“You can’t give us a clue? Maybe we could help—” Dylan started in again, but Apollo made a warning noise.
“Do you need me to leave the room?” God, Apollo’d always seen far, far too much, and there had to be some clue on Dustin’s face or tremor in his voice during his tantrum of a speech that had given him away. “If it’s something I can’t know, I understand. Completely.”
“Fuck, no. No way am I asking you guys to keep secrets from each other.” Dustin held up his hands. “This is on me.”
And it really was. It was on him to...do what? Hide? Fuck. Who the hell was he anymore? Did he really think he could live out the rest of his days with this secret, knowing that he could have had—
What precisely?
Wes said he didn’t want him. Said it was all just sex. “Fuck him,” Dustin said aloud, without meaning to. But seriously, Wes did not get to call all the shots here.
“Uh, you needing tips in that regard?” Dylan seriously did not know when to quit.
“No.” Dustin glowered at him, but he wasn’t angry at Dylan’s piss-poor joke timing as much as determined. He was a fucking US Navy SEAL lieutenant. There was no such thing as a no-win scenario and he was not a quitter. “But I am going to need a rain check on dinner. There’s a phone call I have to make. Right now.”
* * *
Wes blinked at the bright California sun as he emerged from the terminal to the pick-up line by baggage claim. Sure enough, Bacon zoomed up, exactly like his text had promised.
“Welcome back,” he said as Wes slid into the passenger seat. Thank God, Bacon was alone as Wes wasn’t sure he was up to dealing with the rest of the gang yet.
“Eh.” Wes couldn’t lie and say it was good to be back, because it wasn’t. He’d left the tattered remnants of his heart, the parts Dustin hadn’t smashed, back in North Carolina.
“How is she?” Bacon barreled back into traffic, squeezing between cars. “Figured that since you were coming back, she must be doing better.”
Wes shrugged. “More like two weeks of leave was all I could squeeze out. She was in ICU for a week. She’s still in the hospital, with a very long road to go, but she’s holding her own.”
Holding her own. It had become something of a mantra from the doctors and nurses the past two weeks—first when weaning her off the ventilator, then when watching for infection and reject. She’d had a tough time of it, but she was battling. Just like Wes had to do. One day at a time, one obstacle at a time.
“You hungry? Want to grab food on the way back to base?” Bacon glanced over, smiling encouragingly, but eyes wary like he knew Wes would turn him down.
Which a few weeks ago, Wes would have. But he had to bust out of his comfort zone, make friends at some point. Even if he and Curly were never going to be buddy-buddy again, he couldn’t turn into the hermit he’d accused Dustin of being. “Sure. Why not? What’d you have in mind?”
“I know this great Mexican joint on the way. You’ll love it. Bet you don’t have Mexican this good back east.”
“Bet not,” Wes said, making himself sound good-natured. “But y’all’s barbecue ain’t worth shit, so it’s even.”
“Hey now,” Bacon laughed. “I can grill.” He drove through the clogged traffic, trying to convince Wes of his prowess with barbecue with some little stories. It was easy conversation, something Wes dearly needed after the weeks of heavy medical talk and dark thoughts in his own head.
By the time they reached the restaurant, Bacon had moved on to stories about the rest of the team, epic meals they’d enjoyed over the years together.
“You and Curly cool?” Bacon asked as the waitress set steaming platters in front of them. “Cause you guys seemed a bit...tense before you left. And every time I mention him, you get this look. Anything I can help with? He’s a good guy. Salt of the earth.”
“We’re chill,” Wes said quickly. “Just been a long-ass month. Nothing to do with either of you though.”
“You’re telling me. And you haven’t even heard the latest shit.” Bacon took a big bite of enchilada.
“What’s going down?” Wes’s appetite fled. More rumors? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. He had to wait for Bacon to finish chewing, each second dragging out.
“XO’s leaving. Totally out of the blue. LT is fucking pissed.”
“What?” Wes’s fork clattered to the table, and his throat went dry and scratchy, voice coming out a rough rasp.
“Yeah. Haven’t talked to him myself. But I thought for sure he’d be a lifer—everyone said he was due his own team next year or so,” Bacon blathered on, oblivious to the turmoil in Wes’s brain. Turmoil that he absolutely could not reveal to Bacon. Fuck.