Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
JAKE
Vandenberg Space Force Base offered Jake two reasonable lodging options while he underwent this bullshit medical board review. His parents’ house, which happened to be less than an hour away. Or breaking his mother’s heart by staying at the base hotel.
He pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine of his mom’s old Toyota. Today had been…a lot. Endless meetings, which he’d expected from the few emails he’d traded with Lieutenant Colonel Olsen over the weekend before leaving Maryland. And emotionally difficult, which he had not prepared for in the slightest. He dug his phone out of his pocket and found Dima’s contact. He’d gotten into town too late to call last night, thanks to the time difference. Better to call now before entering the house, since he learned during his teenage years that his mom was the queen of unintentional eavesdropping.
The connection went through right away, audio and video. Seeing Dima through the small screen soothed a few of his frayed edges. “Hey, sweetheart,” Dima said, easing them more.
“Hey.” Jake bit his lip. “So, I got the scoop today.”
“Yeah?” Dima’s image shifted, the view behind him angling. He sat in his study, and Jake wanted nothing more than to be with him right now for this conversation. They’d never done so, but he so easily imagined curling up in Dima’s lap behind the big desk.
“So, you know how I’m supposed to be in Maryland for a year?” Dima’s brow curled for a brief flicker before he nodded once. “Well, it’s technically a deployment with the communications squadron at Andrews, not a PCS—permanent change of station. And the military has regs about what medical conditions you’re allowed to have during a deployment.”
Dima’s eyes widened in realization, then his frown deepened. “Maryland isn’t exactly the middle of the desert, where regular access to your meds might become an issue.”
“I know.” Jake huffed. “Trust me, logic and the military have never gone hand-in-hand. Anyway, someone in medical doing a chart review flagged my deployment status, so now it’s a whole thing. Except no one wants to admit they signed off on something in error, so now I think they’re overcompensating. I’m getting med boarded.”
“Which means…?”
“I’ve been referred to the Medical Evaluation Board for a review of my physical fitness for military service.”
“Do they need a subject matter expert to come tell them they’re being idiots?”
Jake chuckled at Dima’s professional outrage, grasping at any point of levity. “I’m pretty sure we’re far, far past the point of no return where conflict of interest is concerned. But I appreciate the offer.”
“Anything for you, sweetheart.”
Dima’s dark gaze bored into him from three thousand miles away, and for a moment, Jake didn’t feel so alone. His immediate leadership here at Vandenberg had always been cool about the gay thing, one of the perks of working in the military’s version of nerd central. But HIV created a host of wrinkles no matter a person’s sexual orientation. Bracing himself through every meeting for negative reactions to the disclosure left him exhausted. “Thank you.” Dima deserved so much more than trite gratitude after battling his own demons to allow Jake into his affections.
“What happens next?”
“More meetings. And I’m going to visit the legal office tomorrow.”
“What?” Dima asked. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”
“No, not exactly.” Jake didn’t want to say the next bit out loud, scared of manifesting his fears into being. “I might get medically discharged. Worst-case scenario,” he added, more to reassure himself than Dima.
“You can get kicked out of the military for having HIV?” Now, Dima’s outrage grew personal.
“Not technically? All the rules are complicated.” Jake shrugged helplessly. “The military doesn’t love when a medical condition affects your deployment status. But the military also doesn’t love accepting the blame for their own mistakes. Like yanking me home in the middle of a massive project with the National Military Command Center for something dumb.” His sudden departure had blindsided his team at Andrews, creating issues for their already complicated schedule.
They shared silence for a few beats. Dima asked, “Are you going to be okay?”
“Yeah.” What other option did Jake have? “I’m sitting in my parents’ driveway. I should go in before Mom comes to check on me.”
“Thank you for calling me.” Dima seemed like he might say more, but he settled for a warm smile.
Jake wanted to say more, too, but he hesitated to bind them closer with certain words of affection when regular life had been so rudely interrupted. Dima hadn’t even wanted Jake at first, and he deserved someone who wasn’t such a mess right now, his future uncertain.
“Been wanting to hear your voice all day,” he said instead. “Can I call you tomorrow?”
“I’ll be here.” Dima blew him a kiss through the screen before signing off.
His phone showed text messages, likely from teammates in Maryland, or from Val demanding more information than the scant email Jake found time to shoot him earlier in the day. But he’d lingered out here too long, especially when a second car pulled into the driveway next to him.
Time to head inside.
“How was work today, sweetie?” His mom glanced from the pot she stirred atop the stove when Jake entered the kitchen. Her face brightened. “Oh, don’t you look handsome.”
“Thanks, Mom.” He pressed the expected kiss to her cheek and dropped into one of the chairs at the table to work off his boots. He wore his everyday fatigue-patterned ACUs, not his service dress uniform, but Jennifer Nichols never failed to support Jake in the ways she knew how. They weren’t a military family by any stretch, aside from one uncle’s short stint in the Army around the first Gulf War, but few avenues existed for Jake to pursue a tech career without the funds for college. She’d been thrilled about Jake’s assignment to Vandenberg when he transferred to the newly formed Space Force.
His father’s subsequent arrival in the kitchen saved Jake from answering about his day. The family fell into old patterns of Jake’s childhood, and he set the table quietly while his mom dished the pasta. Dad popping open a second beer and placing it next to Jake’s plate was new, but after his day of meetings with leadership and medical, he needed it.
Even after Mom returned to work full-time once Jake entered high school, her cooking skills remained top-notch. “I have to get this recipe from you,” Jake said, spinning more noodles onto his fork. “I can never get the sauce right.”
“Oh, are you cooking again?” she asked. “I know you hated the stove in your apartment here.”
“Dima’s kitchen is perfect. No complaints there.” Except Dima hated cooking for one, and he’d probably resumed all his poor habits without Jake there for them to trade meal prep. The shitty light beer didn’t help when Jake tried to wash away the bad taste left by the thought.
“Dima?” his father asked.
“Yeah, Dmitri Moroz. I told you I was renting a room in the condo owned by Val’s brother.”
“I thought Val’s brother was a doctor.” Dad frowned. “What sort of doctor needs the extra income of a roommate?”
“One who works in academia, not his own practice. He’s a researcher at the University of Maryland.”
“How interesting,” Mom said. “What type of research?”
“Infectious diseases. He’s currently working on a trial for long-acting HIV meds, actually.”
“Does he know—?” His father cut himself off with a grunt as he selected a piece of garlic bread.
“Yeah, Dad. It’s come up.” Jake’s parents trained him too well for him to roll his eyes, but he was old enough now that he didn’t bother to keep exasperation from his response. They had never once blinked at him being gay, which had been glaringly obvious from a young age. They’d had a much harder time hiding their disappointment at his HIV after how much they emphasized safety as he grew up. His parents didn’t blame him, exactly, but the topic never failed to turn any conversation stilted.
He'd told them he’d returned to California as part of the project he’d been sent to Andrews for. No way was he revealing that his HIV threw his entire military future into question before he had definite news either way. The wait with them for his final diagnosis confirmation had been brutal enough.
“That’s good, I guess,” Dad finally said. “Since you’re sharing space and all.”
“And how is Val these days?” Bless his mom for trying to change the subject, even if she had no clue what raised Jake’s hackles.
“He’s doing well. I told you he got married?”
His mood improved while he and his mom traded gossip about mutual friends through the rest of dinner, but tanked again the moment he finished loading the dishwasher and escaped to the relative privacy of his childhood bedroom. Eighteen years spent in this space, but the condo in Maryland felt so much more like home after mere months. And though he’d only shared Dima’s massive bed for four nights, half-pinned under the larger man’s warm limbs, he’d never felt more untethered and adrift curled up on this twin mattress alone.