Chapter 5
Chapter Five
W hat was he doing?
Seriously. What.
Lance sat silently in the passenger side of the van serving the veteran houses in town, trying not to barf. He was meeting Sloan Ferguson for coffee. Sloan. Who was now a cop. Here. In the same town where he was learning to be a real boy.
Christ.
There was no way—no way this wasn’t on purpose.
He felt terrible, because he loved Sloan, and he knew Sloan loved him, but—he was broken. Not just physically, but in every way.
That was why he’d left. Lance had known Sloan had intended to martyr himself upon his recovery.
He’d known it, and he couldn’t stand the thought.
So he’d shipped out and told Sloan they were done.
That he was on his own for this, and he wasn’t going to let Sloan ruin his life on a blind, scarred asshole like him.
And he’d left .
Now he was having coffee? What the hell was wrong with him?
“Here we are, man.” Dan pulled up to a stop. “Just have Abby take you right on in as you exit to the right.”
“Thanks, Dan.”
“You okay, man? You look kinda pale.”
He took a deep breath. “Just a little queasy from the ride. Still not used to not being able to see, you know?”
“Yeah, it can cause some motion sickness.” Dan clapped him on the arm, careful not to jostle him too much where he had scars. “Holler when you’re ready for me to come get you. I think I’m gonna go to the used bookstore.”
“Cool. I’ll text.” He took a deep breath, let it out. “To the curb, Abby.”
They made it in to the coffee shop without too much trouble, the bell above the door ringing.
“Welcome in!” The voice was light, female, and Texas to the bone.
“Forward, Abby.” He wanted a cinnamon toast latte and some sort of pastry. He didn’t know if Sloan was here or not, but surely the man would say so.
“How are you today?”
“Good. I want one of your cinnamon toast lattes. What kind of pastries do you have today?”
“We have cinnamon buns, chocolate croissants, blueberry muffins, and Mexican hot chocolate eclairs.”
Oh, the eclairs sounded good, but that was a treat for hiding in the bedroom with the door locked. “I think I’ll do a blueberry muffin…”
How much of a mess could he make with that?
“You don’t want something chocolate? You love chocolate.” Sloan’s voice rattled him, balls to bones. He tried to hide it, not jump like an idiot .
“I don’t. It’s messy, and I have to ride home, you know?” And he didn’t want to look a fool, dammit.
He could hear Sloan thinking, he was sure of it. Like gears spinning, cogs clanking and whirring. “I— Sure. Okay.” Sloan’s inhale was clear. “I’ll take the chocolate croissant and a…”
“Black coffee with a splash of cream,” Lance said. Sloan had never ordered anything else.
Now Sloan snorted. “Yeah. Sounds good.”
“Come on and sit. I’ll get the stuff when it comes up.”
“I’ll deliver,” the barista called out.
“Where am I headed?”
“I’m not sure what you need me to do.” Sloan was right there, almost close enough to feel his heat, but he didn’t touch Lance at all.
“Just go, and I’ll let Abby follow you.”
“I can do that.” Sloan moved away, the sound tracking off to his right.
“Follow, Abby.” He and Abby had all sorts of commands, and Abby was getting them down. Their trainer said Abby knew way more words than some of the other dogs already.
Of course she did. Abby was the greatest dog in the history of dogs, and there had been a long history of great dogs. Hell, he was beginning to think Abby was the best friend he was ever gonna have.
“I picked a table; the chair’s right here by your right hand,” Sloane said, and he nodded.
“Thanks.” He pulled the chair out and managed to sit and not kill himself, which was a new little victory every time it happened. Then Abby settled in, and so did he.
He couldn’t believe he was doing this, sitting here with his Mr. Right. It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t have to break up with somebody twice. But that was just what he was going to do.
“All right, I’m here. You have some talking to do. So you better get on with it. I have to catch my ride before it leaves. I only have about an hour.” Which wasn’t all the way true, but it was close enough.
“I came here to try to win you back,” Sloan said, his tone deadly serious.
He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Well, that was a monumental waste of time. What? You left your job, bought a house here in Nowhere, Texas?”
“No, I’m renting a house, and yeah, I took a leave of absence from my job.
I didn’t know for sure you were here, so I applied at a bunch of different places that had a bunch of different rehabs that I thought you might choose.
This was the one that offered me a job. I can’t tell you how incredibly grateful I am that I didn’t get the one down near New Orleans.
The humidity is going to kill me here. I can’t imagine what it was going to do back down there. ..”
“Do you know how weird that sounds? I applied to a bunch of jobs in a bunch of places where disabled veterans might go in the hopes that this guy who broke up with me might be there, and that I might be able to win him back. That’s just dumb.
You’re not dumb, so just tell me the truth. You knew I was here and you came here.”
“No.” Sloan sighed, the sound gusty and frustrated.
“I assumed. I knew you were from Texas. I knew you liked ranches. I knew you were queer. This place is a ranch. It’s in Texas, and it’s queer-friendly.
So yeah, I tried harder for this job, and when it came up I jumped at it because yes, I figured you’d be here.
I didn’t know . And maybe it is dumb. People have done stupider things.
Like, for instance, breaking up with their lover because they got hurt. I think that counts.”
“That wasn’t dumb. That was incredibly important. I’m not going to saddle you with my sorry ass, and I told you that. I need you to leave after this coffee, and just let it go. I’m not dating anyone ever again.” Not ever.
“Because that’s not super drama llama.”
Lance saw red. “I will kick your fucking ass.”
“You’ll try. I mean, if I stood over to one side, maybe you could see me with your peripheral vision, right?”
He heard Sloan’s quick inhale and knew the man was going to be all sorry, sorry, sorry , but it tickled the hell out of him. Lance couldn’t stop the laugh—not for love or money.
That was the funniest thing anybody’d said to him in days.
Maybe months.
“I guess you could make beeping noises to give me a target,” he said between gasps of laughter. Abby nudged his leg, as if she were worried about him. Maybe she was. He probably sounded like he was having a seizure to her.
He ruffled her ears. “I’m okay, girl.”
Sloan snorted. “Are you, though?”
“No.” He sobered fast. “I mean it, Sloan. I want you to go.”
“Tough shit.” Sloan touched his hand on the tabletop, making him jump. “I want to stay and fight for you.”
“What is wrong with you? I’m not a project. I’m broken. Like permanently.” And he wasn’t going to be someone’s pity fuck or inspiration porn.
“Do you think you’re the only one who got out of this with scars?” Sloan demanded, and his eyes went wide, pulling at the edges.
“No, asshole, I know that I’m not. I live with three guys—one in a wheelchair, one with one arm, one who has burns over fifty percent of his body and a brain injury.
Not to mention my den mother who spends a ton of time helping guys with PTSD.
I realize I’m not the only one. I spend my life surrounded by the knowledge that I wasn’t the only one. ”
“I’m not scared of your scars. I’m not scared of the fact that you’re blind.
I don’t love you any less because of who you are.
I don’t love you any more because of it, either.
Are you a hero? Fuck yeah. So are all those other guys.
I’d love you anyway. I love you no matter what, and you can’t stop that. ”
He didn’t understand. He was giving Sloan a way out. A get-out-of-jail-free card. Somehow the stupid son of a bitch wouldn’t take it.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“A chance. I want to be a something in your life. Even if it’s just a friend. I?—”
The barista came up with the coffees and the pastries, a smile in her voice. “Here you go, guys.”
“Can you tell me where the food is, please?” He asked as soon as she left. He didn’t want to burn himself on the coffee.
“Do you do the clock thing?” Sloan asked. “I read about it.”
Figured. “Yeah, I do the clock thing. Twelve, six, three, nine.” He used his fingers to point the directions of the clock.
“Your pastry is on the plate directly in front of you. Your coffee’s at ten. The handle’s facing out away from your plate.”
“Big handle, or little handle?”
“Big, and there’s a bunch of cinnamon on the top so when you take a sip, don’t breathe in.”
“Good to know. Do you know cinnamon burns like crazy?”
“No. It does?” Sloan let him take that one and run with it, which was good. He needed to ramble about something totally unimportant.
“Yeah. I know because my mom dropped some on the gas stove when I was a kid. Whoosh.”
“I’d never heard that. You’d think they would teach you that in chemistry class.”
“Right?” He sighed. “Sloan, I’m not sure if I can?—”
“Try.”
“I just need time to recover.”
“No.” The word came out flat, and he heard Sloan sip his coffee. “ The more time I give you, the more you’ll convince yourself you’re doing me a favor. That you don’t need me, and that I’m better off without you.”
“You are.” He picked up his coffee, careful not to get cinnamon up his nose when he breathed it in.
“And if that proves to be true, okay. But you can’t say for sure it will. Please, ba— Lance. Give me some time.”
He chewed his lip, which was a mistake, as it pulled at his scars. Shit. Part of him wanted to scream at Sloan, tell him to go to hell.
The other half of him wanted to just say yes. He’d missed the hell out of this man. He’d missed Sloan’s voice, his touch, his silly jokes… Lance had missed it all.
“I don’t know.” He picked up his muffin after he set down his coffee. Sugar fell off on his hand, so he knew it had at least those sugar crystals, maybe a streusel. Ugh. Mess.
“You should try a bite of my croissant,” Sloan murmured. “The chocolate is amazing.”
“Maybe I’ll get one and an eclair to go.”
“Or you could try a bite of mine.”
“Dammit, Sloan.”
“Yes. Damn it all. I am not going to let you stop having food you like or doing fun things because it might be awkward.”
“You’re not going to let me?” He tried to keep his voice from rising, but it was super tough. Lance was shaking.
Abby nosed him again, and he breathed in deep, tempted to do the tapping exercises he’d learned from his therapist to help tame his anxiety.
“You don’t tell me what to do,” he said, his voice soft again now, and he wrapped his control around him like a blanket.
Sloan took a deep breath too, and he heard it come out like yoga breathing. Whoosh . “You’re right. I’m sorry. That was incredibly high-handed of me, not to mention rude. I’m sorry.”
He waited for the “but”, waited for Sloan’s next salvo, but it didn’t come.
“Apology accepted,” he said after a breath or two. He pulled a piece off his muffin, eating it carefully.
“Thanks. I just get all caught up in wanting to make sure I’m in your life. It makes me a little pushy. I don’t want you to hate me.”
Right. Like that was gonna happen.
“I’m not in a place to be lovers with anybody. Hell, I’m not sure I’m in the place I can be a friend to anybody right now. I’m angry. I mean really angry at the entire world, and I don’t think I can let anybody be close to me.”
“So you can be angry. I’m not asking to move in. I’m not asking for sex.” Sloan sighed. “You can be angry, and I’ll listen. You can fight with me. You can do anything…I mean, do you still love me?”
“What?” How could someone ask him something like that?
“Do you still love me?”
“Yeah, don’t say that in a fucking coffee shop, man. Shut up.” How could someone ask him something like this in public? Sloan was just going to get them beat to death, both of them. He couldn’t afford that. “Seriously. What are you thinking? This is not like some big queer party palace.”
“‘Party palace’? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Sloan huffed out a laugh, but there wasn’t any humor in the sound. “There are lots of gay guys here now, right? I mean, you do understand that, right? I know you do, because that’s why you came here.”
“Well, yes, but…” He closed his eyes, against the heating of his cheeks. Sloan took him right back to being in the service, back to watching what he said, what he meant. “Jesus. ”
Lance wasn’t used to being out of the closet. He wasn’t sure there was going to be a closet ever to be in or out of, because he wasn’t sure he was going to want to have sex with anybody ever again. He didn’t know who he was anymore.
He was learning how to be a new…him.
“So my question still stands, and there’s no one else in this coffee shop right now, and the barista girl’s in the back.
So, answer me. Do you still love me? If the answer is no, I’ll go back to Santa Fe.
I’ll leave you alone. I won’t bother you again.
If you’re not still in love with me. I’ll go.
” He could hear the truth ringing in Sloan’s voice, truth and hope and pain.
This was it. This was his out.
All he had to do was pretend to look in Sloan’s general direction and say no.
One word.
One syllable.
Two tiny, little letters.
He sighed and swallowed hard.
“Yes.”