35. Hayden
35
HAYDEN
G ood intentions and declarations of love. They paved the world. Then reality, unfortunately, sets in, and everything goes to fucking hell in a handbasket. That’s when you’re left wondering how you’re the one standing on the landmine of life.
The float was well behind us, but my unit was gearing up for our next deployment. I wasn’t excited to be leaving Declan again so soon, but at least this time, we had some warning. I wanted to spend as much time with him as possible to nurture this thing between us.
Marriage. Not thing. I rolled my eyes. I’d made that mistake once, and my hubby got his nuts in a twist.
I still couldn’t believe this was my life. I thought for fucking certain I wouldn’t ever do this shit after getting left at the altar. If someone had told me that I would happily stay married if I got hitched during a drunken Vegas wedding, I would’ve suggested they get themselves checked for delusion.
Yet… here I am. Happily married.
Or trying to be.
Declan moved into my apartment on base the morning after my homecoming party. When I woke up at the beach house, I had the chance to take in my surroundings, and fuck me, the place was even more luxurious than I realized. While we were moving Declan’s stuff, I’d called it a mansion. He’d froze, then gave a weird laugh and corrected me, telling me it was just a beach house. A nice one, yes, but just a beach house.
The man was delusional.
Gunny agreed with me when Declan walked away and could no longer hear us. I don’t care if it had started out as a simple beach house, what sat in it’s spot now, wasn’t. It was sprawling, outfitted with top-of-the-line everything, sat at the end of a cul-de-sac, and had private access to a stretch of the California coast.
Whatever it was or wasn’t, between his SUV, my car, and Gunny’s truck, we loaded Declan’s stuff and brought it back to base with us. Considering where he’d been living, I worried he’d hate it. Yes, he’d been there, but living there was different than staying overnight after a hookup.
He’d surprised me. He’d had taken to tiny-ass base housing without complaint, merging our shit together in a way that made it look like it had always been that way. And I didn’t hate it. Coming home from work to see him at the tiny table he bought for the kitchen with his laptop open and paperwork spread out was quickly becoming my favorite part of the day.
When he dragged me out looking for the table, I’d offered him the spare bedroom, telling him he could use it as an office. But he wanted to keep it as a gym, just the way I had it. Gym seemed to be a stretch of the imagination when all it had was a second, probably third-hand treadmill and weight bench with some free weights. It was nothing like the one I spied at the mansion/beach house. That room looked like a commercial gym complete with Nautilus equipment, one of those expensive ass spin bikes and matching treadmill with attached screens, plus a rowing machine. And guess what? It had its own screen.
It was a good thing we kept the gym because I was shocked to learn my husband could fucking cook. I didn’t expect it of him, but nearly every day, when I got home, dinner was on the stove. I’d upped my PT time twice since he moved in, to keep the extra calories at bay. Regular fucking helped, but not enough to combat the southern boy I married’s cooking.
The fucking was out of this world. Our Daddy/boy dynamic rarely bled into our everyday life. Declan wasn’t a typical boy. Submissiveness would never come easy for him, but I wasn’t complaining, not really. We were still finding our way. What I got in bed, or wherever we ended up fucking, was top-shelf fucking stellar. And what I got out of bed was even better.
We did put some rules in place, though. Nothing drastic.
When I mentioned them, he’d scoffed and said, “I’ll follow them if you will.”
That pissed me off.
So much so, that we’d skirted each other the rest of the day, only speaking when absolutely necessary. That day hadn’t been our best one. Then I realized, if I wanted this to work, at least until we found a third, if we ever did, I would need to make some changes as well.
So, I said, “Deal. You text me when you get up and if your schedule changes, and I’ll text when I get to work and before I leave for the house.”
He looked at me and said, “I can live with that.”
Some days were easier than others. Some days were pure fucking hell, but I loved Declan more with every passing day. I loved the person he was and the way he made me feel. I loved how strong he was and how, even though he fought that side hard before giving in, I loved when he submitted to me. The day he sat on the floor between my feet while I played video games was one of the best days of my life.
So, I’d deal with the days when it felt like the world was burning down around us, and we’d never figure out how to make this relationship work because the days the fire was a tiny ember or just a curl of smoke left from the raging inferno more than made up for all the bad days.
Today was a dumpster fire day. Or it would be when I got home.
He tried to hide how much the military way of life irked him. He thought I hadn’t caught on to his fuming, especially when we’d be talking, I’d have to stop to salute someone who outranked me. So, even though he’d been trying to keep it from me, I knew tonight wouldn’t be fun.
When I pulled into the driveway at the house, Declan’s truck wasn’t there. When I left this morning, he’d been sprawled out on his stomach with a knee pulled up to his chest, hugging my pillow. I could just make out the puckered flesh of his hole and stood mesmerized, watching it like a sniper watches a target while I dressed. My gaze never wavered. I just stood at the foot of the bed, letting his spectacular ass remind me of the things we’d done the night before, and I planned all the things I wanted to do to him when I got home tonight. Then his hole winked at me, and I nearly failed to ignore the need to take him right fucking then.
I remember him making a noise and saying something, but my brain was still buried in the gutter, so I might have forgotten if he’d mentioned leaving the house before I kissed him goodbye. I didn’t think I missed anything, and he hadn’t said anything earlier in the week about a detail. He’d only bitched about the paperwork, and then there was some profiling shit he did for the PMC he was excited about, but that was it. Paperwork and profiling. Nothing about a detail. But, then again, stuff came up unexpectedly sometimes.
Case in point: my deployment date was being moved up. We were T-minus two days before the ship got underway for a six-month deployment, a week fucking early. Hence the worry about his reaction. Before getting out of the car, I checked my phone.
No missed calls.
No missed texts.
Not even anything on the photo app he liked to use to tease me with slutty photos throughout the day.
I grabbed my gear from the passenger seat and headed into the house. The door closed behind me. I dropped my ruck on the floor next to the door.
“Declan?”
I glanced through the downstairs. His computer wasn’t sitting on the table or the end table next to the recliner. I took the stairs two at a time, but he wasn’t in the bedroom, gym, or bathroom.
“Where the fuck are you, vato?”
I jogged downstairs to check the fridge, only to come up empty. There wasn’t even a note on the fridge. I pulled my phone out of my pocket to message him, and it rang in my hand before it even cleared my pocket. The screen lit up with a cheesy selfie of our faces.
“There’s no note,” I said, foregoing niceties. He knew the rules. I didn’t have many. We didn’t have many.
No clothes in bed, and texts letting each other know we were safe at work, on the way home, or up for the day, but the biggest one was him letting me know if his schedule changed during the day. That required a text and/or, preferably, a note left on the fridge. I didn’t always get texts if I was out of service or whatever. And because he was pissy about it being one-sided, I texted him, letting him know if things changed for me during the day whenever I could. Sometimes it was just a quick, “shit hit the fan, may be late text,” but I tried.
“Shit. Sorry. Things have gone to shit real quick.”
“Where are you?”
“The beach house.”
Mansion.
“What’s wrong?”
“That nightmare client we had? The one I mentioned the night we met at the nightclub?”
“The one I should thank profusely? That one?”
“If you try, I’ll whip your ass. She’s a fucking cunt.”
“Duly noted. And it’s comical you think you can whip my ass, but go on.”
He grumbled under his breath before saying, “Well, Veruca Salt and her whipped-as-fuck daddy, and no, not that kind, the biological kind, are causing a shitstorm and calling in favors. So, Walker, Linc, Heidi, and I have been working to put out the fires they’ve caused with other clients.”
“Fuck. Will things be okay?”
I didn’t know anything about the business side of what they did. I’d met some private military contractors, and even worked with a few outside the wire, but I knew fuck all about private security. From what I’d gathered, they operated like mini Secret Service units.
“Yeah, but now Uncle Matthew, Foster, and Celeste are on their way here, so we can work out a game plan on how to deal with them.”
“That sucks. Any clue when you’ll be free.”
“Not really. Sometime tonight. I hope. Depending on how long it takes to right the wheel, I may end up staying here so we can get everything figured out. I just hope like hell we can get out of placating the twin terrors.”
Fuck that sounded bad. So fucking bad. And I was getting ready to add to it.
“We get underway in two days,” I said, breaking the news I got today.
“It got moved up? But… why?”
I laughed. “Yeah, DOD and SECNAV called and asked, ‘Sergeant Marin, what do you think about getting underway a week early?’”
“Okay, yeah, that was a stupid fucking question.”
The tone of his voice made me feel like the biggest asshole. Rightly so, but still.
“It was also a bitchy way to respond. I’m no more happy about it than you are, Bello.”
Crickets could be heard; his side of the connection was so fucking quiet.
“I’m sorry, vato. Are you okay?”
“No. The couple months you were away during the summer…” his voice wavered, trailing off into nothingness.
And, given the time frame for the deployment, we’d be separated for our first everything: First Thanksgiving, first Christmas, possibly even our first anniversary if things got stretched out, which was known to happen.
Silence spread between us, expanding to fill the void and stretching into strained awkwardness. Closing my eyes, I dropped onto the couch, waiting for him to respond. Only I married a man who was just as stubborn as I could be.
Finally, I relented, hating the neediness in my voice.
“I know you have shit to handle, but I want to see you before…”
“Papi,” his voice trembled, and he paused briefly before continuing. “I wouldn’t let you leave without seeing you, but I don’t know if I’m gonna make it back to the apartment before you go.”
His reassurance touched me, so I said, “I could come there.”
The deep, shuddered breath that came across the connection nearly broke my heart. “Would you?”
“Vato, unless the corps orders otherwise, where you are is where I want to be.”
More emotion-filled breathing and a small huff of laughter came through the phone. “Same. I want to be where you are, too.”
“Good. I’ll gather some things together and head your way. Looks like a vacay at the Beachy Mansion House,” I joked.
“It’s not a mansion.”
The growl that came through the phone was adorable as fuck, but I kept my mouth shut and asked, “Do you need me to bring you anything?”
“Yes. I don’t have anything here. I packed up everything when I moved in with you. We won’t need toothbrushes or anything like that, but clothes for sure.”
“For the night and tomorrow, right?” I ask.
I really hope we’re not there until I deploy. I’d like some time alone with him before we leave.
“Yeah, hopefully, we’re back home tomorrow. I’d like to spend your last night in our home, alone together.”
“Agreed, vato. I’d like that too.”
Several moments passed before he said, “This sucks.”
“Agreed,” I joked, but it fell flat.
I knew most military couples spent more than half their marriages separated, but I didn’t know how we were going to fair. The rate of divorce was high in military families, and even though we came to be in this relationship in an unexpected way, I wouldn’t change a thing.
It didn’t take me long to gather the stuff he texted asking me to bring before getting on the road. When I pulled into the driveway, I turned off my car and stared at the house before me.
“Beach house, my fucking ass.”
“You gonna sit in the car all night?” Declan’s voice called out to me, and I tore my gaze from the structure before me to get a look at my husband.
I smiled, grabbed our stuff from the trunk of my car, and headed toward him.