“Yeah, you are,” Apollo muttered. Dylan swallowed back a laugh. Yup. I am the God of Stammering SEALS. Behold my powers.
Even with his ego at an all-time high, Dylan carefully sat on the opposite end of the couch from Apollo, not wanting to spook whatever had prompted this gesture of friendship.
“You don’t have to sit down there.” Apollo didn’t look at Dylan as he fiddled with the controller. “The view’s terrible over there.”
What are we doing here? Dylan bit back the question as he scooted closer. Hope sounded the alarm again, but he told it off—Apollo figuring out how to be friends again didn’t mean anything.
But somewhere around the second episode, Apollo’s arm came around the back of the couch.
We’re a pair of fifteen-year-olds now, feeling our way toward handholding. Dylan’s brain let out a silent scream.
Don’t see you moving away. Admit it. You’d kill to hold his hand.
Dylan was so ridiculously over his head that it wasn’t funny. His body ignored every lecture about not crushing and sank back against the couch cushion, shoulders touching Apollo.
“This okay?” Apollo shot him a look out of the corner of his eyes.
See? Teenagers have nothing on us right now. “Yeah.”
Apollo’s hand came down on his shoulder, pulled him closer. “Not...” Apollo trailed off, muscle in his jaw working.
“You’re still sorting. I get it.” Dylan patted his thigh. “This is plenty nice. Now watch—this is the episode where the double agent—”
“Don’t ruin it,” Apollo ordered sharply.
Don’t have to warn me. That was exactly how he felt about this tentative embrace, not wanting to ruin this quiet peace, trying to figure out how to keep his heart out of it even as it swelled with every baby step past grief that Apollo managed.
*
Apollo blinked hard against the offending sunlight and dug out his shades. He had fallen asleep on the couch again, something that seemed to be becoming his new habit. At some point, Dylan had snuck off for his own bed, and someone had put a blanket from the hall closet over Apollo. His chest had felt tight, like he’d done too much on the fly machine, but unfortunately, his brain had been too groggy to remember his lunch. Thus, he ended up walking to the food court on base during a break between meetings. The mess hall was another option, but he’d had enough of that during his years living in the officer’s housing on base.
It was a gorgeous day with clear blue skies. Too bad that every step made him feel like knives were being shoved in the small of his back.
Damn it. He must have slept wrong. Gee. You think? You’ve got a top-of-the-line orthopedic mattress you can’t bear to sleep on because you’re too busy cuddling up to the babysitter when awake. And hell if he could summon adequate guilt about that. All week he’d been watching the show with Dylan, falling asleep together a lot of nights, but no kissing and no frantic makeout sessions like last Friday. However, it was always there simmering beneath the surface though that Dylan wouldn’t mind if Apollo took things further.
Which he shouldn’t.
Wouldn’t.
Couldn’t.
And yet, he also couldn’t seem to keep away from Dylan, to stop enjoying his presence and coming up with excuses for them to spend more time together. You need to get out more. Reconnect with your friends. Find other adult companionship. Yeah, maybe that was all this was—a hunger for adult conversation. But the weird thrum behind his breastbone whenever he thought about Dylan said otherwise.
Buzz. Buzz. His cell phone went off in his pocket, so he fished it out. It was Marilyn, his mother-in-law.
“Hey!” Apollo tried to manufacture some enthusiasm, even as his guilty conscience seized up even worse than his back.
“I’m just calling to confirm that we’ve got the girls after their day camp today.” Marilyn sounded cheerful as usual. “I’ll drop them back off after dinner.”
“You do?” Hell. Apollo vaguely remembered a phone call during last week’s hectic long hours. He’d forgotten to add it to his calendar, which wasn’t like him.
“Yes, we talked all about it. We’ll take them to BO-Beau for dinner—they love that school bus play area.”
“Yeah, they’ll have a great time. Just let me text my...” Babysitter. That’s all he is, and you need to remember that. But somehow he couldn’t make the words come out. “...the day camp coordinator and make sure he knows you guys are doing the pickup.”
“How’s that working out? Dustin’s little brother staying with you and all?”
Dustin’s little brother keeps me up at night. No matter how much he loved his in-laws, no way was he ever confessing that. And he really needed to get Dylan a label to wear on his forehead warning that Dustin would kill him if he went there. “Working out fine. He’s great with the girls.” Apollo kept his voice breezy and casual, but it sounded a bit false, even to his own ears.
“Does he need some people his own age to meet? Our neighbors have a lovely daughter who just broke up with her boyfriend—”
“He’s gay.” And I’d rather keep him watching TV with me, selfish bastard that I am.
“That’s lucky.” Marilyn seemed to struggle with how to meet this bit of news, voice going unsteady.
“Lucky?”
“I mean that he found you. And vice versa. It’s good he’s got a welcoming place. That’s all.” Marilyn sounded flustered, and he knew she was thinking of Neal, who had struggled with bullying growing up and hadn’t always had the easiest time fitting in.
“Yeah, yeah it is lucky.” Lucky that he’s driving me crazy. “Listen, Marilyn, I need to grab my lunch. Can I let you go?”
“Of course. Take care.”
Apollo sent Dylan a text about pickup, trying to control his racing pulse as he realized they’d be alone for dinner. Together. Empty house. Oh, this could be bad.
Or wonderful.
He told his wishy-washy brain to go shove it and got his sandwich before limping his way back to work.
“You okay, Floros?” Admiral Carson asked as she came into the meeting room. A small woman with jet black hair, she’d been a captain when she’d first targeted him for her training team, and her shiny Rear Admiral star had given her a new zest for meetings and hands-on double-checking.
“Yes, ma’am.” Apollo couldn’t help the wince as he lowered himself into a chair.
“You’re lying.” Her steely eyed gaze missed nothing. She would have easily been a SEAL had they been taking women in special forces back when she came up through the ranks, and she handily controlled her team of both SEALs and administrative types.
“I’m fine.” He took out the memos they were going over about a jungle training exercise next month and tried to put on his best pain-free face.
But two hours later he tried to stand at the conclusion of the meeting and couldn’t control his groan. Unable to straighten, he collapsed back into his chair.
“Still fine?” The admiral walked around the table with fast, efficient strides to stand in front of him.