“Nope.” Isaiah closed the distance between them again. “And it’s okay. I’m not going to tell. And Cal can be a jackass sometimes. He’s never going to figure it out either. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to get over it. Try some of that stress relief.”
“Isaiah...” Mark didn’t move away, instead resting a hand on Isaiah’s shoulder like his hand wasn’t quite sure whether to pull Isaiah closer or push him away. Isaiah made the choice for him, finally giving in to temptation and running his fingers down Mark’s smooth jaw. “We can’t.”
“We can. No one will have to know.”
“But I’ll know.” Mark made a tortured sound. “And fuck, you’re eighteen. For all I know, you’re a virgin.”
“You say it like it’s some disease.” Isaiah hated how defensive he sounded.
“Oh no. No way.” Mark did pull away then, striding over to a little bench by the grotto. “I’m not going to be your first time.”
“Why not?” He tried to tamp down the hurt coursing through him. “If not you, it’s going to be someone.”
“And that’s exactly why it’s not going to be me.” Mark’s voice hardened, syllable by syllable, making Isaiah’s chest ache.
“Well, it doesn’t have to be casual.” Maybe Mark didn’t hook up. Maybe there was still hope if he let him know this could be special. Could be the start of something. “I want it to be you.”
“You’re eight-fucking-teen. Everything is casual for you. And I told you, I don’t do guys. I’m not sure what you think you saw—”
“What I saw was you wanted to kiss me. Bad. But you’re overthinking things. Why not just have some fun? See where things go?”
Come on, Wizard, take a chance on some magic. But Mark only frowned, deep lines bracketing his mouth and forehead. “I’m not looking for fun. Sorry. And I better get back in there.”
And with that he was gone, leaving Isaiah’s hope monster squashed on the bricks. Stupid fucking stubborn SEAL, ruining all Isaiah’s plans. But he’d show him. Someday Mark was going to regret turning him down.
Chapter Two
Present day
“Wizard! Get your ass over here! Bring your kit!”
Mark was already on it, hurrying toward Tovey, who was shouldering a limping Rogers who was—oh shit—trailing blood from his left leg.
“Okay, get him down.” There was no good place to have Tovey set Rogers—rusty dirt and rocky outcropping as far the eye could see in this hell hole of a country, but behind a few large boulders for protection would have to do. Luckily, Mark was used to working out in the field like this. No sterile operating room for him. “What’s the ETA on extraction?”
Rogers was bleeding profusely from what looked to be two separate bullet wounds on his leg. Gloves already on, Mark got a tourniquet ready. The next few minutes could be critical in determining the extent of Rogers’s injuries, and judging by the volume of blood, they were going to need that chopper sooner rather than later.
“Last time I checked, the LT said fifteen minutes. We’ve dispersed the hostiles, but we’re waiting on Team Bravo’s return.”
“Not good enough. Check again.” Mark’s voice was terse because damn this didn’t look good. Using shears, he cut away Rogers’s pant leg, exposing the wounds. Yup. Tourniquet time, and not a minute too soon as Rogers had what looked to be a major arterial bleed from a flesh wound in his thigh.
“What can I do?” Tovey asked after bellowing into his com set about needing the chopper. He was a great guy, one of Mark’s closest friends on the team, and not squeamish in the least, which was good because this was about to get messy.
“Don’t wanna lose the leg.” Rogers made a strangled sound as he looked down. “Wiz, you gotta promise me. Don’t let them take the leg.”
“Wizard’s the best. No one’s losing a leg on his watch.” Crouching low, Tovey clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re gonna get you out of here, no worries, buddy.”
While Mark appreciated the support, that wasn’t entirely accurate—in his almost ten years as a SEAL, men had indeed lost limbs on his watch, but it sure as hell wasn’t from lack of trying on his part. He’d battle for Rogers’s leg and life with everything he had.
He shot Rogers full of painkillers before grabbing the scalpel and other tools from his kit. “Hold him down,” he yelled at Tovey, not having the benefit of waiting for the painkillers to fully kick in. He needed in that wound, needed to see the extent of what he was dealing with. Rogers was already alarmingly pale, and Mark was praying they weren’t going to need a field transfusion.
“Chopper’s on the way.” The senior chief jogged up right as Wizard got the first bullet out. “What’s the situation here?”
Mark gave him a clipped report as he continued to dig and access the wound. “Tell the base to be ready for a transfusion, O negative.” He had long ago memorized the blood types of everyone on the team. These were his brothers. He knew Rogers’s blood type, knew his wife, Deanna, his two towheaded kids, knew his cranky-ass love of bad jokes, knew that he relied heavily on his leg muscles to haul ass on reconnaissance which was his specialty, knew every damn thing riding on him stopping this bleeding. Blood was all over his uniform at this point, but he couldn’t give a shit. Bullets out, he needed to find the bleeder.