Chapter 22 Grady
Chapter twenty-two
Grady
The headache isn’t as bad as I feared, once I’ve showered and refreshed myself. I can almost ignore that it’s there at all.
Lake is in the kitchen by the time I’m done, the smell of coffee in the air. He’s at the dining table, sitting in a chair backwards and flicking through a magazine while he eats his Corn Flakes. Hades is at his feet, curled up and sleeping.
“How much sugar did you put on that?” Hades’ ears perk up at my words, but he doesn’t move or even open his eyes. He has a hard life.
“It’s so good,” is all Lake answers, smiling lopsidedly at me. “This is how you and Felix bond, right? Your obsession with healthy food.”
“I’m not at Felix’s level,” I say. I’ll eat pizza with real food on it, not cauliflower.
Lake points at the counter. “The coffee is ready, and I got the toaster out.”
I’m fixated on his hand, where his wedding band now sits comfortably around his finger. It suits him, just like I thought it would, and it complements the engagement ring. He put the same thought into mine.
As if noticing, Lake glances down at my hand, my ring.
“We should talk about last night,” he says quietly.
We’d both avoided the subject on the way home and while getting ready for bed.
Instead of confronting any of it, I’d fucked him slowly in bed and then in the shower, and then I passed out with him afterward, hair still wet.
“Okay,” I say, like a coward. I need a coffee for this. Or six. Great, I’m turning into Quinn’s lawyer. That’s how I know it’s the end of days.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were afraid I was going to change my mind?”
Right to the heart of the matter. I shouldn’t have expected otherwise from Lake. He’s always so open, forcing me to confront my own feelings. Not letting me hide. “They’re just leftover insecurities that will pass. I know you won’t, and that we’re both in this.”
“Fear isn’t always rational.”
In my experience, it rarely is. In this case, my past doesn’t help the situation or my feelings on the matter.
“I’m not like him.”
“I know.” It’s not the first time he’s said it.
And this time, I believe him. “I don’t doubt you, or us.
” With a sigh, I pour my coffee and wrap my hands around the mug.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you.” No, that’s not good enough.
“I get scared that I’m going to be standing at the end of that aisle, waiting for you, and you won’t be there.
” I don’t know why that’s so hard to admit. “I know that you wouldn’t. I just…”
Lake stands and approaches me. He smooths his hand down my shirt and wraps a hand around my tie. “I’m right here with you, Grady. I love you so much that I couldn’t imagine not waking up every morning to your beautifully grumpy face. You’re my everything.”
I swallow hard, the words sinking in deep, like a warm drink. I don’t have words for how much that means to me. How much he means to me.
“I have an idea.” He cups my cheek, fingers stroking my beard. “Why don’t we walk together?”
“What?”
“Why does one of us have to be waiting at the end? Neither of us are a bride. And we get to get married—the second time—the way we want to, not the way that tradition or society demand. Let’s walk down the aisle together. I want to do everything with you, and that includes that part.”
“God, I love you,” I breathe out. Threading my hands through his hair, I drag him into a deeper kiss. He curls a hand around my side and tugs my tie, tilting his mouth to change the angle.
“I’d love to continue this,” Lake murmurs, “but I have to go shower and then head to work.”
So do I, but this is a much better idea. “Yeah.” He doesn’t protest when I kiss him again, getting my fill before reluctantly letting him go.
Lake kisses the corner of my mouth and then skips backward. He holds up a hand, wiggling his ring finger, the gold flakes glittering from the sun coming through the kitchen window. “I’m not going anywhere, we’re already married, remember?”
The words are flippant, a joke to help ease the tension. Somehow, it does help. Having him here, in our house, sharing our life together. He can’t change his mind if we’re already married, obviously.
Hades lifts his head, looks around, and then stands. He takes off after Lake, realising that his person has left the room.
The rest of the morning is like most. It doesn’t involve any arrests, which is always a slow morning, and Quinn is way too chipper for a Monday.
A witness for a case decides not to show, and when we call him, he says he had a last-minute nail appointment, and it was too important to miss.
I threw the phone at Quinn at that point and made him handle it before I strangled someone through the line.
We need him to help us solve a murder, but what’s that against him getting his nails done? Priorities.
Everything changes right after lunch.
Quinn frowns, staring down at his phone. His brows furrow, and he hesitates before messaging back. When he stands, I raise an eyebrow.
“What’s wrong? We need to go somewhere?”
“No, I just need to make a phone call.” He grasps the back of his chair, leaning on it. “It was Peyton; his old team has just been called in for an emergency deployment.”
“Is that a problem for him?” It’s been almost three years since he left the military; this has to have happened before.
“It’s a form of pre-survivor’s guilt, I suppose. His brother took his place. If something happens to Daniel, he’ll blame himself.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Logic doesn’t govern these things.” He claps me on the shoulder before leaving the room.
I bet he’s just doing this so I have to write up this report by myself, the sneaky bastard.
A few minutes later, something makes me look up, and I freeze. Lake is standing there, at the doorway to the bullpen. The look on his face can only be described as devastated. He’s still wearing his military uniform, a sheen of sweat on his forehead like he ran here.
I know in an instant why he’s here. He flies the spec-ops team all the time during their training missions. He’s familiar with them, and he works with them.
I’m standing in an instant, and he’s stalking across the room, and suddenly, he’s in my arms. He doesn’t say a word, just buries his face in my chest. I snake an arm around the back of his neck and the other in his hair, cradling him.
“When?” I ask.
“A few hours,” he answers, voice muffled. He doesn’t seem surprised that I know.
It’s hard to let go, and for a long few minutes, I don’t, ignoring the hustle and bustle around us. Eventually, I take his hand and tug him out of the room and up some stairs to a quiet unused conference room.
The second we’re in the room, I push him against the door, covering his mouth with my own. He makes a small sound of desperation and arches into me, reaching up to twine his arms around my neck, leaving no space between us.
He plays with the strands of hair reaching my nape, and I rotate my hips against him. He moans, so damn responsive and perfect.
We need to talk, discuss what’s going on, but all I want to do is feel him and be with him in this quiet, dark room.
Even Lake seems to sense this, silent as we touch and reacquaint ourselves with each other.
I trace familiar paths across his neck and hiking his shirt up to kiss down his chest. He tastes sweet and salty, an intoxicating combination.
The floor is hard against my knees but burying my face in Lake’s groin makes it all melt away until we’re all that’s left. He helps me undo his belt, button and zip. Tries to help. He’s shaking so hard that he’s both hindering and helping.
It doesn’t matter; we get it open, and it’s easy enough after that to yank his briefs down just enough for his erection to spring out. No time to bother undressing him any further, all I need is his cock out. He’s leaking already, swollen and begging for me to put my mouth on him.
I’ve never had a better invitation. Licking up the underside of his length, right where the thickest vein throbs, makes him whimper. His hands twist in my hair, tugging and squirming, like he doesn’t know which way to go.
He cries out when I suck hard on his mushroomed head, sliding up his shaft and back down again with increased pressure. Placing a hand over his mouth at least muffles the sound while I keep going.
I know all the right spots to drive him wild, and I ruthlessly exploit each one. This isn’t about taking our time or even about the sex itself. It’s about us and reaffirming who we are, and what he’s coming home to. A reminder and a memory to hold onto when we’re each alone at night.
He comes quickly, spilling into my mouth and groaning against my hand, the vibrations resonating through me. I swallow every drop, not wanting to waste any of it.
As soon as I stand, he pulls me forward, licking into my mouth. “What about you?” he asks breathlessly.
I kiss his forehead, soaking in the scent of him. “You can take care of it for me when you get home.”
He smiles against my throat. “Deal.”
“How long will you be gone?” I somehow manage to get out.
I need to know, though I’m not sure I want to know.
How long are they taking him from me? Where is he going?
Will he be safe? He can’t tell me, of course.
Especially not if a special forces team is involved.
I appreciate the secrecy, the same way I don’t tell Lake everything I deal with, because of privacy and because it’s not necessary to put us both through that.
Though sometimes I wish I knew more. A double-edged blade.
He exhales deeply and presses his forehead against mine.
“There’s no way to tell. It’s not like a normal deployment.
” His hands skate under my jacket, resting on my shoulders.
“It could only be a week, or it could be a month. Longer. It depends on how long it takes them to complete what they’re there for. ”
“Do you always go with them?” He’s never mentioned it before, and he’s never been sent anywhere while we’ve been together. He’s not special forces himself, but it makes sense that they need a pilot when they’re deployed.
“No, it tends to rotate and depends on who’s available.”
“And they decided a guy who’s about to get married and has leave scheduled was the right guy?”
Lake shrugs helplessly. “The military works in mysterious ways.”
That’s one way to put it.
Cradling his head, I caress his cheeks with my thumbs. “Be careful.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not the one doing the dangerous stuff on the ground,” he says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes like it usually does. “But I haven’t been away from you yet.”
It’s not something that I’ve given a lot of thought to.
Even though he puts on his uniform every morning—looking incredibly hot—works some weekends, and out-shoots me when we go to a firing range, it’s somehow easy to forget that he’s a soldier.
That he goes on deployments, that he can be thrown into dangerous situations.
He only ever talks about the mundane things: meetings, flight training, the cafe not having the muffins that he likes.
It’s not as though I have a regular desk job. But this is different.
“You’ll be back before you know it.” He’s wearing his necklace even though he’s not supposed to while he’s working. I unclasp it and put it around my own neck. He won’t be able to take it on a deployment, and I’ll keep it safe for him.
He places his hand over where it rests and then kisses me again, slowly, sweetly. “I’ll be gone before you finish work. I’ll text you when I can, email if I can’t.”
There’s a weird emptiness when he leaves. Strange to think that when I go home, he won’t be there, won’t be on his way. I’ve spent most of my life that way. Less than a year ago, I didn’t even know who he was.
Now I know I can’t live without him.