Chapter Nine
ALED
For the first few days in Namibia, Aled jumped at every strange sound. He shied away from anyone who wasn’t Wyatt. At night, he slept with one of his botany tools under his pillow.
His therapist had told him over and over to be patient with himself. Aled couldn’t help wondering if maybe such a remote location hadn’t been the wisest choice to test the waters of exploration. He should’ve picked somewhere closer to home.
Having Wyatt with him helped greatly. The former Navy SEAL stayed by his side through every spooked moment—and sandstorm. He even helped with photos.
Or, he tried to help.
In the evenings, Wyatt often pulled out a harmonica. He played it remarkably well, even if he only knew about three bluesy tunes. Their local guide found it entertaining—found them amusing.
Moving from one camping lodge to another across the Namib Desert, Aled found himself highly amused by Wyatt’s complaints of eating more sand than anything else. He spent his time researching, drinking water from the bottles shoved into his hand, and trying not to notice how sweat glistened on his companion’s skin. Why the hell does he insist on walking around with his shirt off?
Early on one of their last days there, the guide took them further into Sossusvlei to explore some of the red dunes. Aled wanted to walk up a few of them. In the wind, the hot sun, the massively open space with no one in sight, he found respite for his still healing soul. It was magnificent.
“Easy there.” Wyatt caught him quickly when he slipped on the shifting sands. His arm went around Aled’s waist to drag him up and over to his side. “We wouldn’t want you to tumble down the dune.”
“No.” Aled found it increasingly difficult to breathe. Stupid sun. Stupid heat. Wyatt’s warm touch and the concern in his eyes had nothing to do with the sudden tightening in his belly or his pulse pounding in his ears. “I’m on solid ground.”
“Nothing stable or solid about a sand dune.” Wyatt released his waist, only to wrap his fingers around Aled’s wrist instead as they continued to climb along the ridgeline. “I’m not Jack, and you’re not Jill, so no tumbling down the hill for either of us.”
Definitely not the sun.
Definitely not the heat of the day.
Definitely Wyatt’s touch.
Oh.
Exhausting themselves hiking, they enjoyed bottles of water on the drive across to Deadvlei. Aled wanted to get a close look at the dead camel thorn trees on the clay plan. He took hundreds of photographs, but didn’t bother to sneak a sample, as customs would take it from him.
After a week in the desert, Wyatt made the suggestion that they visit Melbourne, Australia. Suggestion? He books the flight, hotel, and everything else, then tells me about it. Aled had always wanted to visit the Royal Botanic Gardens there, so he didn’t complain. Maybe he’d be able to cross two things off his botany bucket list.
The two had flown first class, been driven from the airport to the Hotel Windsor, and settled into a two-bedroom suite. Aled didn’t think former SEALs made enough to foot the bill for this sort of vacation. Wyatt refused to answer with anything other than that a friend owed him a favour.
What sort of favour gets you this kind of perk?
And who is this friend?
Maybe I don’t want to know.
“Why Melbourne?” Aled asked. “Tent life in the desert too hard on your old bones?”
Wyatt watched him silently for several minutes; he seemed to be searching for a sign of something. “They frown upon certain lifestyles in Namibia.”
“More friendly?”
Wyatt strode across the room until he stood beside Aled. “Do you trust me?”
Do I?
“Yes,” Aled answered, directly and honestly. He trusted the American with his life. “Most certainly.”
“Good.” Wyatt cupped Aled’s face gently in his hands, tilting his head up while lowering his own until their lips connected in the softest of kisses. He moved slowly, likely not wanting to spook Aled. “You okay?”
Aled struggled to find words with those wonderfully warm, rough fingers framing his face so carefully, and Wyatt’s intense gaze focused completely on him. “Brilliant.”
Wyatt winked at him and dropped his hands to his side. “Well, I don’t like to brag—but I’m definitely fucking brilliant.”
“Idiot.” Aled twisted around to fuss with his backpack that contained all of his notes and his field research kit, anything to give his hands something to do, to stop the urge to grab Wyatt. “Are you hungry?”
Wyatt brought his hands back up to cover Aled’s fidgeting fingers. “Why don’t we see about getting food delivered? It’s been an exhausting fucking day. We’ll kick off our shoes, watch stupid shit on TV, and see if this spindly furniture can handle impressive muscles like mine.”
“You’re an idiot.” Aled couldn’t help grinning at the man. “You order food—I’m going to change into something more comfortable.”
“Want help?”
“No.” Aled smiled to take the edge away from his sharp and immediate response. “Not yet.”
Once in the safety of his separate room, Aled laughed quietly under his breath for a few seconds. Wyatt tempted him in so many ways. He had such appreciation for how the SEAL never pressed him; the man always respected his boundaries.
The ones I know about and the ones I never knew I had.
After a quick wash of his face, Aled changed into a clean T-shirt and pair of pyjama bottoms. He wandered out with his bare feet scuffing against the soft carpet. Wyatt had used the time to change as well; he now sat in a Navy SEAL tank top and grey boxers.
Does he have to show off his muscles and tattoos?
Stop staring.
It’s weird.
Stop it.
Oh, for the love of all things botany, stop staring at the hair peeking out of the top— Oh, he’s noticed.
Why does the ground never swallow me whole when I’m humiliated? My lovely earth fails me again.
“Are you planning on sitting anytime soon? Should I strike a pose?” Wyatt teased him with a grin. “I ordered half the room service menu—plus a few beers for me, and whatever that weird shit is that you drink.”
“Water?”
“Yeah, that shit.” Wyatt propped his feet up on the coffee table as he reclined into the mass of cushions on the sofa. He waved the remote at Aled. “What are we watching?”
“Aren’t Navy SEALs supposed to love water?” Aled grabbed the remote held out toward him and started surfing channels. “How can you not like water? You realise your body is about 60 percent water?”
“Don’t mind being in the fucking water. I’d rather not drink it.” Wyatt shrugged.
Aled frowned at him with the remote still clutched in both hands. “You drank loads of water in Namibia.”
“When in Rome….”
“Namibia isn’t Rome.” Aled rubbed a tired hand across his eyes. “What are we watching?”
“Nothing serious or requiring thought.” Wyatt pressed a finger to Aled’s lips when he went to respond. “Don’t make the easy fucking joke. It’s lazy.”
For six hours, they noshed on the food Wyatt ordered while watching a marathon of pointless telly. Aled found himself slowly beginning to drift off. He fought to stay awake even as his companion in the lazy afternoon got up and left the room.
He struggled to open his eyes when a weight draped across his body. Wyatt had apparently retrieved a blanket from one of the beds. “Gardens—”
“Fairly certain the plants aren’t going anywhere. We can see them tomorrow.” Wyatt ran his fingers gently through Aled’s hair, tucking long strands behind his ear. “Catch a few hours of sleep if you need them. Jet lag is always a bitch.”
“You don’t seem tired.” Aled flushed with embarrassment when he couldn’t help nuzzling into the strong fingers softly brushing against his face. “It a SEAL thing?”
“Definitely.” Wyatt lifted him up, blanket and all, to help him stretch out on the couch once the SEAL had sat on it. Aled rested his head against the muscled thigh. “Jet lag is scared shitless of me.”
He tilted his head to stare groggily up at Wyatt. “Right. Did you know your thigh is about as comfortable as a massive boulder?”
“Fluffy soft-headed botanist.” Wyatt reached out over him to catch the edge of one of the small, decorative pillows. “Here.”
To his embarrassment, Aled snoozed for over three hours. He woke up to a dark room, lit only by the soft light from the flat-screen television. Wyatt had one arm stretched across the back of the sofa, and his other rested on Aled’s chest.
“Want to step out for dinner or order in again?” Wyatt lifted both of his arms up to stretch, giving Aled a great view of his stomach and the dark smattering of hair there. “You awake?”
He studiously stared up at the amused eyes looking down at him. “Why don’t we eat here? Tomorrow will be challenging enough.”
“It’ll be fine. You’ll be okay. Just think of all the leafy shit you can say hello to at the botanical gardens.” Wyatt helped him to sit up and quirked his lips up into a teasing smile when Aled elbowed him in the side. “Admit it. You’ve a plant fetish.”
“Please stop talking.” Aled covered his face with the pillow. “No, I don’t.”
“Sorry, I don’t speak muffled botanist.” Wyatt didn’t duck when Aled threw the cushion at him. “You didn’t deny it though, did you?”
“Stop talking now.” Aled settled into the cushions with a yawn.
Morning came far too quickly—and yet slowly. Jet lag made Aled exhausted, yet energised at the wrong times. Wyatt bought himself an extra-large coffee, and an equally large tea for Aled. They blearily munched on muffins and gulped down the hot liquid.
Breakfast of champions.
A thirty-minute lovely walk later, Aled discovered why they’d woken up so early. Wyatt had brought him to the Royal Botanical Gardens. Another item on his botany bucket list down—he wondered if the SEAL intended to help him cross off everything on it.
The various plants in Guilfoyle’s Volcano excited him greatly. Aled jotted notes down and made sketches of some of the plants that he wanted to study more in depth. Namibia had already convinced him to return to finish his education; the botanical gardens only served to further nudge him over the edge.
I can’t let fear stifle me like an orchid in an overheated greenhouse.
I have to flourish and grow.
“You doing okay? Too many people?” Wyatt peered over his shoulder to look at Aled’s research journal. “New discoveries?”
Aled decided to be brave, and twisted around to smile up at Wyatt. He slid his hand into the SEAL’s and started down the path. “We’ve more to see before we stop for tea.”
Wyatt squeezed his hand gently. “You have the weak shit. I’ll drink something not tepid and likely to put me to sleep.”
“Americans.”
After their excursion to the botanical gardens, Aled found it became easier to breathe in public. Each time he fought through his fears, they clung to him a little less tightly. Wyatt’s constant presence at his side offered him the strength to push himself harder and further.
Too hard and too far.
The night before their last full day in the city, Aled woke in a sweat, screaming with remembered terror. Wyatt practically broke the door down to get to him. The former SEAL sat on the edge of his bed and waited patiently for him to settle, speaking softly to him as if he were a spooked wild creature.
Aled dragged his trembling fingers through his sweat-slicked hair to ease it out of his eyes. “One step forward, two steps back.”
“Twenty steps forward, two steps back,” Wyatt said firmly. “Don’t negate all the fucking work you’ve done.”
Aled tilted his head and allowed his hair to cascade forward like a shield. “I wish the memories could just be ripped out of my mind.”
“You’d forget me.”
Aled peered at Wyatt through his curtain of hair. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to keep working on getting better.”