Chapter 19 #2
Up a narrow wooden stairway, onto the second floor, there was a small landing with two chipped white doors on either side.
“Bell’s is the far left, next to her Sw—Charbonneau.
This one is Remonet and Hoffman,” Stone said as they passed the first door on the right.
“It used to be Remonet and Charbonneau, but they traded because Charbonneau snores and Swift…” Stone paused with his hand on the door, then pushed on.
“Didn’t mind the noise. I knew he was taking it hard, we all are, and I should’ve talked to him before you arrived and spared you that scene.
It’s just that this all happened rather fast.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Sighing, Stone opened the door and led Sully inside.
“If I had your insight perhaps I’d have spent more time considering how to room us all without injuring him further.
” Sully’s heart clenched unpleasantly at the reminder Stone knew his secret now.
How differently will he see me? Is he already on guard?
He is. Remember how he forced down what he was feeling back there?
“I suppose I could suggest he room with Remonet again and you with Hoffman. Then you wouldn’t be stuck in here with me. ”
Sully stemmed his panic and refocused on their conversation.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not tonight anyway, he’s…
” Charbonneau’s gnashing, furious pain was a pit in Sully’s stomach.
Whatever his own issues, it wasn’t worth causing more harm to someone already suffering so deeply. “Better to let it lie for now.”
Stone took off his cap and tossed it on the bed, ran a hand through his hair.
Sully tried not to be distracted by strands of wheat colored silk slipping through his elegant fingers.
There was a distant glaze in Elliot’s sun-bleached blue eyes.
“I do realize this sounds incredibly pompous, but for the longest time I was all but certain Swift…he seemed to fancy me is all.”
Sully felt a stab of jealousy that wasn’t fair to anyone chased quickly by a flash of guilt and annoyance at himself. God, he was jealous of a dead man, and for what? Still, he couldn’t help but ask, “Did you fancy him?”
Stone quickly shook his head, his gaze on Sully once again entreating. “We were only ever friends and he never outright said it, but I was positive there were hints, which I summarily ignored because of course I was—” His voice cut off, pink flooding his face.
He was what? How was he going to finish that sentence? Sully desperately wanted to know and didn’t at the same time. Stone abruptly wandered around the bed to stare out the window.
The bed.
The sole bed.
The one they would have to share.
Sully could’ve kicked himself, he was so oblivious sometimes. These were small country house rooms. Nice for what they were, roomy even by some standards—by his standards back in Chicago and luxurious beyond the pale by his standards at the front—but he hadn’t fully considered what that meant.
“You were…?” he prompted in an attempt to take his mind off the looming prospect of being in that bed with Stone later.
“Nothing,” Stone said, still not facing him.
Sully let out a huff of air and sank down onto one corner of the flowery quilt, determined not to let his discomfort show. “Maybe he moved on when he realized you weren’t interested.”
“It appears so. I’m glad he was happy while it lasted. I take it you noticed…” Stone swallowed, and Sully wished he couldn’t feel how much he hurt.
“How Charbonneau feels? Yeah.”
Stone nodded slowly. “Look, there is something else we should discuss—” A clatter from downstairs cut him off, and Stone groaned wearily. “Right after I go see what the devil is happening now.”
* * *
THE HOUSE WAS STILL, silent save for the odd creak of the wood settling in the cold.
Elliot sat alone at the kitchen table. The navy knitted fisherman’s sweater he wore over his long-sleeved shirt did little to keep out the chill.
The fire in the woodstove was low, soon to sputter out for the night.
A kerosene lantern provided the only illumination in the dark, shadows clinging to the edges of the room.
Warren had retired hours ago, exhausted from his ordeal and the journey.
After the distraction of the post arriving, there hadn’t been enough privacy to continue the conversation he desperately needed to have with Warren.
So he put it off, convincing himself that Warren needed rest more than he needed the truth tonight.
Elliot should have told him all of it anyway.
This wasn’t a secret he could keep. The longer he concealed it, the more likely Warren was to be furious.
He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t known there would be consequences to indulging the two of them in Warren’s dreams. It was only that he hadn’t expected they would catch up with him so soon.
After the way Warren reacted to discovering Elliot was his new commanding officer, the tension brewing with Charbonneau, and the awkward evening spent planning for Warren’s rapid training and integration, he was too exhausted for another blow out.
Besides, there was no real privacy here, not with all of them crammed into this little house.
If Warren raised his voice, everyone would hear and everyone would know.
And while Bellona had been accepting, and it appeared Charbonneau would theoretically also be inclined to look the other way, the rest of his team might not.
Proof of an improper relationship with another man in and of itself could be enough for a court martial, especially as an officer.
The risk of prosecution was infinitely greater if you were an officer carrying on with an enlisted man.
He didn’t think his sisters would cut him out of their lives even if he was convicted, but their father certainly would and his brothers might.
He would rather not find out. Whether or not they personally despised his choice of bedpartner, every last one of them would be disgusted by the public humiliation a court martial would entail and the unfavorable attention it would draw to their family.
He needed to talk to Warren to explain what had been happening in his dreams, but he didn’t know when or how.
That, he simply couldn’t go up to bed and face.
The moment he fell asleep, he would be in Warren’s mind.
With the way things were between them, Elliot doubted he would be welcome. Not by a conscious Warren.
Neither could he trust himself to turn away when he fell asleep and inevitably discovered he was once more in Warren’s nightmares.
Leaving him to suffer hadn’t been an option before.
Why would it be any more palatable now? It was difficult enough to remain awake, knowing he was breaking a promise to a man who wouldn’t truly want him to fulfill it.
So he sat here, staring at the darkened window, raking himself over the coals of his guilt.
The kitchen door creaked open, letting in an icy draft of winter air, and Elliot sighed soft frustration. The second reason he wasn’t in bed stumbled inside from wherever it was he’d holed up with the emergency bottle of gin. Charbonneau blinked in the glare of the lamplight.
“Do shut the door,” Elliot intoned in a clipped voice. “It’s cold enough in here, thank you.”
Charbonneau grunted something vaguely pejorative, though he complied. He stumbled a few unsteady steps inside, then grabbed onto the kitchen counter to hold himself upright.
“Sit down,” Elliot ordered. “We need to speak and now strikes me as the ideal time.”
Charbonneau gave him a sullen stare Elliot assumed was a rebuke.
He kept his gaze on Charbonneau until he relented, muttering under his breath in French that Elliot understood perfectly and chose magnanimously to ignore.
If he was going to talk to someone so obviously corked, he’d have to put up with mumbled insults.
Through sheer luck, Charbonneau made it to a chair and slumped heavily in it.
Bloodshot eyes blearily rested on Elliot. “What is it you want?”
“What I want is exactly as I’ve stated. I wish to speak to you.
With you.” Elliot knew what he wanted to say, but he was feeling his way in the dark.
He wished, rather suddenly and vividly, that he had Warren’s skill instead of his own.
“I recognize you’re grieving, I do. I know what Ollie meant to you.
You were close. And I think you were quite a lot more than good friends. ”
Charbonneau bristled. Tried to launch to his feet but tripped right back down. “It is none of your affair,” he growled, voice raising.
And Elliot was mucking it up already. Fantastic. He held out his palms in a placating gesture. “I’m not attempting to admonish you. I’m attempting to tell you I understand. I won’t judge you if you speak freely.”
“There is nothing—” Charbonneau winced, and covered his eyes with one hand in a blatant attempt to conceal the despair on his face.
Even drunk he was obstinate. “Rien to discuss,” he lied through his teeth, the denial likely fueled by instinct and self-protection.
And perhaps Elliot ought to let it go until he was sober, but they didn’t have privacy for these sorts of conversations when everyone was awake. It needed hashing out. Now.
Charbonneau couldn’t be allowed to take his grief out on Warren, no matter how much Elliot empathized with that grief. Animosity between members of his team could get them killed. This needed to be rooted out before it festered.