Chapter 6 #2
Let him remember how to breathe. Maybe let his cheeks stop burning. He’d take that.
He grabbed the shampoo and washed, forcing himself to remember that Will was a good man, that his shame here wouldn’t go any further. He was getting better. He was figuring it out.
He was going to have to call Sloan. Ask him how he was. He’d been selfish long enough. Whatever he thought of Sloan showing up down here, he needed to know that his… his whatever. Lover? Was whole. Healthy.
They wouldn’t let him be a cop if he wasn’t physically able, and Lance knew it, but that meant dick all.
He took a deep breath. Then another. Then he turned back into the shower, murmuring to Abby when she whined.
“It’s okay, girl. I’m okay. I gotta wash my hair.” He rinsed off, then ran one hand along the wall, feeling his way so he could put the shampoo bottle back where it belonged.
Fuck, he hated this shit.
As soon as he was dressed, Will was right there, talking away and not saying much of anything. It was weirdly comforting.
He walked out with Abby, meeting Dan the van man out in the lobby.
“Hey, man. You all set?”
“I am.” He was going to have to be, he thought. He was shaken as fuck.
“Do you mind a rain check for lunch, man?” Will asked. “I’m thinking about a nap.”
“I like naps.”
He had a feeling some kind of look passed between Will and Dan, because not much else was said, Dan walking him out to the van.
They didn’t chat, and as soon as they got back to the house, he headed to his room, not wanting to be around the other guys.
Once the door was closed and locked, he told his phone to text Sloan.
Can I call tonight?
The answer came back fast.
of course. ideally I get off at 6. I’ll text if I’m still on a call out
Kk
He swallowed hard. How was he supposed to wait until six to say what he had to say? God. He was a mess.
So he laid down on his bed and went to sleep for a bit. Woke up hungry. Wolfed down a sandwich. Listened to an audiobook.
And the alarm he’d set finally went off.
Okay. Okay, he could do this.
U round?
I am.
He took a deep breath and told his phone to call Sloan.
“Hey, Lance.”
He was glad Sloan didn’t call him babe or honey. That would make this all so much harder.
“I wanted to apologize. I—I’ve been awful to you. I never asked if you were okay. That sucks. I’m sorry.”
Sloan was silent for a minute. “You mean from the bombing? Or from everything else?”
“All of the above.”
“I have a few burn scars. Took a little shrapnel in my right leg. Physically that’s it. Mostly from pulling guys out of the wreckage. But I have my share of bad dreams.”
That was a polite way of saying that no, Sloan was not okay, and that he had PTSD like so many soldiers coming back.
“I’m sorry.”
“Shit, Lance. I know I’m damn lucky compared to a lot of the guys we served with. And it kills me that you got hurt and that I wasn’t there to help.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t know what to say to that, so he let it go. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry about, you know, not asking.”
“I appreciate it. Is this easier? Not being right there with me, physically? Can we talk a little?”
“Um, sure. I mean, I guess.”
Sloan’s chuckle sent a little shiver up his spine. It was low, intimate, so familiar. “A resounding agreement. I just want someone to talk to while I heat up a frozen dinner and open my beer, honey.”
There it was. That honey . Christ. It made him feel stupid. All flushed and— He didn’t need to be feeling that way.
Not for anyone, let alone Sloan.
“I can do that.” He had no idea what to talk to people about anymore if it wasn’t his dog or his recovery. No one just chatted with him, not even Brick.
“So, do you do audiobooks? What are you reading right now?” They had always talked books, because that was something they could always get their hands on.
“Something by Stephen King. One of the hard-case mystery things, I think. What are you reading?”
“Manuals. Lots of them.”
“Manuals. That sounds very fun. What are you trying to learn to do?” That sounded like hell on earth, if he was honest.
“Oh, it’s mostly work shit. Differences between New Mexico and Texas, you know?”
“Is that where you ended up going back to? New Mexico?” He had fond memories of visiting Sloan’s home state.
Sloan had been so excited he’d agreed to come to the Land of Enchantment with him.
It had been fun—green chile and huge sky and art everywhere.
The thing he remembered most was making love in Sloan’s childhood bed in his mother’s house, which was creepy, but delicious nonetheless. Oh, and the Plaza Cafe downtown.
He had to wonder if Sloan remembered how they fed each other at the Plaza Cafe fondly.
“I did. I even bought a house.”
Oh damn. “Really?”
“Yeah. It’s in between Santa Fe and Espanola. Closer to Santa Fe, because I had a job there.”
Lance could hear the pride ringing out from Sloan. “Wow. That’s amazing. Your own house. Congratulations, man. ”
“Yeah, thanks, but I don’t have much, three acres or so, but it’s nice, it’s fenced, and the house is good. I even have a couple of goats.”
“And you’re here.” It didn’t make any sense. “What are you doing with your goats?”
“My sister’s watching them.”
“Oh no.” Now that would be something to see. Grace was not what he would consider a cowgirl. Grace was a high-powered attorney in Santa Fe who worked with legislators. She really was a brilliant lady, with three kids, but he couldn’t see her getting her Leboutins covered in horse poop.
“Shut up. She made me buy her these really expensive muck boots.”
“Do they have red bottoms?”
Sloan’s laughter boomed out, and it made it easy for him to chuckle and settle back deeper into the pillows, relaxing. “What kind of goats do you have?”
“I have two Nubians. One of them’s named Tin Man. The other one’s Dorothy. And then I have a Boer named Toto.”
He cracked up. “Really, they’re all Wizard of Oz names? How did that even happen?”
Sloan sighed, and Lance could imagine him rolling his eyes.
“Toto came first, she’s the Boer, and then I bought the other two.
So, it just worked out. I wanted to name him Scarecrow.
But Scarecrow seemed like such a mean name for an animal.
” There was a pause, and then Sloan asked, “So do I get to ask a question now?”
He found himself tensing, his eyebrows lowered in a frown. “Hey, we were just having a conversation.”
“Right, sorry. I guess I’m a little unpracticed at this, but I have so many questions.”
“Okay, like what?”
“How long have you been in Texas?”
“A little over a year.” He’d been at the rehab ranch for a few months, but the house in town suited him way better, if he was honest.
“Damn. But why did you pick the Rocking W ranch to go to your rehab? There are better places.”
“Maybe there are, but you know, I’m a Texan at heart.
I made a good friend when I was in the hospital.
He was a nurse, and he’d been here. He’d trained here.
He suggested it. He said it was diverse, it was gay-friendly, it was small, and it was homey.
I like Luke a lot. He’s a solid guy, so is Matt.
I just don’t…he doesn’t talk much, and it’s weird when you can’t see somebody, and they don’t talk much. ”
“I bet. I also imagine people have a tendency to babble at you. I do. Would. If we were together at all.” Sloan laughed then, the sound rough as a cob, as if he didn’t do it much. “See? Doing it now.”
“Do I make you that nervous? Is it the scars?” It could be the scars.
“What the fuck?” Sloan’s voice rang with shock.
“Yes, you make me that nervous. Are you kidding? Jesus Christ, Simpson. I left my job, my house, my critters on the chance that you would take my ass back. I am walking on fucking eggshells here, terrified that I’ll say the thing that’s going to send you running again.
Hell, I’m not just nervous, I’m scared.”
Lance blinked, and he found himself absolutely unsure what to say.
“Dammit, and now you’re not fucking talking to me. See?”
“No, no, no, no, I just…I don’t know what to say. I feel, I feel terrible. I fucked everything up. Everything is messed up, and it’s my fault.”
“No, dipshit. You didn’t blow yourself up. You didn’t blow me up. That’s not what happened. You didn’t blow Radar up. It just happened.”
Oh God. He reached down to love on Abby, needing her support, her love. She was right there, too, her fur soft as smoke. “I think about him all the time.”
Weirdly enough that was who he thought about—the dog. The people were distant like ghost memories, but he saw Radar every time he closed his eyes to sleep.
“God, me too. He was my boy.” Oh, poor Sloan. His heart ached for his lover. So hard.
“Yeah.” He scratched at his beard, the scars dragging against his fingernails, and he forced himself to stop. He know that didn’t help anything. “He was a good dog. He had your back.”
“You know it.” Sloan’s laugh sounded thick and raw, rusty. “He did. Do you remember that time we were supposed to be training, and there was that one guy who had that bloodhound in heat, and Radar just could not keep his dick in his proverbial pants?”
Lance chuckled because he hadn’t thought about that in years. They started swapping stupid stories about that damn dog.
He had to admit, it felt fucking good simply talking to Sloan. Just sort of like putting on a pair of comfy PT shorts.
But knowing talking to Sloan made it better, made Sloan sound better? That felt amazing.
Because of all the things he had been during this whole fucking experience, alone was never one of them. Never. No one ever left him the fuck alone. Sloan had been alone this entire time.
That broke his heart.
That he’d been a fucking part of that was worse. Sloan deserved better.
“Thank you, honey.”
“What for?” Lance said.
“For remembering. For talking to me about. It— it helps. I had a therapist, you know. Appointed. When I first got back. She was nice and all, but she’d never been there.”
“Shit. Yeah.” He got that. In that he was lucky, too, right? He was surrounded by vets. “You’re not alone.”
It hurt his heart to know he’d been a part of allowing Sloan to be isolated.
“I—thank you. Not just for saying it, but for tonight. It feels good, just to shoot the shit.”
“It does.” And that wasn’t surprising. He hadn’t walked away from Sloan because of Sloan. He’d done it for Sloan.
“Anyway, I— Can I take you out this weekend, Lance? Just to sit and talk in person. Have some food? Or I can cook for you. Enchiladas.”
“Oh.” Oh, he loved Sloan—Sloan’s enchiladas. “Green chile chicken ones or flat ones with an egg?”
“Whichever one you want more, honey.” Sloan chuckled. “I like Tex-Mex, but I need my fix.”
He had to laugh. New Mexican food and Tex-Mex were very different birds, it was true.
“I could so go for some flat with eggs. I’ll come over to your place.
That way if I slop it all down my front, you’re the only one to see it.
” It still made the pit of his belly feel as though it had fallen out.
All it took was the idea of going and being alone with Sloan.
But he was going to try.
“Do I need to pick you up?” Sloan asked.
“No. No, it will be easier if Abby and I come in the van, at least this time.” Which he knew sort of predicted another time, and he wasn’t sure if he was giving Sloan false hope or not.
“Okay. Should I text my address?”
Lance scoffed. “I would bet anything Dan already knows where you live. Rumors abound in this town. But yeah, text it to me and I can show him. When and what time? ”
“Sunday at three? I can make chips and guac to munch before. If it gets weird, we’ll put on The Mummy .”
“Nice.” They both liked the 1999 version of the movie, and he knew it by heart, so he could picture it as he listened. “I’ll be there.”
He didn’t know if this was a good idea, not really. But it was the best idea he had. Sloan deserved this—to have a friend to talk to, if nothing else.
Lance still loved the son of a bitch. Always would.
After all, that was why he’d broken it off, right? Not because they weren’t friends, but because he wasn’t going to be someone’s lover anymore.
He wasn’t going to be able to keep up with Sloan.
Maybe…
Hell, maybe he needed to find Sloan someone else to fall in love with.