.
And I couldn’t unsee Mark standing there in that fucking uniform and telling me he loved me. I also couldn’t pretend that even while I’d been hurt and furious, part of me had wanted to stay there and tell him I loved him too.
I’d had to walk away, though. I had to stay away too, regardless of the fact that I’d forgiven him for the shit with his CO. I couldn’t stick around no matter how much I wanted to.
Because . . . the Navy.
The fucking Navy.
All the blue and gold and gray. The uniforms. The reminders of everything I’d lost. No, everything the Navy had taken from me. Just thinking about it made my teeth grind. A few times, I’d thought I was overreacting. After seven years, I needed to move on and stop being so damn bitter about the Navy.
Except I couldn’t move on. Not when everything in my life was constantly hanging by a thread. Not when my chain of command hadn’t lifted a finger—and probably couldn’t have done much anyway—to argue with that computer algorithm that had decided I wasn’t good enough to stay in the Navy, leaving me without a visa and without access to treatment for two combat tours’ worth of damage.
Move on? My ass. The Navy had done way too much damage to me and to my life, and I wasn’t apologizing for refusing to let that go.
But how the hell was I supposed to let Mark go?
“Hey.” Dalton nudged my knee. “What’s going on?”
I didn’t bother trying to play stupid. He knew me too well. Picking at the seam on my jeans, I said, “I, uh, fucked things up with Mark.”
“How?”
I took a deep breath and told him everything. By the time I was done, my throat was aching and my eyes were stinging. “I don’t know if I fucked up by getting involved with him at all,” I said, voice shaky, “or by letting him go.”
“Letting him go. Obviously.” Dalton put a hand on my leg. “You know, I seem to recall some wise old asshole telling me not to let the Navy take away the man I loved.”
I glared at him. “Are you calling me old?”
“Don’t change the subject.” He inclined his head. “We had this exact same conversation a few months ago, except I was the idiot who wasn’t—”
“Except you could do something,” I threw back. “And you did. You reported your chief, and he got what was coming to him. What am I supposed to do?”
Dalton chewed his lip. “Honestly?”
“Yeah.”
“You need to decide what’s more important to you—Mark? Or how pissed you are at the Navy?”
The ache in my throat got even worse. “When you put it like that, it’s a no-brainer.”
“I figured.” Dalton touched my arm. “And I’m not saying all the shit you’ve gone through will go away overnight. I just think you’ll be miserable if he goes away.”
I chewed my lip, trying to force back the lump in my throat.
“He’s not going to be in the Navy forever,” Dalton said softly. “If you feel this strongly about him, though, and you let him get away? You’re probably going to regret that forever.”
I avoided his eyes, but it didn’t help because my gaze went straight to the hand on my arm. The wedding band on Dalton’s third finger stung. What could we have been if I could’ve let go of my hang-ups about the military?
And what would I lose if I couldn’t let them go now?
But they were real, and they hurt like hell.
So did being without Mark.
Fuck.
I ran a hand through my hair. “The thing is, even if he takes me back, it doesn’t change anything. I’m still fucked up in my head and . . .” I gestured at my knee. “How long do you think an XO is going to hold on to a fucked-up undocumented immigrant who pours drinks in a gay bar?”
Dalton rolled his eyes. “Please. That’s bullshit and we both know it.” He must’ve seen the WTF? in my eyes, because he added, “How long would you have dated him if you’d thought for two seconds he would ever kick you to the curb for that?”
Damn. He knew me too well.
“Don’t make excuses,” he said. “Go talk to him.” When I didn’t respond, he added, “Diego. Look at me.”
I met his gaze, and I didn’t think I’d ever seen Dalton’s eyes so full of intense determination.
Still firmly holding eye contact, he took my hand. “You’re being an idiot. Mark isn’t the Navy. He didn’t do any of that shit to you. And if you let him go, you’re just letting one more piece of you be a victim to everything that happened before.” He squeezed my hand so tight it was almost painful. “How much more of your life are you going to lose to that?”
Breaking eye contact, I tightened my jaw and tried to force back the ache in my throat. He had a damn good point, and I couldn’t argue with it. The Navy had taken my health, my job, my stability—even my fucking tattoo. And the Navy had Mark, but it wasn’t taking him from me. That was me. My issues. My hang-ups. My bitterness. Our relationship didn’t have to be over, and I didn’t have to hurt like this. All I had to do was get my head out of my ass, learn to live with the Navy, and talk to him.
I lifted my gaze and met Dalton’s eyes again.
Or else I can lose him like I lost you.
“I’m sorry, by the way,” I whispered. “For letting my shit kill what we had going.”
“It’s okay.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and kissed my temple. “I still have you as a friend.”
“Thank God for that. But still . . . we could’ve had something.”
“I know. But we both got second chances. I married mine.” He gave me a gentle squeeze. “Don’t let yours get away.”
Closing my eyes, I sighed and leaned against him. I’d been damn lucky with him. I didn’t care how far away he and Chris moved—we were staying in touch forever.
In the meantime . . . Mark. This wasn’t how it ended. It couldn’t be.
I’d talk to him. I didn’t know when, and I didn’t know what the hell I’d say.
But I’d talk to him.
I was on autopilot at the bar. It showed in my tips, too, so I was trying like hell to get myself together. I couldn’t afford to lose tips. A bartender who wasn’t friendly and charismatic didn’t make money.
But I felt like shit and it was hard not to let it show.
As I wiped down the bar for the hundredth time this hour, I fought away thoughts of Mark, but it wasn’t working. Talking to Dalton this afternoon had only made it worse. Now I wasn’t just hurting over Mark—I felt like an asshole and an idiot for leaving. Well, not for leaving—I’d been too pissed to stay. Not going back, though? Or giving him a chance when he’d called? Fuck. What was I thinking?
On top of that, I was still terrified that even if and when I figured out how to apologize and get us back together, we wouldn’t be able to make it work. Three times since I’d left Dalton’s place, I’d tried to work up the courage to call Mark. Each time I looked at his name in my contacts, though, I’d put the phone back in my pocket without dialing. Each time, it felt less and less like there was any chance of having him back.
I quickly wiped my stinging eyes and hoped none of my coworkers or customers noticed. I needed to get my shit together. Part of me didn’t see that happening until I smoothed things over with Mark. Part of me suspected it needed to happen before I even thought about talking to Mark. Another part didn’t think it would happen at all.
God. I was a mess.
I finished mopping up phantom drips from the bar and tossed the rag underneath where it would be in easy reach. I was about to check my garnish tray when some movement caught my eye. I looked up, and a face materialized in the sparse crowd.
The glass in my hand almost fell.
Mark.
And he was coming right toward me, and he’d already seen me so it wasn’t like I could duck out and pretend I wasn’t here. I had no idea if that was what I wanted to do, but it didn’t matter.
He stopped, the freshly polished bar standing between us like a defensive wall. He’d never struggled to hold eye contact, but he did this time, and his voice barely made it to me as he said, “Hey. Can we talk?”
I pressed my lips together. Fuck, I was not ready for this. I knew what I needed to say, but I was terrified to say it. I had no idea how to explain any of it.
We need to talk, but not now. I’m not ready for this. Damn it, Mark, not now.
Before I could say any of that, though, he cleared his throat. “I just need a couple of minutes. I, um . . . I have something for you.” He glanced down, and I realized he had a thick manila envelope in his hand.
I eyed the thing. What was it? A wild card of some sort, and now I was both insanely curious about the contents and seriously dreading finding out what they were.
“Okay,” I said finally. Might as well just do this and get it over with. “Hang on.”
My boss wasn’t on tonight, and the bar wasn’t all that busy, so I flagged down Kim, the shift manager.
“I’m going to step out for a minute,” I told him. “If you need me, I’ll be right outside.”
Kim nodded and went back to filling the glass in his hand.
I motioned for Mark to follow me. We went out the front door and around to the side of the building. There were a few people shivering in the parking lot while they smoked, so it was quieter over here.
My heart was in my throat as I turned around to face him. I hugged myself against the cold night. “So, what did you want to talk about?”
Mark took a deep breath and held out the envelope. “This is for you.”
I eyed it but didn’t take it. “What is it?”
“Just . . .” He nodded toward it. “Please.”
After hesitating for a few more seconds, I took it. We stared at each other, not speaking. His eyes flicked toward the envelope. Then mine did. I wondered if he was waiting for me to open it. I was waiting for him to explain what the hell was going on. Maybe that made me a coward, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what this was.
Finally, Mark swallowed. “The Navy did you wrong, Diego. I can’t undo that. There’s nothing I can do to get you reinstated. And believe me, I checked. That”—he gestured at the envelope—“was the best I could do.”
Now I was curious, so I thumbed open the flap and slid the contents out. There was a stack of what looked like paperwork, a booklet, and—
Application for Naturalization.
My heart stopped. I looked at Mark, unable to speak.
He chewed his lip. “You know where Pass & ID is, right? The building outside Gate Three?”
I nodded, still mute.
“Fill all of that in, and take it to Pass & ID along with the letter on top. They’ll get you a pass to go to admin.”
My mouth had gone dry, but I managed to croak, “I don’t have a military ID anymore. They won’t let me on base.”
“They will. They already know you’re coming.”
My hackles went up. “Did you fucking out me to—”
“Don’t worry about that.” He patted the air between us. “All Pass & ID knows is that you need a temporary base pass, and that it’s been authorized by me. Any hiccups, and they’re to call me directly. Or, if you’re more comfortable, I can meet you there and escort you to admin.”
I stared at him.
He pulled in a deep breath. “Every detail is on a need-to-know basis, and once everything is turned in, I’m going to personally make sure it’s processed and expedited. Anyone who will have their fingers anywhere near that paperwork knows that if anything is delayed or kicked back for some bullshit reason, they’ll be answering to me.”
Jaw slack, I glanced back and forth from him to the papers.
“It’s still going to take some time,” he went on. “There’s only so much any of us can do, but we’re going to do what we can. In the meantime, I’ve also checked around for civilian contractor jobs. There are some listings and applications in there.” He pointed at the envelope. “If you want to apply for one, we’ll help you get your green card.”
I swallowed. “Are you serious?”
Mark nodded. “Technically, it might qualify as an abuse of power, but if ever there was a time to pull rank, this seems like it.”
My head was spinning. I had to lean against the wall, and I could barely hold on to the papers. “I thought you said there was nothing you could do.”
“I dug deeper and called in some favors.”
I stared down at the forms in my hand, then met his gaze. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because you served your country,” he said. “And the Navy screwed you. Like I said, I can’t undo all of that, and God knows I should have looked harder for a solution sooner, but I can at least help you get what you should’ve had the day you enlisted.” He smiled, looking kind of nervous. “Like I said, if I’m going to throw my rank around . . .”
I stared down at the papers. With shaky hands, I looked through them. Application for Naturalization. A letter from Mark on US Navy letterhead stating that this was an important and personal matter, requesting it be expedited, and explaining that no one who’d served his country—least of all someone who’d been wounded in action—should be denied citizenship. Behind that were several applications for on-base civilian contractor jobs, a booklet on obtaining citizenship, and some paperwork for a green card.
My eyes were starting to sting, and the text was getting blurry. “Mark . . . this is . . .”
“It’s yours if you want it.” His voice was softer than I’d ever heard it. “Even if it’s just so you can go to the VA without worrying about getting deported. Or so you can get a solid enough job to save up some cash and go home.”
My throat tightened. Home. Enough money to see my family. Maybe help them get back to Rioverde. Stability. There was no guarantee I’d even find a job, but there’d be more options now. More options that didn’t mean working under the table and praying every day I wouldn’t get caught. And I could finally go to the fucking VA and see if someone could do something about my knee and these nightmares. After the last few years of trying to pray my PTSD under control and looking over my shoulder and . . .
Just like that, there was a light at the end of the tunnel.
I could barely get enough air moving, but as I held the papers to my chest, I managed to whisper, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. It . . . shouldn’t have taken this. The Navy, your chain of command, they . . .” Mark shook his head. “I’m sorry they let you down. I just hope this will undo some of that damage.”
Mute, I nodded. I hadn’t even known something like this was possible. That someone could use his rank and connections to push things through. That anyone would be willing to.
“I’m sorry again. For what I said to my CO, and also for how the Navy screwed you over.” He gestured at the papers. “Hopefully that isn’t too little too late.”
I shook my head. “No, it isn’t. I . . . Thank you. I don’t even know what else to say.”
He smiled, then cleared his throat. “I should, um, let you get back to work. I just wanted to make sure you had all that. If you run into any snags, you’ve got my number. So just, you know, text me if there’s any issues.”
“Oh. Uh.” I was too shocked and confused to know what to say. “Okay. Thanks.”
He smiled quickly, then took a step back and started to go.
Panic broke through the confusion. “Wait.”
He turned, eyebrows up.
“You’re not . . .” I struggled to form words. “You don’t want to get back together?”
Mark sighed. He lowered his gaze for a second before he looked at me through his lashes. “I do. And I came here thinking that was exactly what I was going to try to do. But I can’t.”
I blinked. “You can’t? Why not?”
He stared at the ground for a moment, then exhaled hard. “Because there is no way I can give you that”— he nodded toward the papers—“and ask you to take me back. I don’t want strings attached to any of this.”
It took a minute for the words to make sense. “So you were just . . . You’ll let me go, but you’ll still do all of this?” I held up the envelope. “Even without . . . Even if I don’t . . .”
“Absolutely. There’s . . .” He swallowed, and he didn’t meet my gaze as he said, “There was no way I could bring those papers and ask you to take me back without making it sound like all of that was contingent on you staying with me.”
“It isn’t, right?”
“No,” he said without hesitation. “I’m going to see all that through no matter what, even if I have to hand walk every piece of paper to where it needs to go.”
“What if I said I wanted you back?” I stepped closer, wondering when my knees had started shaking. “And that I wanted you back even before you showed up?”
Mark searched my eyes. “Do you?”
My throat was getting tight and achy, so I just nodded.
He swallowed. “I just . . . I don’t want this—us—to have anything to do with . . .” He motioned toward the papers. “I mean it when I say there are no strings attached. I’d . . .” He avoided my eyes, and his voice was soft when he spoke again. “I want you, Diego. And I love you. But undoing what the Navy did to you is more important than me having you, so—”
“Who says we can’t have both?”
He chewed his lip. “It’s your call.”
Our eyes locked. My heart went crazy. This was the part where I had to say everything I hadn’t figured out how to say. Shit . . .
So, I took a deep breath and hoped I didn’t make things worse. “I’ve, um . . . actually been wanting to talk to you. And trying to figure out what to say.” I couldn’t handle the intensity of his gaze, so I watched my thumb play with the sweat-dampened corners of the papers in my hand. “Ever since we met, I’ve been going back and forth in my head about being with you and being around the military. I knew I wanted you. That’s never been a question. But I . . .”
“But it hurts to be around the Navy. I get it.”
“No. You don’t.” I shook my head. “You don’t get how much I’ve been trying like hell to get over my shit with the Navy because I wanted to be with you. The Navy’s already cost me so much, and I even told one of my friends not to let the Navy be the reason he lost the guy he loves, and I . . .” I sighed. “That’s exactly what I was doing. Because I was too hurt and fucked up to see that being with you is worth being close to the Navy. And I mean, what happened will never change. Even with this”—I gestured with the papers—“my situation still happened and I’ll still have to live with it. None of that will magically change just because I’m not with you anymore. And not being with you . . .” I swallowed. “That hurts too much.”
Mark’s lips parted.
“This?” I held up the papers again. “Just sealed what I’d already figured out—that walking away from you was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
“It wasn’t stupid,” he said softly.
“Yeah, it was.” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Question is, do you still want me back? After I left the other night?”
For the first time tonight, Mark smiled, but he still looked sad. “You really think I’d hold that against you? In your shoes, I probably would’ve done the same thing. I’m honestly not sure I’d have stuck around long enough to even go to that thing.”
I blinked. “What does that mean?”
He dropped his gaze. “It means I’ve been counting myself lucky as hell that you wanted me in the first place. And feeling guilty as hell that I put you in that position the other night.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I told you I’m not good at relationships, okay? I want to be. And God, I want to be good at this one, because I don’t want to lose you. So yeah, I’m kind of amazed you hung on that long.”
I couldn’t help laughing, and I stepped a little closer. “You really think being with you was ‘hanging on’?”
He met my eyes, silently challenging me to suggest otherwise.
“You’re an idiot.” I reached out, hugged him tight, and tried like hell not to cry as I said, “And I’m an idiot too. I’m sorry I left.”
Sighing, Mark wrapped his arms around me. “No. You had every right to leave.” He held me closer and kissed my temple. “I should have known it would be pouring salt in the wound if I took you to a function like that. I didn’t mean to—”
“I know. But I thought I could handle it.” I pulled back enough to look into his eyes. “So it was my fault for agreeing to go.”
He brought a hand up and ran his fingers through my hair. “Still. And I should’ve gotten this paperwork rolling the first time you told me what the Navy did to you. You deserved so much better.”
I smiled. “I think I found it.” I cradled the back of his head, pushed myself up, and kissed him. I was surprised the papers didn’t slide out of my hand, but I was holding on to them almost as tight as I was holding on to him.
When he finally broke the kiss, we were both out of breath.
Panting and shaky, I whispered, “I thought you said you were terrible at relationships.”
Mark laughed and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “I am. I was. I . . .” He sighed. “The thing is, I’ve never been good at them. But you make me want to be better at it. You make me want to get it right.”
I managed a laugh even as a hot tear slipped down my cheek. “You’re off to a damn good start.”
He held me tighter. “You deserve it. And the paperwork . . .” He touched his forehead to mine. “I mean it. It wasn’t mine to give you. It should’ve been yours from—”
“Don’t.” I kissed him hard. “I get it. I really do. And . . . thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’d do anything for you, Diego.”
The words I know lodged somewhere around the lump in my throat.
“And you don’t have to go to any military functions. I have to go to them, but if you don’t want to . . .” He shook his head.
I thought about it, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Let’s see how I feel when we get there.”
“Okay. It’s totally up to you, though,” Mark said softly. “I really do want to get this right.”
I smiled past the emotions trying to bubble up. “Like I said, you’re off to a damn good start.” I cradled his face and kissed him. “I love you.”
And Dios mío, no words had ever been truer than those three. I’d been fighting them so hard for reasons that were justified and stupid at the same time, and now that I’d said them, I felt like I was going to crack from the intensity of pure, sweet relief.
Mark’s hand slid up into my hair. “I love you too.”
Then he kissed me again, but I only let it linger for a second before I buried my face in his neck and just held him. It was all I could do not to break down. Or collapse. Like the stress had been keeping me so rigid for the last few years that I literally didn’t know how to stand on my own now that even some of it was gone. Between the papers in my hand and the man in my arms, I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t think straight.
Mark pressed his lips to the side of my neck as he stroked my hair. Neither of us said anything for a long time.
After a while, though, I became aware of the club’s bass vibrating the ground under my shoes and remembered where I was. Where I was supposed to be.
Sighing, I pulled back a little and looked up at him. “I have to get back to work.”
Mark nodded. “Yeah. Sorry I crashed your shift. I couldn’t wait, and I wasn’t sure where else I could talk to you and—”
“I’m glad you did.” I swallowed. “I’m, um, off at two thirty. Is that too late to come by?”
“Not at all.” Mark’s smile turned my insides to liquid. “I’ll wait as long as I have to.”
It was seriously tempting to blow off work and go now, but I knew better. The doors he’d opened for me wouldn’t solve everything overnight, and I needed to hold on to this job until I was sure things were coming together. And what was a few hours if this man—this gorgeous, loving, amazing man—was waiting at the end?
He cupped my jaw and gave me one last long kiss. “I’ll see you soon.”
“As soon as possible.”
Then we exchanged grins, and he headed for the parking lot.
After he’d gone, I paused before going inside. I needed a moment to collect myself, so I closed my eyes and released a long breath.
What had just happened? Twenty minutes ago, I’d . . . There hadn’t been Mark. There hadn’t been any way out of my visa problems or my health issues or . . . anything. And now there was. I had Mark back. I had an envelope full of tickets to unfucking a lot of the things that had gone wrong in my world. None of this would magically solve every problem in my life, but it was a breakthrough that would make some of the uphill fights feel less steep. Like I actually had a shot at getting on my feet in this country and the means to maybe go back to my family. There were options now. I could . . . fuck, I could talk to someone about the PTSD and do something about my knee besides store-brand ibuprofen.
All because Mark had pulled some strings I didn’t even know existed and made things happen that had seemed impossible.
With any other guy, I might’ve thought he’d been doing it to get back into my good graces.
I smiled to myself, gazing down at the papers he’d left with me. I had no idea what it had taken for him to get all of this together, or how many cages he’d have to rattle to get it all the way through, but he had. There was no way I could ever show Mark just how much I’d forgiven him and how grateful I was for everything he was doing.
But I could damn sure show him how glad I was to have him back in my life and how hard I’d fallen for him.
I checked my phone. Three hours, and I could go to Mark.
Three hours, and I could go home.