Tight Quarters (Out of Uniform 6)

Del shook his head like he didn’t believe Spencer. “I’ve thought about this nonstop for two weeks straight, and I’m not sure there’s a compromise. I want you to write this book. The world needs this book. It needs you to write it. It’s good, important work.”

“You wanted me to drop it,” Spencer reminded him. “You asked for that, actually.”

“Yeah, well, that wasn’t right of me. I’ve been reminded just how needed your sort of reporting is. But I’m just not sure I’m prepared to deal with the professional fallout if you publish it and we’re together. I want to say yes, yes I’ll deal. Because I do care about you that much, and I want to be together that much, but fuck, I just made chief.”

“I know. It’s not fair to put you in the middle if Naval PR decides to come after me.”

“I really want to be that guy for you, Spencer. The one who tells you write what you need to write and that we’ll deal.” Del’s eyes were dark and pained.

“Us being together is the important part,” Spencer insisted. “And I was wrong to choose to put the story ahead of that. You believing in the project, wanting me to do it, that does mean something to me. It really does, but I’m not going to put you in that position.”

“But years from now—and I want years from you—you’re going to look back on this book, at what you could have done, and you’re going to resent me. You will.”

“I want years too.” Spencer was getting a little desperate here. “And you’re wrong—there is room for compromise here. I’ve been thinking about this continually, especially since Oscar died—”

“Hold up. Oscar died?”

“Yeah. A few days ago. My piece on him ran in Sunday’s paper.”

“I’ll read it. I’m so sorry, Spence. I know he was important to you.” Del gave him a quick squeeze on the arm.

“He was.” He had to clear his throat from the emotions threatening to bubble over.

“And he’d want you to do this book.”

“You don’t know that,” Spencer countered. “And actually, I don’t think so. I think he’d want me to make things work with you more. I think he’d tell me that there are other stories, other chances to make a difference, but only a few shots at love.”

Del growled at that word.

“Can we still not say that? That’s what this is for me. I love you. I want a future together. I want to be public together—I don’t want you to have to hide what we have because of something I’m writing.”

That Del didn’t immediately reassure him that he felt the same way made Spencer’s stomach sink. More so when Del didn’t speak as they exited 75 except to deal with base security. He found a space near Spencer’s car, big truck dwarfing Spencer’s poor Beemer.

“I’m sorry. I just assumed you felt the same way. I shouldn’t have—”

“I didn’t say I didn’t.” Del’s narrowed eyes gave him a fierce expression. “Told you. Losing you gutted me. I want a future measured in years, not Spencer’s next deadline.”

Ouch. That cut, made his chest feel raw with the accuracy of that barb.

“I can’t promise to never write something that makes you upset, but I can promise that it won’t end us—no story is more important than ours. The one we’re creating. Our story. That’s the one I’m really missing out on here if we don’t give it a second chance.”

“So no more deal-breakers? And I was guilty of the ultimatum-throwing too. I can promise I won’t do that over a story again either. We work things through, together?”

“Yeah. We can talk. And I should have talked to you sooner. Way sooner. That’s on me.”

“I still don’t know about you not writing the book.” Del bit his lip, exact same spot his mother did when she’d been uncomfortable around Spencer. “That’s a lot to ask of you. And you’re saying now that you won’t resent me, but maybe I’ll resent it, wonder what you could have done with it.”

“First, I’m not hurting for cash. Losing this deal isn’t going to break me. Second, I’ve got Oscar’s memoirs now, and that’s a project that needs me too. I’m really finding myself excited about the prospect of editing them, getting them ready for publication. Third, I’ve told you about my work mentoring the interns at the paper. I think I have the right young writer in mind for this—I can work with her on it, be more like Oscar and mentor her, keep my hands on the project, but more behind the scenes where it won’t hurt your career as much. It’ll be her book, her byline, but I can make sure the research is impeccable and that the stories get told.”

“You’d do that? Let someone else take the credit?”