Chapter 4
James
Iwondered how long it would take to stop waking up at the crack ass of dawn and if it would even be worth it if I’d just be re-upping again. A sigh of defeat preceded me as I rolled off the pull-out mattress. It wasn’t the best thing I’d ever slept on, but it was also a far cry from the worst.
I stretched and scratched at my chest as I made my way into the kitchen.
I was relieved to see that despite only being here a day, Marc had prioritized getting it stocked with the essentials—most importantly, the coffee.
Midway through getting the pot ready, my bladder reminded me none too politely that it was not a fan of the only bathroom being in the main bedroom.
I was debating whether to let myself in, awkwardness be damned, or simply pissing in the sink when the sound of a raised voice caught my attention.
Not that Marc was shouting. He was actually doing a damn good job of keeping the argument relatively quiet.
Probably wouldn’t have heard it at all if I’d been asleep.
And I wasn’t a nosy fucker. On the upside, at least I wasn’t the only one awake at this god-awful hour for no apparent reason.
“God damn it, Jones,” Marc said forcefully on the other side of the closed bedroom door.
I paused in pulling out coffee cups to listen more closely. It hadn’t escaped my notice that Marc had not been expecting me, nor was he too happy about it. I was kind of hoping that was more of a Jones-thing and less of a me-thing, and eavesdropping was the fastest way to find out.
“You couldn’t even fucking call? Why didn’t you tell me something came up?” Marc asked. “No. You said you’d have to follow behind, not that you’d be sending a replacement in your stead.”
I shook my head and finished setting down the cups, then went in search of silverware.
Jones was a good guy and could be a great friend, but when he wasn’t on active duty, I swore he had a memory like a goldfish.
It wasn’t that he didn’t care. I knew that, just like I was pretty sure Marc knew that.
Otherwise he’d have flaked with barely more than a “sorry”.
“I do appreciate you still finding a way to help. I do. But did it have to be fucking Gallagher?”
I straightened with a frown. What the hell was wrong with me?
I could fix up a shop as well as the next guy.
Sure, I didn’t have the background in carpentry that Jones did, but I was confident I could manage.
If I could build a shelter in the middle of the desert with next to no supplies, I was pretty sure I could manage a few flower boxes.
“What’s wrong with him?” Marc scoffed, drawing my attention back to my one side of the heated argument.
“I don’t expect you to understand this, Jones, because you’ve never had someone literally pull you out of the hole you thought you’d die in.
Yes, that’s my fucking problem,” he snapped with a surprising amount of vigor.
“I asked my friend to help me get set up for the next stage of my life and you sent my goddamn personal hero instead.”
Well, now. That was… unexpected. Seemed I wasn’t the only one that day stuck with.
I’d been curious whether he’d remember me once he recovered.
Part of me hadn’t wanted him to remember any of what I’d seen where I found him and what remained of his unit.
But a selfish part had, because even beaten to hell, there was something about Marc, something in his eyes.
And now I was maybe a little put out that his awkward behavior wasn’t because of our unexpected and way too hot interaction the other day.
“I’m done talking about this with you. Bottom line, if you couldn’t come, you should have fucking said so. Now I have to figure out what the hell to do with Gallagher. Yeah, so thanks-no thanks.” At his profound sigh and subsequent footsteps, I immediately got back to looking busy.
The bedroom door opened, and I intentionally did not look up.
“I hope you like your coffee strong. Then again, I’m pretty sure the army teaches everyone to have an iron stomach,” I added with a smile, and finally raised my head to find Marc staring at me as if he was trying to figure out how I’d gotten there.
“You made coffee?” he asked once he pulled himself back together, pointedly looking away. That was interesting. Maybe our little interaction had affected him. “I, uh, I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Not at all. I imagine it’ll be a while before I stop automatically waking up at O-four hundred.”
He snorted. “Tell me about it.” He glanced toward the sofa, which I hadn’t put back together yet. “Um, you sleep okay?”
I thought about the way he’d also looked away last night when I’d stripped off my shirt for bed. It couldn’t be the sight of a bare chest. Could it? Modesty was one of the first things to go when you enlisted. This called for a little experiment.
“If the mattress is too–”
“Mattress was fine. Sugar?” I asked, prompting him to finally look at me to determine what I was talking about.
“Huh?”
“In your coffee. Would you like sugar?” Like the blessed saint that I was, I drug my hand down my torso with exaggerated slowness.
And watched with smug satisfaction as Marc’s gaze slid from my face to watch its path.
I caught the faint sound of his sharp inhale when I hooked my thumb on the elastic of my loose shorts.
Abruptly, he broke free of whatever fog he’d been lost in. “Sugar is fine. Just one teaspoon, though,” he said when he noted the generous three I put in mine. “I’ll grab the milk.”
I focused on filling the cup with fresh liquid life and not the heat of Marc’s body as he passed behind me.
Fuck it had been a long time since I’d felt another man’s touch.
And obvious attraction to Marc aside, already lusting after him was a problem.
Marc didn’t need a hookup—though I wouldn’t say no if he were down for it.
He needed a friend. Which meant I needed to dial it way the fuck back.
The refrigerator opened and closed, then suddenly he was beside me. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and passed him his cup.
“Thanks. I hope one percent is okay.”
I shrugged. “I’m normally more of a creamer guy, but I can get some later. Milk is fine.”
“About that. I don’t know how much you heard...”
I finished stirring in the milk and added half a spoonful more of sugar before turning to lean against the counter. “I heard exactly how much I should have heard.”
He blanched. “Which would be?”
“You tell me,” I said with another shrug and took a sip. “For the record, I am sorry you got stuck with me instead of Jones. I may not have the background he does, but I’ll do my best not to let you down.”
He snorted. “As if you could let anyone down.”
“You’d be surprised,” I mumbled into my coffee cup, which was going to need to be refilled soon. Marc gave me a strange look, then shook his head.
“It’s not… it’s not that,” he said with a sigh.
I refilled my cup and offered to do the same for him, but he waved it away. “Are you comfortable talking about what it is?”
“Honestly? No. Not right now, anyway. Maybe eventually,” he added, darting a look at my face.
“Understood,” I replied with a nod. “If you decide you ever want to talk about it, I’ve been told I’m a good listener.
” Sensing Marc’s tension rise again, I cracked a smile.
“I mean, mostly by drunken teammates, but I’m definitely more than freeloading muscle.
” I clocked his gaze flicking to my biceps.
Determined to stick to my silent vow of being more friend than flirt, I diligently did not flex.
I set my now-empty second cup of coffee down.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to hit the head before my bladder bursts, then you can tell me what we’re starting on first.” And with that, I smacked him on the ass—like any good teammate would—and walked into the open bedroom.