Buzz. Blip. Buzz. Yeah, he’d totally assigned Dylan his own special vibration tone, and no, he didn’t particularly want to think about what that meant. Dylan’s message was short.
You really think I’d go do something stupid?
Apollo typed fast. No, just worried.
Dylan’s response didn’t take long. Well don’t. I’m at Ben’s and Maddox’s playing video games. Text if you have to go back to base.
Even Apollo could see the translation there: Leave me alone unless you’ve got good reason to bug me again. And could Apollo really blame him? Of course Dylan was mad. And of course he’d...run straight to Ben and Maddox.
Oh fuck. Any thought of apology died as he realized what that meant. Had Dylan spilled all about their fight? He wouldn’t, right? Because the only thing worse than this would be everyone knowing. Fuck. Even if part of Apollo wanted to, he couldn’t strap the girls in their car seats, race over there, beg Dylan to forgive his harsh words.
And then what? Dylan had still lied. Was still staying. Still wanted more than Apollo could give. Maybe it was best this way. Clean break. He wrapped the towel around himself with shaky hands and headed upstairs. He paused in the doorway to his bedroom.
The room suddenly seemed claustrophobic, almost daunting in its somber tones. He hadn’t been in here for more than changing clothes and a few furtive hours of sleep after a night in Dylan’s bed in weeks. He caught sight of the picture on the far wall of him and Neal on their wedding day.
Neal. Neal was why he couldn’t give Dylan false hope. He thought of the SEALs injured in the crash, lying in ICU, him still not sure whether he’d be delivering bad news to the waiting families. Luciana Lopez was now on bedrest in the maternity ward, and it tore Apollo apart that he couldn’t guarantee her husband would be at her side when the baby came. So, so much bad news in this world. He couldn’t open himself up to more of it, couldn’t risk that for Dylan.
* * *
“Come in, come in. I’m just about to take the bread out of the oven.” Maddox greeted Dylan with a smile, opening the door to the Coronado apartment he shared with Ben. The complex had a French name but terracotta Spanish styling and was far homier than Dylan would have picked for the two of them. Adding to the surrealness of this whole damn day, Maddox was wearing an apron and with matching quilted oven mitts. It wasn’t a frilly apron or anything—simply a brown apron with some sort of woodland creature on it, a bear or otter maybe. Nonetheless, it was still disconcerting to see a guy who Dylan knew was nothing short of a deadly marksman playing Betty Crocker and ushering him into a tastefully decorated apartment.
An oven timer buzzed and Maddox motioned for Dylan to follow him to the galley kitchen around the corner from the entry hall. “I’ll give you the first piece. It’s rye, which not everyone likes, but it goes great with my spinach dip.”
“Thanks.” Dylan fell back on his manners. He hadn’t thought he’d ever be hungry again, but the place did smell amazing—warm and yeasty with overtones of butter. He’d been driving around aimlessly, on the verge of texting Allie when his phone had chimed. Stupid him, his heart had leaped thinking it might be Apollo with an apology. Ha.
Instead, it had been Ben texting to see if he wanted to come over and play video games. Which was a bit bizarre since they hadn’t really hung out like that before, but what the hell, Dylan’s day was already a crock of shit, and he didn’t really want to be alone. Alone was bad. Alone meant replaying the scene with Apollo over and over until he’d almost bent his steering wheel in half with the force of his grip. Sure, it had been his idea to leave, but that didn’t mean he was happy about that outcome. And God, Apollo’s strident voice and angry face kept echoing in his head. So yeah, he’d been grateful for Ben’s offer.
Especially since he’d gotten a text from Apollo right as he’d pulled into a visitor parking space at the complex, wanting to know if he was safe. Safe? What the hell was up with that? No, no he was not safe. His chest felt cracked open, heart fragile and exposed, one wrong move away from stopping forever. He was wounded and aimless and so far from safe it was laughable. But he wasn’t telling Apollo any of that. He’d sent a terse reply. Let Apollo assume he was running to Ben and Maddox to tattle, even though he had no such intention of spilling his guts.
“I said, bread?” Maddox held out a slice with melting butter on it. His kind eyes were patient, but he’d clearly had to repeat the question a few times to bring Dylan out of his fog.