Better Late Than Never

5. Connor

CHAPTER 5

CONNOR

T he air in my cabana was thick with the lingering heat of the afternoon. The sweetness of the flowers in my yard and the smell of my freshly cut grass mingled with the sharpness of the weed my neighbors were smoking on the other side of the high wall.

It was almost 2200 and the sun was still up, though it was easing toward the horizon and turning the sky warm shades of red and purple. I still wasn’t used to that—the sun setting so late in the evening. That was harder to adapt to than things like siesta and when restaurants were and weren’t open. They didn’t affect how things ran on-base, but it had been eye-opening the first time I’d tried to go to a Spanish supermarket during siesta or find something to eat at what I normally thought of as dinnertime. Culture shock was a strange thing, that was for sure.

I’d get used to it all. Every place had its own rhythm and its own sounds, and I’d adapt to Spain just like I had all my other duty stations. Probably just in time to move, but better late than never, I guess. And definitely better than trying to adapt to a combat zone again.

I sat back in the cabana chair and enjoyed the warmth, though I tempered it with a cold beer. I gazed out at the gorgeous yard surrounding the pool. It was perfectly manicured, and the only credit I could take for that was paying for it; my rent included pool maintenance and garden service. Both workers had been here earlier today, and they did amazing work. Everything was beautiful.

Beautiful, and… empty.

Outside the walls of the villa, the world was alive with the soft sounds of people enjoying their evenings. My neighbors talking and—from the sound of it—playing some of kind of game. The café half a block away was hitting its dinner rush, and the scrape of chairs on pavement, the clatter of silverware, and the chatter of people filtered through the peaceful night to me.

Inside these walls, though, everything was silent. Even the pool was glass smooth, not sloshing against the sides like it sometimes did. All the gentle noise outside emphasized how utterly quiet and still everything was in here.

It made me fantasize for a hot minute about what it would’ve been like to be stationed here when the boys had been younger. They’d no doubt be splashing in the pool, loving that there was still daylight—even if it was fading—this late at night. It was a Saturday night in July, so it wasn’t like they’d need to go to school the next morning. They could enjoy the pool without burning to a crisp like they would in the afternoon; their mother and I had cursed them both with the fair skin of my Irish and her Swedish ancestry.

The thought of them swimming here right now made me smile, but then it tugged at my heart. They weren’t little boys anymore. Quinn was twenty-two and living with his girlfriend. Landon had turned twenty just before I’d left for Spain. He was living with his mom while he went to a community college, and then he’d probably transfer to a university. Quinn would be graduating from college next year, and I doubted he’d wait that long before proposing to Savannah.

I took a deep pull from my beer. I was proud of my sons, and I was close to both of them, but I still regretted how much of their lives I’d missed, especially early on. I’d been in Iraq when Landon was born. In Afghanistan when Quinn had spent a week in the hospital with a respiratory bug. After that, I’d shifted gears and gone to medical school, so at least I wouldn’t be deploying for a while, least of all to combat zones. Didn’t mean I was the most present father, though, especially when I started my rotations.

I’d done my level best to make up for lost time. During my two shipboard deployments later on, I’d been in constant contact with them, and I’d even managed to have Aimee fly out with the boys to meet me in port a couple of times.

But I’d still missed so much.

And now I was missing them. As kids, as adults; I just missed having my sons nearby and being able to talk to them without working around time zones.

I even caught myself missing Aimee. Not the fighting, just… having her here. Having someone here.

Closing my eyes, I pushed out a long breath. I was just lonely. Of course I missed my kids, but when I found myself truly longing for my ex-wife to be with me—that was when I knew there was more going on here. For the last three years before we’d separated, Aimee and I couldn’t even be in the same room without my hackles going up. In the three years since, the anger had mostly died away, and if anything, I was mildly annoyed or totally neutral about her. The animosity was gone, but so was the affection.

So yeah, when I started wishing she could be here, that meant I was getting desperate.

I looked at my phone, which was lying on the table beside my beer bottle.

The app I’d downloaded was still on it, though I hadn’t looked at it since my conversation with HM1 Barlow. Admittedly, what he’d said had spooked me. And all the reasons I’d been reluctant to make a profile still existed. The language barrier with the locals. The political and disciplinary risks with the military community.

I was curious, though. And lonely as hell.

It had also occurred to me several times that Barlow had a profile on that app. It meant he was queer and single too. It meant that, had we not been what we were in the Navy, I might actually have had a snowball’s chance in hell with him.

Curiosity had been tugging me toward the app ever since we’d talked, but I hadn’t indulged. My profile was still active, but I hadn’t been back on. It wasn’t a good idea. Why torture myself with seeing his photos and reading his preferences when I couldn’t have him? Also, it felt kind of intrusive. It was a public profile, but if I knew it was him…

Then again, he’d found my profile, so if he didn’t want me to see his, he’d likely have blocked me. Right?

Either way, the siren’s call of his profile was tough to ignore.

And maybe I was just a little too lonely and masochistic tonight, but I finally caved. I picked up my phone and opened the app for the first time in days.

Before I could hunt down the hot corpsman, though, I realized I had some notifications. I’d turned off push notifications—I hated those on any app—so I hadn’t noticed them until now.

Three were private messages. Unsurprisingly, two were very obviously spam. Delete. Delete.

The third, though…

I sat up a little as I peered at my screen. I recognized that profile photo. And the username.

Tobias.

Holy shit. That was the guy Barlow had been warning me about. And he’d messaged me already?

I tapped the message, more curious than anything.

Hey, saw your profile! I remember stepping out into the gay scene. Isn’t easy! Happy to help you find your footing. Or we can just have a good time. (wink emoji)

I couldn’t decide if my skin was crawling because of the message itself—if there was some creepy subtext—or if it was Barlow’s warning that had me regarding him warily. Both, maybe? Because Barlow had seemed really uneasy about Tobias. Enough that he’d felt compelled to approach me and warn me about him. That wasn’t something he’d just pull out of his ass, was it? Stirring up drama? Keeping me from connecting with Tobias? It wasn’t like he even knew me—why would he care if I hooked up with someone?

Everything about our conversation had struck me as genuine, from his warnings about Tobias to his discomfort with talking to me about it. So he probably wasn’t full of?—

An instant messenger window popped up. I jumped, nearly dropping my phone.

When I recovered, I realized the message was from Tobias.

My heart pounded as if he’d just materialized here in my backyard even though his location showed as twenty-six kilometers away in Jerez de la Frontera. I could ignore him. Block him. Pretend I’d never seen the message.

Curiosity prodded me. More than anything, though, my gut said to listen to Barlow.

So, I closed the messenger without reading it and I blocked Tobias’s profile. I felt weird about that, but also like it was the right decision. Barlow didn’t know me, but something about Tobias had rattled him enough to come say something, and listening to him felt like erring on the side of caution.

I was still curious about Barlow himself, though, so I pulled up the search function.

He wasn’t hard to find. Filtering out profiles to just English-speaking trimmed the results by about eighty-five percent, leaving just a handful of locals and a smattering of Americans. Narrowing it further by age—eliminating the twenty-somethings and over fifty—left only two pages of results.

And that profile, I was pretty sure, was Barlow’s.

The photo showed a shirtless white man with broad shoulders and tattooed biceps. I’d never seen Barlow’s upper arms, so I had no idea if he had ink, but something told me that was him.

The location showed him as being nine kilometers away in Chipiona. I hadn’t been to that town, but I drove by the exit for it every day on my way to work. It was close. Too damn close.

Still, I tapped the profile and thumbed through the photos. Like me, he hadn’t included any face pics, but as I looked at what he had provided, recognition definitely grew. Especially once I got to some of the fully clothed shots. There was one where he had on a T-shirt with an open button-up over it, and something about the way that shirt sat hit the same note as how his camouflage blouse fit him.

He wasn’t ripped like some of the guys on this app. Slim enough to meet the military’s requirements, but no six-pack or anything like that. Same as me. That made him even more attractive, if I was honest; the thought of getting naked with a man who’d be right at home in a men’s fitness magazine intimidated the hell out of me.

I switched back to the text part of his profile and started reading, telling myself I was just looking for ideas for my own profile.

I’m in my late 30s. Single and looking to stay that way, but I’m always down for a good time. One-time hookups, fuck buddies, or someone to take off with for a weekend in Barcelona or Ibiza—I’m your man. I’m not out in my day-to-day life, so discretion is a must. I’ll be discreet for you too, but don’t come looking for someone to cheat with.

My mouth had gone dry for some reason, and I took another swallow of beer. I’d never been much for partying and clubs, but the thought of hitting up the gay club scene had intrigued me ever since I’d found myself a single man. Were there clubs near here? Except that probably wasn’t safe, given the proximity to the base. Some of the other cities nearby? Or maybe up in Madrid? Or… Barcelona? Ibiza?

With HM1 Barlow?

I laughed aloud at that. Yeah, right. The best I could hope for was to bump into him in a club and get to watch him with other men.

That… oh, fuck. Goose bumps sprang up all over me, and I shivered despite the heat of the evening. God, I wished…

I shook myself and kept reading.

The next section made me gulp— What I’m Like in the Bedroom .

I caught one word—switch—before I closed the profile, then the app, and sat back in my chair as I drained what was left of my beer. I really, really shouldn’t read that part. I’d only drive myself even more insane, and it would cross the line into intrusive.

Closing my eyes, I pressed the empty but cold bottle against my forehead. I needed to stop doing this to myself. HM1 Barlow was about as off limits as a person could be without being my direct superior or subordinate. The military strictly forbade even the slightest fraternization between officers and enlisted, and it didn’t matter why.

What I needed to do was get my ass to another city, hit up a club, and find my footing there. Connect with someone who wasn’t military. Weren’t there some areas in Málaga with a lot of British expats? They wouldn’t be attached to the military and they’d speak English. Seemed like a good place to start. All I had to do was get over there, get to a gay bar, and…

And…

Then what?

I deflated a bit. Tipping my head back against the chair, I looked around. The sun had set, and darkness settled over my yard, broken up only by the porch light and the glow of various neighbors’ houses. The evening was still full of the sounds of people dining nearby, but that was mostly muffled by my pounding heart.

What would I do in a club? I’d been a married father well before I’d turned twenty-one, so even when I’d gone to clubs after basic training or during A-school, it had just been to drink and have a good time with my friends. Same when I was deployed on a ship. There’d been plenty of married officers and enlisted who cheated their way through every port call, but I’d never done more than drink and get loud. While I may not have been the best husband in the world, I’d been absolutely faithful to my wife.

So here I was, forty goddamned years old, thinking about stepping on to the gay club scene where I’d be surrounded by experienced men half my age. I was going to make an ass of myself, wasn’t I?

I closed my eyes again and swore into the humid silence.

What I really needed was someone to go with me, like when I’d gone to bars with the guys during A-school. Someone I could trust to point me in the right direction, give me a primer on what to do and what not to do, and hell, even tell my dumb ass what to wear.

“Someone to take off for a weekend in Barcelona or Ibiza” —the words echoed in my head in HM1 Barlow’s voice— “I’m your man.”

I stared up at the night sky. That wasn’t against the rules, was it? Officers and enlisted weren’t allowed to fraternize, but if we just happened to be at the same club and we just happened to started talking to each other…

Squirming in my chair, I knew this was a terrible idea. It would be a professional risk, and it would probably break my stupid brain that already wouldn’t stop record-scratching every time HM1 Barlow crossed my mind.

There were two big reasons, however, why I knew I’d broach the subject with him anyway.

One, because I had no idea what else to do and I was getting desperate.

And two…

Because fuck me, I wanted to.