Back Cover Copy Sometimes even a hero needs someone to save him. Mark Connor doesn’t feel like a hero even though he served two tours in Vietnam and survived a vicious ambush that took the lives of all but a handful of men. But he lost his best friend and lover, and now he refuses to be close to anyone. That makes his instant attraction to Josh a real problem. Josh Myers hires on with Mark to help him with a remodeling job. A survivor himself of a Beirut bombing, he embraces life with open arms. But he can’t get his new flame to take an interest in love, in life, or in himself. Alone in the northern Outer Banks in January, Mark clings desperately to his past, even as Josh offers him a future he doesn’t think he deserves.
Highlight On a whim, Josh leaned around Mark, reaching for the bowl on the other side of him. Sweet Christ, he smelled good. With total disregard for personal space, Josh pressed against the other man as he reached, pinning him back against the counter. Mark wore a faded t-shirt, the fabric soft and warm against Josh’s bare skin. Josh felt muscles stiffen as Mark froze under him, eyes widening, the cigarette still in his mouth. Josh saw a flash of attraction and confusion in Mark’s dark gray eyes. Pressed groin to groin, the seams of the other man’s jeans rough against his now growing erection, Josh felt Mark’s instant and unmistakable response. For a long moment it hung there between them, electric and charged. What started out as mischievous, even playful, could be something more. The urge to kiss this man flashed across Josh’s mind, impossible to ignore until he saw fear come into Mark’s eyes. He wasn’t ready.
Lost and Found by
Gwenna Sebastian
Lost and Found 978-1-61650-160-0 Copyright © 2010, Gwenna Sebastian Edited by Cynthia Brayden-Thomas Book design by Brian Hunter Cover Art by Renee Rocco First Lyrical Press, Inc. electronic publication: June, 2010 Lyrical Press, Incorporated 17 Ludlow Street Staten Island, New York 10312 http://www.lyricalpress.com eBooks are not transferable. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. PUBLISHER'S NOTE: This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content. Published in the United States of America by Lyrical Press, Incorporated
Dedication To sweet Mel. For all the right reasons.
Acknowledgements Huge thanks goes to Elle Parker, who, with a great deal of patience, helped me with the world of ePublishing. She never stops encouraging me. A special shout out go to my cheering gallery and test readers: Tara, Kathy P and Diane. You guys are the best without a doubt. Very special thank you to Cyn, my editor. I can’t say enough about having someone you can trust to take you through the editing process and Cyn was that and so much more. She told me she wanted this story to shine and it’s because of her that it’s so much more than when I submitted it. Thank you seems lame in the face of the work she did with me, but thank you anyway, girlfriend. Thank you, thank you, thank you. And last, deepest appreciation to Melanie. My dearest friend who reads everything I pen down, isn’t afraid to say what she thinks and hand holds me through all my doubts. She believes in me, for whatever reason and because of that faith, I realized the most important dream in my life—publishing my first novel.
Chapter 1 Currituck Lighthouse sliced through the gray skies, the unpainted brick dull in the weak winter light. Mark Connor barely noticed it as he drove down Route Twelve, heading south to Kitty Hawk. During the summer, this road was crowded with tourists, making the narrow twolane highway slow going. But in January, the height of the off-season, it was an empty road until you reached Duck. The barrier islands along the coast of North Carolina were by and large deserted during the coldest part of the winter. People came for the beaches, the lighthouses, and the fishing. This time of year, you got miles of cold beaches with bitter ocean spray whipped at you by the blustery weather. It was damp, raw, and uninviting. That suited Mark fine. The less he had to deal with people, the happier he was. Home remodels were what he searched for, this one being sweeter than most. Back in the eighties, a couple had bought the land above Corolla, building a massive house there, renting it out over the years as an investment. They were ready to live down here full time, but the place needed a major overhaul. When built, it had been outfitted for tourists. Now the owners wanted to turn it into the luxury retirement home they’d waited years to enjoy. The wind buffeted Mark’s old Suburban, throwing salt spray over the hood and windshield. He put his cigarette between his lips in order to use both hands on the steering wheel to keep the truck on the road. The sky was a dull gray with dark clouds. It would probably rain before he got back. He drove through the small town of Duck. There wasn’t a lot here during the winter months except some essentials for the locals: a post office, market, a couple of small restaurants. A pair of four-wheel drives were parked at the plaza. Someone walked their black Lab along the shoulder of the road as he drove on toward Southern Shores. The walker was so bundled up against the elements, Mark couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. Not that he cared. The owners had made sure that everything Mark would need in the way of supplies had been delivered to the house. That included hardwood floors, boxes upon boxes of tiles, fixtures, molding, new cabinets for the kitchen and four bathrooms, countertops, paint and much more. Most of it was stacked in the great room. Mark agreed to have the work completed by the end of April. He traveled, mostly along the east coast, looking for rehab jobs just like this one, where he'd have complete run of the place while the owners were away, even living there. Mark stipulated that he'd wouldn’t accept payment until they returned and were satisfied with the results. He had started work after moving in at the beginning of November. It was only him, in one, big-ass home located in the northernmost part of the Outer Banks. 1
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This part of the island was more developed, with enormous vacation rentals lining both sides of the highway, all in the classic “Outer Banker” style. They stood empty during the cold months, windows shuttered against the elements. Mark came into Southern Shores, a town a little bigger than Duck. He rolled the window down far enough to toss what was left of his cigarette outside as he drove past a couple of large gated communities with more expensive homes built up on stilts. Like the dwellings along the road, they were vacant for the season. Even the docks, lashed by the winter surf, were bare of the boats that would return in April and May. A truck drove past him, heading north as Mark continued south. More vehicles now, he no longer had the highway to himself. He was coming into the heart of the Outer Banks where it was the most built-up, the stretch of Kitty Hawk to Nags Head. Here, land was at a premium with cottages built right next to each other along with the condos, hotels and businesses. Most of the rentals had names, a charming custom that Mark didn’t understand. He didn’t like coming into town, so he kept his trips to a minimum. Groceries, kerosene, batteries, the odd item at the local Home Depot or Walmart. There were a couple of pizza places that stayed open all year where he’d often pick one up after going through the Brew-Thru, getting three or four cases of beer. Mark waited at a light in front of the Kitty Hawk fire station, glancing at his watch while he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He was in town to meet a potential employee. The owners had bought a massive spa tub to go into the master bathroom. At fifty-eight, Mark was still in excellent shape. He could hold his own just fine. But there was no way he could muscle that bastard into the bathroom by himself, let alone up the stairs to the second floor. The plumbing was becoming an issue as well. Mark was a big enough man to admit when he was in over his head. He continued driving after the light changed. One of the perks of this job was a satellite hook-up for the multitude of TVs and the internet. Realizing he needed someone to help him, Mark ran an ad on Craig’s List looking for a licensed plumber who could do some carpentry and was willing to move in for a few weeks, possibly more. He spotted the restaurant he was looking for up on the right side of the highway in a small strip mall. It was one of those places done up for tourists with the usual pirate and seaside theme. Mark wouldn’t normally come here, preferring one of the bars off the main road, but it would be easy for the guy he was meeting to find. He’d only gotten one response, from a guy who said he'd drive down from Norfolk. He sure as hell hoped he wasn’t wasting his time by meeting up with this man. He put the truck in park and climbed out. The wind whipped past, snatching his breath with its bitterness. He ignored it, slamming the Suburban’s door before heading for the entrance. God, the place was tacky. The bartender, a tall, slim guy with thinning hair, nodded to him as he sat at the bar. Mark asked for a longneck and tossed his money on the glossy surface before sitting back to wait. There were four or five teenagers in a booth at the far end, talking and laughing
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as they ate. A large man who looked like a trucker sat in another booth, working his way through a huge burger. Writing something on a pad, a bored waitress leaned on the far end of the bar, sipping on a cola. The rest of the place was empty. Welcome to January in Kitty Hawk. Mark finished his beer then ordered another one. The kids paid and, still laughing, shoved each other as they tugged on their coats. The trucker mowed through a mound of fries in a basket, the burger now gone. Mark heard the kids go out, the girls squealing at the wind’s bite. “You Mark Connor?” Mark glanced up at a tall man. He must have come in as the kids left. “Yeah, if you’re Josh Myers.” Josh nodded, sliding onto the barstool next to Mark and ordered a beer. He had to be at least six foot, four inches Mark estimated as he sized up the other man. Tall and lanky, with sandy hair he tied back. He wore round, wire-rimmed glasses, a wild tie-dyed shirt that was too big for him and a rough, baggy pair of jeans, all topped off with a flannel coat. But under that, Mark recognized something that only another man who’d been in the military would have picked up. Myers recognized it too. “Former Marine.” He took a swallow of his beer. “You look like Army.” He gave Mark a considering look. “Infantry.” “A long time ago. You got your license?” Josh raised an eyebrow at the directness, but Mark wasn’t here to socialize. Either the guy would work out or not. Mark didn’t care that he was a Marine. Much. Josh pulled his wallet from his back pocket, slipped something out and slid it across the bar to Mark. It was his union card. “I’m licensed. You won’t have to worry about passing the inspections.” Mark pushed the card back to him. “I need a guy who can do some carpentry work too.” “Yeah, I can do that and a bunch of other stuff. So, what you got?” Josh pulled the bowl of pretzels over. “A fucking big tub I need to get up a flight of stairs into a master bathroom. There’s a lot of other shit. It’s a full-time gig with the run of a house north of here. It’ll be just the two of us but the place has five bedrooms, so take your pick." “Sounds reasonable enough. When you want me to move in and start?” Josh crunched down on the pretzel. The trucker got up, paid his tab and left, tugging his hat on as he pushed out the door. “Right now. If you brought your gear and got four-wheel drive, you can follow me.” Mark shook his head as the bartender asked if he wanted another beer. He turned, sizing up Josh with a long look. “It’s a good gig, the place’s huge, there’s satellite TV and internet. I’ve got an expense account for groceries with other odds and ends.” “Then I’m in.” Josh polished off his beer, then pushed the bottle aside. “One thing I want cleared up before we get there.” “That being?”
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“I’m gay. I’m not gonna lie or apologize for it. You got a problem with that, then it was nice meeting ya’ and I’m on my way back to Norfolk.” Josh crunched down on another pretzel. The bartender stopped wiping and polishing the bar, staring at the two men. Mark ignored him. “Christ, I don’t care if you sleep with goats as long as you do the damn job and stay the hell outta my way.” Mark shoved off the barstool. “So you coming?” “Yeah, I’m coming.” Josh eased off his seat, half a head taller than Mark. “But I’ll have you know that sheep are much better than goats.” “Outstanding. I get an ex-jarhead who’s gay and has a sense of humor,” Mark muttered as he walked to the door. “That’s former jarhead, dogface.” **** Josh had never been to the Outer Banks. He’d heard of them, of course, knew of the lighthouses, including the most famous lighthouse in the country, Cape Hatteras. This, however, was his first time to the chain of barrier islands. After picking up some supplies, Mark led him north, leaving Kitty Hawk behind as they drove up the now empty highway, Josh following in his beat-up Ford F150. There wasn’t a lot to see this time of year, with it all closed up against a backdrop of lowering gray skies. It gave Josh plenty of time to think about the enigmatic Mark Connor and what he got out of that first meeting. As far as looks went, the guy was pretty unremarkable. At around five feet eleven inches, Mark was shorter, with graying black hair and eyes the same dark gray as the tossing surf. He was solid, though, broad across the shoulders, well-filled-out, somewhere between fifty-five and sixty would be Josh’s guess. A little past his prime, although there was a lot to admire and explore. Josh did want to explore because he liked what he saw the first minute he met the man. He sensed that Mark wouldn’t be easy to figure out. That appealed to Josh, who loved a challenge. They passed through the small town of Corolla, storm shutters over the windows of the huge rental houses. Josh glanced at the ocean as the highway swung closer to the shoreline. This time of year it got dark early. Here on the coast, Josh had a feeling night rushed in rather than lingered. He slowed up as he saw Mark’s brake lights come on. The old Suburban came to a complete stop, Josh curious about what was going on. There wasn’t anything around but a sea fence that stopped on the west side of the road, then started again on the east side, ending in the dunes down by the crashing surf. Mark put his truck back in gear and eased forward. It took Josh a minute to realize that the road had ended, stopped dead right at the sea fence. There wasn’t a gate or anything else, only open sand with beaches as far north as he could see. Well, Christ, the guy hadn’t mentioned anything about this. The Suburban wallowed through the deeper sand as Mark aimed it for the shoreline. Engaging his truck’s four-wheel drive, Josh watched while he waited until Mark made it onto firmer sand. Wondering what exactly he’d agreed to, Josh followed without much trouble.
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Now off the highway, they drove down the coastline on nothing but sand for the next several miles, Josh curious and intrigued. Hell, they had to be practically back to the Virginia border. Mark wasn’t wasting any time on the scenery as they raced down the vacant, wind-whipped beaches. It was starting to get dark as the Suburban turned back inland, following what Josh could see to be a well traveled path between the dunes. They left the beaches behind, continuing north for a couple of miles along a road Josh had no idea existed here. There were utility poles strung along toward the north. Every so often a large dwelling loomed up then disappeared, empty, closed up for the winter season. Fucking Christ, people actually lived out here? Mark slowed down as they neared a house standing alone on the dunes, dark against the even darker east sky. Josh followed him as he turned off the narrow road and drove up to the impressive home. Like so many of the houses here, it was up on stilts, a massive staircase leading down from a screened-in wraparound porch. Mark drove to one side of the stairs then underneath, as Josh realized he could park on the other side. Well, sweet fucking Christ, talk about your out-of-the-way job. Josh turned the engine off and sat, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. This was going to be interesting. He started when Mark rapped his knuckles on the window. Josh stared at him. “You planning on staying out here, jarhead?” Mark’s voice was muffled by the closed window, but Josh didn’t miss the man’s sarcasm. Shaking his head, Josh pushed the door open and climbed out. “Are we still even in North Carolina or did we cross the state line somewhere back there?” He went around the back then opened the cap on the back of the truck. Leaning in, he snagged the straps of his duffle and backpack, pulling them to him. “Does it matter?” Mark unloaded the supplies he’d picked up in town. “I suppose not, I’m fucking curious is all.” Josh shouldered his backpack. “Well, if it’ll help you sleep better, cupcake, we’re still in North Carolina.” Both arms full, Mark slammed the door shut with his hip. He headed for the stairs as Josh followed in his wake. **** This far north and isolated, Mark saw no reason to lock the door. Who the fuck would be crazier than him to be out here in January where the damp and bitter cold ate into your joints? Josh came around the corner of the screened-in porch, shouldering his gear with a bag of supplies in one arm. Okay, so now there were two crazies. Mark slid the glass door open, stepping into the great room. It was stacked with building supplies in boxes, along with cans of paint, spackle and grout. Tools, tarps, paintbrushes and rollers were everywhere. Mark ignored all of it, walking over to the left side of the room where a large open kitchen took up the entire southern wall. The east wall that faced out over the ocean was all glass. When there was daylight, even Mark admitted the view was impressive. The north wall was also glass, but a stacked stone fireplace held court dead center.
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Josh let out a low whistle as he stood inside the door, looking around him. “Sweet baby Jesus, will you look at this place?” “Can we do it with the fuckin’ door closed?” Mark dumped one bag on the large kitchen island before going over to the counter by the refrigerator. Josh dropped his gear as he flipped him the bird, but pulled the door shut. Still gawking like a hick in the big city for the first time, he brought the bag he carried to the counter, setting it down. “You’ve got a shitload of supplies here, man. We’re talking more than a master bathroom, aren’t we?” He walked among the boxes, reading labels, flipping back the tops of those that were already open. Leaning against the counter in front of the sink, Mark opened a beer. “Yeah. Most of the upstairs. And the kitchen.” Mark indicated the cabinets with the beer he held. He pulled out his cigarettes, tapping one loose. “I’m not gonna knock ya’, man, because I don’t know you, but there is no way you’re gonna get all this done by the end of April.” Josh still prowled around the boxes and supplies. “You work out in the master bath, I’ll keep you on for the rest of the job. I’ll split the fee, forty-sixty with you.” Mark lit up and inhaled the smoke deep into his lungs. Josh looked at him from across the room, standing in front of the massive fireplace. “Fortysixty?” Mark didn’t reply as he watched Josh pull off his coat and toss it on the back of the couch. Looking at him, Mark wouldn’t figure him for a former Marine, but rather Army like he’d been once. But then, he had to remind himself, not all Marines were squared-offed no necks good for little more than brawls and breaking in doors. “Sounds like a fair enough deal.” “That’s if you work out on the master bath. You said you could do some carpentry?” Mark tapped the ashes off his cigarette into the sink behind him, without turning around. “Cabinetmaker.” “No shit?” “No shit.” Josh pointed to the boxes at the far end of the kitchen, stacked three high and two deep. “You’re gonna need help hanging all those cabinets.” “Master bath first, cupcake, then we’ll talk about the rest of the place.” Mark finished the beer, then tossed the bottle into the garbage can. “You got your choice of the four guest rooms to bunk in. They all got TVs. There’s wireless internet if you’re into that.” “Seriously? Well, hot damn, I won’t have to go without my internet porn fix, now will I?” Josh flashed him a smile as he circled around the supplies again. Mark started to reply as Josh stopped, staring at one of the bigger boxes. “Well, dip me in shit and roll me in corn flakes.” He stroked his hand reverently over the top of the box. Mark came around to see what had Josh in raptures. It was the impressive new flat screen TV that was to be mounted over the fireplace. Josh looked up at him, eyes huge. “How could you not have installed this bad boy yet? Holy shit, man.”
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“It’s a fucking TV, jarhead.” “A fucking TV? Are you insane? Plasma, high-definition and fifty-five inches of pure orgasm, that’s what this is!” Josh continued to stroke the box like it was alive. “Oh, for Chrissakes, give me a break.” Mark crushed out his cigarette before stomping back to the refrigerator. He pulled out a couple more beers. Shaking his head, he started up the stairs. “I’ll give you two some privacy. Tomorrow you can start on that master bath.”
Chapter 2 Lighting up a cigarette, Mark leaned back against the countertop, staring out over the dunes to the steel-gray ocean. The wind was tearing it up, the waves at least eight to ten feet high as the surf crashed on shore. It had been raw outside when he took his pre-dawn run, the bitter cold snatching his breath away. Studying the slate colored skies, Mark figured it would turn to sleet later on. The coffee was almost ready, so Mark fished the biggest mug out of the cabinet. It was black with a yellow smiley face, which he couldn’t care less about. That it held a fucking lot of coffee in one pour, now that he could get behind. He started to reach for the pot when Josh made his entrance. Mark stared as the younger man came down the stairs, scrubbing his face before running both hands through his long hair. He yawned, walking across the great room, wearing nothing but a pair of dog tags and white socks, his personality bobbing between his legs with each step he took. Well, sweet fucking Christ, the guy was a helluva sight. Yesterday, the oversized tie-dyed tshirt and baggy carpenter’s jeans along with the bulky flannel jacket had done a fine job of hiding most of Josh’s rather spectacular attributes. He was tall and long-limbed, but, Mark couldn’t help but notice how ripped he was. Well-defined arms, flat stomach, not a body builder but what Mark called “working man” shape, a body earned with sweat. And damn, Mark had to admit, the guy was hung, out there for anyone to see. Josh tripped over the ottoman, swearing as he regained his balance. Mark narrowed his eyes, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. Josh walked into the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee maker. That put him right beside Mark with no regard for personal space. “Fuck yeah, I love a Starbucks that’s open early.” Josh filled the mug that Mark had set out on the counter before going over to the refrigerator. He disappeared behind the door for a long moment. “Awesome, I was worried there for a minute that all you had in here was beer.” Josh emerged with a small carton of milk, letting the door swing shut behind him. He topped off his mug, leaving the carton on the counter. He sipped gingerly before letting out a satisfied sigh. “Forget something, did ya’?” Mark tapped the ashes off his cigarette in the sink. He let his gaze travel the length of the naked man standing beside him. Taking another sip, Josh pushed the mop of hair out of his face. “Nah, I don’t need glasses to get a cup of coffee.” With a sleepy grin, he went back the way he came, presenting Mark with an unobstructed view of a rather fine ass. There appeared to be a tattoo on the left butt cheek, but Mark couldn’t make out what it was and he’d be damned if he’d ask. This time Josh maneuvered around the ottoman without mishap. “I’ll start the plumbing work on the master bath in a bit.” Josh started up the stairs, mug secure between both hands. 8
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“Hopefully with some fuckin’ clothes on, damn jarhead,” Mark muttered, yanking the cupboard open to find another mug. “I heard that, dogface!” Josh tossed over his shoulder before he disappeared upstairs. **** Leaving the master bathroom to Josh, Mark worked in one of the guest bedrooms that needed to be painted and hardwood floors installed. That meant furniture had to be moved out, then carpet and padding ripped up. Outside, as he’d predicted, it had started to sleet. He could hear it ticking against the windows. He spent the better part of an hour muscling furniture into the guestroom across the hall. Once in a while, he heard music, Josh singing along to it. Sounded like mostly sixties’ stuff, music Mark remembered from a lifetime ago when he’d humped through the jungles of Vietnam. He didn’t dwell on it, but shut the door, blocking the sound as he began ripping out the carpet. It was nasty, sweaty work. Mark lost track of time as he pulled up the carpeting, then rolled it into sections to haul down to the dumpster under the house. Hardwood floors would’ve been a waste of money while the place was rented out over the last twenty years. Now they would be beautiful as the vacation rental was converted to a retirement dream. Mark opened the door to hear Josh belting it out with the Moody Blues. He shook his head, cigarette in his mouth, then started hauling the carpet downstairs. On the trips back up, he hauled paint, supplies and boxes of hardwood flooring. He stacked it in the room, slitting the boxes open before deciding to take a breather. He was filthy, sweaty and tired, but he’d have the room painted by the end of the day. Lighting up a fresh cigarette, Mark wandered down to the master bath to see what Josh was up to. The place was gutted down to the studs. Mark had already taken the wall out between a closet and the bath, reframing it. He’d chased most of the wiring through but couldn’t do anything else until the plumbing was done. “If you’re going to San Francisco,” greeted Mark as he walked across the bedroom. He stood in the doorway of the bath. “Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair...” Josh had his back to him, sweating some copper fixtures for the sinks on the far wall as he sang along. Crossing his arms over his chest, Mark leaned against the doorframe, watching. Josh wore a faded brown t-shirt with lettering mostly hidden by the baggy coveralls that hung on his lean frame. His long hair was tied out of his face with a pink bandana, of all things. But it certainly looked like he knew what he was doing as he soldered the joints, handling the small blowtorch with ease. The song changed to Bob Dylan’s All Along the Watchtower. Without warning, Mark flashed back to Vietnam.
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Mark leaned against the Huey's shuddering frame, the jungle sliding by in a kaleidoscope of greens as he watched. The wind whipped around him as he glanced over his shoulder. First squad was jammed into the cargo area, everyone on top of each other. They were exhausted, some asleep, heads down, rifles over their laps. The smell of diesel, sweat, and blood washed over him. The pilot was talking on the radio but Mark couldn't make out the words over the slick's engine and comforting whump, whump, whump of the rotor blades. Ryan dozed behind him, shouldered against Mark's back, his rifle wrapped in his arms. This was safety, skimming over the jungles. Sarge played tunelessly on his harmonica. Most of the time Mark swore he’d steal that damned thing and hide it. Today, it didn't annoy him. They were on their way back to the firebase after almost two weeks in the bush. He was alive, Ryan was alive. Another day survived in this God forsaken hell. Mark snapped back to the present, blinking, staring at Josh who had stopped what he was doing. He’d turned off the music along his blowtorch. He now stood, eyes filled with concern behind the safety glasses. “Christ, man, you okay?” Fuck, just what he needed to do in front of this guy, flashback to his time in Vietnam. Normally that only happened at night. He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. It had to be the music, it just had to be. “Yeah, I’m fine, don’t go all girly on me, cupcake.” “You were in Vietnam, weren’t you?” Josh stripped off his safety glasses, setting them and the blowtorch aside. “What makes you say that?” Josh shrugged. “You’re not old enough for Korea. You don’t have ‘lifer’ written all over you, so you couldn’t have been in Desert Storm. That pretty much leaves ’Nam.” “Aren’t we the rocket scientist here?” Mark didn’t like talking about this, but he didn’t walk away either. The guy was a former Marine, even if he’d never been in a war. “You were a boonie rat, I bet. How many tours?” “Two. That’s all I’m gonna say about it.” “Sweet Christ, man.” Josh shook his head. “If the music’s gonna be a problem, I’ll knock it off.” “I don’t give a fuck what you listen to, jarhead, as long as you get the damn pipe run in here.” **** Josh came down wearing another loose t-shirt and sweatpants in a wild flower print. His hair was still wet from the shower he’d taken after spending all day busting his ass in the master bath. He’d gotten a fair amount of the work done, though. Mark had started a fire in the fireplace, tossing a couple of logs on the flames. The sun had long since gone down, leaving nothing but black emptiness outside the expanse of windows.
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“You got anything to eat in that fridge or is it just beer and cornflakes?” Josh clasped his hands over his head and rolled his sore shoulders as he walked into the cluttered kitchen. “There’s plenty in the freezer.” Mark turned around after he finished playing with the fire. Josh pulled open the freezer, making a face at the variety of frozen dinner choices that included meatloaf, pot pies and fried chicken. He fished the meatloaf out, reading the back of the box. “I don’t suppose you can get pizza delivered out here?” “Cute pants there, cupcake. I bet you got boxers to match.” Josh looked down at his comfortable sweatpants, hooking a thumb in the waistband. “Want to see?” “Get real, jarhead.” Mark turned his back on him and sat in an overstuffed chair facing the fire. “I heard boonie rats like you always went commando out in the jungle.” Josh flashed him a grin. “Bet you still do.” He ripped open the box, then pulled the dinner out. First chance he got, he was driving into town to get some real fucking food. “Like you’ll ever find out, cupcake.” Josh smiled, tossing the frozen dinner in the microwave. He keyed in the cooking time. Outside the wind picked up, throwing rain against the windows. Josh opened a few cupboards until he found a stack of plates, taking one out. He followed that with a beer from the fridge, twisting the cap off as he waited. “So, we gonna hook up that fifty-five-inch bad boy there or is it gonna languish in the box?” “It’s fine right where it is.” “We get it hooked up, we could be watching football on Monday night.” Josh pulled his dinner out the microwave. “You know, all those manly men in tight pants. Some of them even play in the mud.” “It’s nice to know you’re so into the game.” “You betcha. You can’t tell me you don’t like football, dogface.” The fire took the damp chill out of the air. Josh put the plate under his dinner and with his beer in the other hand joined Mark in front of the fire, sitting on the large sofa. The heat was soothing, as Josh tucked one leg up under him. “It won’t be a big deal to mount that thing and hook it up.” “There are TVs in almost every fuckin’ room in this house, including your bedroom. What’s wrong with those?” “Hello? Fifty-five inches! High def! You’ll be able to count the stitches in the seams of their pants, that’s how fucking awesome that bad boy is.” “Outstanding.” Josh rolled his eyes, then forked up some meatloaf. “Christ, I’m going into town in the next few days and getting some real food. These things will kill ya’.”
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“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re not one of those granola eatin’ health nuts, are ya’?” Mark pointed at him with his cigarette between two fingers. “It’s bad enough you’re a gay ex-jarhead but if you’re one of those, I’m kicking your flowered underwear ass outta here.” “Former jarhead, you idiot dogface. And no, I’m not a health food nut.” Josh gave up on the dinner, setting it on the box beside him. He reached for his beer instead, deciding he’d make a sandwich later. “I am, however, a steak and potatoes guy, among other things. The occasional fresh vegetable never hurt anyone either.” “Whatever. But you get it, you cook it.” “Like I’d let you grill a nice steak? Yeah, right.” Josh leaned back against the sofa, letting the heat soak in. "I never said I couldn't cook, jarhead." "I can tell with that vast variety of frozen dinners in there." "Give me a fucking break here, will ya?" Josh flashed him a quick smile. "Now what fun would that be?" Silence wrapped around them with only the muted rush of the wind and the sound of the rain ticking against the windows. Under that, there was the roar of the crashing surf. Mark got up, stirred the fire, then tossed another log on. “You never did answer me. Is it commando or boxers?” “You need a life, jarhead.” “Oh, I’m working on that, believe me.” **** With the TV on low for company, Josh sprawled into the comfortable chair in his bedroom. On nice days, he had no doubt it was perfect for looking out over the ocean from the French doors that opened onto the deck. Now he’d shut the drapes so he could watch television. He pulled his laptop across the bed, setting it on his lap, then powered it up. The local news out of Norfolk was on, showing the weather as Josh watched it in the darkened room where only the TV and his laptop cast any light. He'd gotten a kick out of pushing Mark's buttons and seeing the guy's reaction. Josh liked being a free spirit, being outrageous. Going for his morning coffee wearing only his dog tags seemed only natural. But Josh never meant to cause Mark's flashback to a war some forty years ago. He’d already assumed that Mark had been in Vietnam. It was simple math and intuition that came to anyone who’d been in the military, no matter the branch. Josh suspected that Mark was a kid when he went over, but then most of them were. So many didn’t come back. He brought up Google along with a couple other search engines and started digging.
Gwenna Sebastian
13
Mark had scared the hell out of him earlier that day. Josh was sure it was a flashback. He had his own demons that came back at him at the worst of times, so he could sympathize with the other man. It was clear Mark wouldn’t discuss it, even with someone who could understand on some level, although he hadn’t been in ’Nam. He studied what the search engines brought up, muttering under his breath. Mark Connor was a popular name; he would have to narrow it down some. That was okay. Josh was patient. He also loved a good hunt. He was an internet junkie anyway, so this was a challenge he enjoyed. He put key words in all the search engines, paging through the results. Josh glanced up at the TV when the news showed a nasty accident up in Virginia Beach, an overturned tractor-trailer with a couple of cars tangled in a mess on Interstate 264. He sorted his new searches, tossing out what he knew was useless. It was still a lot of shit to sift through. Bookmarking a few possibilities, he changed the search again, studying what came up. It took him the better part of an hour, the local news having long since signed off to be replaced by the late show. Josh barely noticed as he closed in on what he wanted. You could find pretty much anything on the internet, if you knew how and where to look. In this case, it was his expertise along with some pure dumb luck when he stumbled across an eyewitness account from a soldier whose platoon had gotten pinned down. Josh scanned through the account of how the unit had been caught in an ambush, unable to do more than try to defend itself until help arrived. They were being picked off, their situation beyond desperate as the North Vietnamese Army kept coming at them. Mark’s buddies had dug in but they were running out of ammunition, time and hope. It was hours before help reached them. When it did, only a handful of men were alive. Josh scrolled down the names and clicked on Mark’s. The history given showed that this was Mark’s second tour. He’d been wounded, shot both in the shoulder and the leg but continued to fight. As one of the survivors, he’d been considered a hero, credited with saving the other men’s lives. He was awarded a Silver Star and a Purple Heart. Clicking on some links, Josh found two other accounts of the same fight, all much the same as the first. All three credited Specialist Mark Connor with saving lives. With a bit more digging, Josh found that Mark had already received two Bronze Stars, one during each tour, as well as several other commendations. Sweet Christ, the man was a genuine hero. Josh sat back in his chair, considering what he’d learned. Six men, including Mark, had survived the ambush. Six out of nearly forty. Most of Mark’s buddies had died in the jungle that day. Josh closed the lid on his laptop, then pushed it onto the bed. He knew first hand what that kind of trauma was like, how surviving a hopeless battle when your friends didn’t could tear you into tiny pieces. The guilt alone was crushing. He remembered his own nightmares from October 1983. He’d survived the bombing of the Marine barracks in Beirut. Most of his friends hadn’t.
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Lost and Found
Josh had been in the Marines for five years back then, had made the rank of sergeant. Unlike Mark who’d been barely twenty-years-old, Josh wasn’t a kid, but responsible for a lot of men who were. It had been such a hellish mess. It still haunted him. When he finished his obligation with the Marines, he decided not to re-up. He’d had enough of senseless death to last a lifetime. The light in the room flickered and danced with the images changing on the TV. Surviving while your buddies died left a mark, a gaping wound. The experience changed a man in more ways than could be easily recognized. What you did with that was up to you. Josh had made the decision that, given a second chance at life, he would celebrate it for his friends who hadn’t. To Josh’s way of thinking, it was a more fitting tribute than dying with them. Mark was a different story. It was apparent to Josh that he had died that day with his buddies back in the jungle. Mark may have survived the war, but not the ambush.
Chapter 3 Mark pulled a beer out of the fridge, twisting off the cap. Outside, darkness wrapped around the house and pressed against the windows, the wind whipping rain against the glass. Sore from hauling several cases of tiles upstairs to the master bathroom that afternoon, his shoulders and arms ached and reminded him he wasn’t a kid anymore. A hot shower and plenty of ibuprofen waited for him before he’d call it a night. Lighting up a cigarette, he came around the unfinished island and leaned back against it, watching Josh. The younger man circled the elephant in the room, the massive crate that held the spa tub. He’d pulled the tie from his hair, letting it hang loose around his shoulders. As a rule, Mark didn’t much care for long hair on men. The older you got, the thinner it was and the more ridiculous a guy looked. Not so with Josh; his thick, sandy-colored mane swept his shoulders and Mark found himself admiring the way the fire painted bright highlights through it. Josh continued pacing around the crate. “You do have a plan to get this bastard upstairs, right? I mean, this is one fuckin’ huge tub and we’re just two guys here, in case you didn’t notice.” “Nope.” Mark tapped the ashes off his cigarette. “Fucking Christ on stilts, that’s perfect.” Josh stopped, one hand on his hip as he raked the other through that spectacular hair. Mark found himself wondering if it was as soft as it looked. Where the hell had that thought come from? Mark drained the last of his beer. Still watching Josh, he went to the refrigerator for another. “No matter what we do, we’re gonna have to uncrate it first.” Josh whistled low as he shook his head. “Fuckin’ A, that’s a big tub. Be easier to put in a damn swimming pool than this.” He glanced at the stairs. Mark watched him with a healthy start on his second beer. “We might be able to use a block and tackle type setup, but we’ll have to see how solid that stair railing is first.” The guy was built, Mark had to admit, his mind drifting again as he watched Josh deciding who would win the battle of tub vs. stairs. After being treated to a couple of mornings of a sleepyeyed and very naked Josh on a singular mission to get coffee, he knew what was under the baggy t-shirt and ripped jeans. Fuck, what the hell was wrong with him? After Ryan almost forty years ago, no one had held the least interest for Mark. Now here was this mouthy refugee from the sixties, a former Marine, no fucking less. So now he gets a hard-on? Hell, that’s what internet porn was for, he didn’t need this. Not here. Not now. Not with this guy. Josh stared at him with large, brown eyes that appeared more copper colored in the firelight. Eyes that a man could get lost in if he wasn’t careful. 15
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Lost and Found
“Hey, Mark! You listening to me or just pretending?” Mark blinked, swearing under his breath. “Yeah, yeah, it’s a big fuckin’ tub. We’ll try the block and tackle.” “You do realize how big this thing is? That there’s only you and me here, and well, neither of us are kids anymore. We could go into town, hire like four guys for an afternoon for beer, pizza and fifty bucks each—we’d have the motherfucker upstairs in no time.” “No.” No fucking way. He wasn’t having more people here, period. “Mark—” “Christ, what’d I get here? Some pansy ex-jarhead? You intimidated by a damned bathtub, cupcake?” “That’s pansy former jarhead, you idiot dogface. You’re gonna hafta do a lot better than that with the insults if you’re trying to hurt the gay guy’s feelings.” Josh smirked, then headed for the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door and grabbed a beer, twisted the cap off, and tossed it with careless ease into the trashcan. “Cupcake.” Mark crushed out the spent cigarette. He dug out the pack from his shirt pocket. Josh came around the island to join him, resting his weight back against the counter. “I’ll let you lick icing off me if that’s your kink...” He gave him a cheeky grin. For one vivid moment, Mark imagined it before he ruthlessly squashed the upstart fantasy. Okay, that was enough fun for one night. He sucked down the last swallow of his beer and chucked the bottle in the trash. Doing his best to ignore Josh, he grabbed two new beers, then the large bottle of ibuprofen out of the cabinet above the coffee maker. Josh turned, leaning with both elbows on the cluttered island, still grinning as he watched Mark. “Bank that fire before you go to bed, cupcake.” Mark headed for the stairs with the idea of a hot shower. “We’ll hang that damned TV tomorrow.” “Hot damn! Monday Night Football on fifty-five premium high def inches!” “Yeah, well, I’m sick of the bitching all day about it still being in the box. If it’ll shut you up, it’s worth it.” **** Mark popped several ibuprofen, chasing them down with a beer. The master bath off the bedroom was a shambles, so he used one of the other showers located between two guest bedrooms. This bathroom was slated for tile and paint as well as a new vanity with fancy vessel sinks, which was nothing compared to the full-scale gut and overhaul of the master bath. The other two bathrooms, including the half-bath downstairs were similar: some paint, some tile, new sinks and fixtures. Easy shit. Not like that bastard tub waiting down in the great room. He hissed as the hot water hit his sore shoulders and arms. He stuck his head under the cascade. Closing his eyes, he let the moist heat soak in.
Gwenna Sebastian
17
He hadn’t given much thought to Ryan for most of the day. Thinking about him cut Mark into little pieces, so he tried not to. Sometimes though, like now, it was hard to hide from the memories. They’d been thrown together, a pair of hicks from different parts of the country, drafted right out of high school to go to Vietnam. Neither of them had ever been away from home. Young, foolish and full of themselves, they made fast friends, going to war together. Where they then became scared shitless. Somewhere, somehow, between the anger, exhaustion and loneliness, they discovered each other. A pair of stupid kids fumbling around in a dark foxhole. They were smart enough to keep it to themselves because back in 1968 there wasn’t a nice name for it like “gay.” The last thing you wanted was for your buddies to find out you were a queer while you were out in the bush. Mark didn’t want to think about this. Ryan and Vietnam were a lifetime ago. Ryan died there, fighting in a thankless war. A large part of Mark died with him, and he accepted that. If he could have it to do over again, it would’ve been Ryan who came home instead of him. Sweet, gentle Ryan, who deserved to live, not Mark. Josh was singing, his voice drifting into the bathroom, belting out the lyrics of the CCR song Looking Out My Back Door. Mark shook his head as Josh must have disappeared into his own bedroom, closing the door behind him, leaving silence in his wake. The guy was a nut, in Mark’s opinion, way too fucking happy for his own good. But he was also a damn fine plumber who knew what he was doing, sweating pipes while he sang along to music Mark hadn’t heard since he came back from ’Nam. Mark found himself thinking about Josh, wearing nothing but skin and those dog tags, his mop of hair a tousled mess, his eyes still half-lidded with sleep as he came to get his coffee. There wasn’t an ounce of self-consciousness, just one fine body that was hard to ignore. It was becoming easier and easier to slip into little fantasies that included Josh. Like right now, in the shower, all that smooth skin slicked with water; Mark pushing him to the wall in a heated kiss, wrapping his hand around that impressive cock. Christ, how it would feel to have Josh touch him, press and grind against him as he shoved Mark to the wall under the showerhead. Cocks sliding together, the friction sweet and painful. He didn’t squash the fantasy this time; he let himself indulge in it, fisting himself in time to what his mind fed him. He could feel how it coiled through his body, the tingling and tightening as he brought himself to that sharp edge of release. Josh was holding his gaze, those gold-brown eyes large, his hands now flat on the tile to either side of Mark’s shoulders. Mark bit his lip as his climax ripped through him, spilling over his hand. He slumped against the wall, trembling in the wake of one of the best orgasms he’d experienced in years. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back on the wall. What was fucking wrong with him? Sure, it was a harmless fantasy, but the guy was real and in the damned house with him. If Mark read him right, Josh would love to fuck him blind.
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All fun aside, real or imagined, enough was enough. He’d have to tell Josh in the morning that it wasn’t working out. Mark turned the water off, then reached for the towel hanging outside the door. It was time to end this before anyone got hurt or pissed off. He would pay Josh out of his pocket, after which, they could part ways. No harm, no foul. **** Josh woke from a sound sleep, fuzzy and confused. Sitting up, he pushed his hands through his hair as he glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was almost 2:30 AM. He’d left the television on like he did most nights, since he slept better with the low noise. Sometime during the night the latest storm had cleared off. Now moonlight spilled in through the far window. He fumbled for his glasses, swearing as he knocked them to the floor. He froze, mid-reach, at the most unholy sound he’d ever heard, the hair raising up on the back of his neck. Mark shouted in pain, his voice pitched in fear. Josh rolled out of bed, grabbing the Marine issue Ka-Bar knife from under his pillow before he bolted down the hall wearing nothing but sweatpants. Mark’s shouts bounced off the walls of the empty, dark hallway. Josh pulled the knife from its sheath before bursting through the half open door that led to the master suite. Mark tossed and thrashed, tearing the bed apart in what Josh recognized as a nightmare from his past in Vietnam. He kept repeating the name Ryan, sobbing it between shouts for help. Before trying to wake the other man from the nightmare-flashback, Josh sheathed the knife and tossed it well out of harm’s way, down the hall. “Oh God, Ryan, don’t do this! Don’t you go and die on me!” Josh reached to grip Mark’s arm. “Hey, Connor, wake up, man. Come on, Mark!” “Ryan!” Mark sat bolt upright, eyes wide, his bare chest heaving. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me!” Josh let go of Mark’s arm but stayed beside him, watching and waiting until he could see sanity return to Mark’s eyes. Blinking, the man stared at him, then looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. The realization must have hit him like a ton of bricks. Drawing his knees up to his chest, Mark groaned, wrapping his arms around them as he buried his face there. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Josh could barely hear the muffled words. “Hey, you okay? You need me to get you something?” Mark didn’t answer him, only sat in the tangle of blankets, wrapped around himself. “Mark—” “Leave.” Josh hesitated. “You sure you don’t—” “Get the fuck out. Now.”
Gwenna Sebastian
19
Oookay, he could take a hint. “Sure, man, you know where to find me if you change your mind.” With that, Josh backed out of the room. He paused at the threshold before glancing back at the other man. Mark was still huddled in the tangle of blankets, shaking in the aftermath of the nightmare. Josh wanted to go back, sit on the bed, touch him and talk to him and help him to calm down. He knew how paralyzing it felt in the wake of such flashbacks. He knew Mark had faced these alone before, but he didn’t have to, not now, not with Josh there. Josh knew it would be a huge mistake too, all good intentions aside. This was Mark’s private war, and he made it clear he didn’t want Josh’s help. They barely knew each other. As much as Josh didn’t like leaving Mark this way, now wasn’t the time for him to push personal boundaries. He left, going back to his own room, picking up his Ka-bar on the way. **** Listening to the coffee maker as it bubbled and dripped, Mark stared out at the early morning sky. It was another raw day, the weather whipping up the steel gray ocean, sending it crashing onto the beach. Mark had already gone running, as he did most mornings, but the wind had snatched his breath away, making it hard to breathe. The shore was a mess of sea trash and debris, creating an obstacle course to be run at your own risk, especially at dawn. Between the weather and the littered beaches, Mark didn’t have time to think about what had happened last night with the nightmare. Now, finishing his first cigarette as he waited on the coffee, he had nothing but time. The flashback danced around his head in vivid color. Sometimes the nightmares were worse than usual. Last night’s had been one of the nasty ones. He’d have to suck it up like he always did. He’d lived with them for the last forty years. He’d start by telling Josh that he appreciated the help, but it wasn’t working out. Wild fantasies of having Josh under him, of being buried deep in that gorgeous ass... Yeah, this was so not gonna work out. Mark would figure out how to get the bastard tub upstairs by himself. He reached up into the cupboard, pulling down two mugs. Who needed a gay former Marine hippie wannabe anyway? Okay, Mark admitted he kind of liked the view he got every morning. A guy could get used to this when presented with someone as well-put- together as Josh Myers. Seriously, the guy was more than fine, even by Mark’s standards. As if on cue, said gay former Marine hippie wannabe came down the stairs, yawning, raking his hair out of his face. Like the previous mornings, he wore nothing but white socks and dog tags, his impressive package right there, impossible to ignore. He went straight for the coffee, grabbing the bigger mug and filling up before going to the refrigerator and taking out the carton of milk. Waiting, Mark lit up a fresh cigarette. This would be when Josh would ask. Mark figured there was no way the guy would pass up the opportunity to grill him about the nightmare, trying to find out more concerning his time in Vietnam. Instead Josh, still yawning, topped off the mug with the milk before gingerly sipping the hot contents. With a tired smile, he left the way he came.
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Mark was so surprised and relieved that he forgot to check out that damned tattoo that drove him to distraction since the first morning he’d seen it. Try as he might, he’d been unable to get a good enough look to figure out exactly what Josh had inked on his ass. It was no easy trick trying to get a good look at the guy’s backside without being obvious. Josh was partway up the stairs when he stopped, then turned. Here it comes, Mark thought, he wasn’t going to let it go after all. “I’ll have the last of the plumbing done this morning, so you can arrange to get an inspector out here. Although who the fuck you’re gonna get out here this time of year is beyond me.” Taking another sip, Josh continued up the stairs, mug held between both hands before he disappeared around the corner. Mark didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he let it out in a huge sigh. Shaking his head, he grabbed the pot, pouring his own cup. That’s when it occurred to him he'd forgotten to tell Josh he didn’t need him anymore. Mark swore under his breath. He was an idiot to be distracted by a stupid ass-tattoo. He decided he’d tell Josh tomorrow morning. He might as well let the guy finish the plumbing. **** Throughout the day, Mark waited for Josh to ambush him about the nightmare, but Josh never approached him about it. He completed the plumbing as promised, then helped Mark finish the moldings in the bedroom. They ended the day with moving the furniture back in. Now they’d spent the better part of a couple of hours hanging the fancy flat screen TV over the mantle. Mark was silently grateful that Josh was there to help get it in place after they got the mounting bracket screwed into the stacked stone. There was a certain amount of swearing and name-calling involved, but they eventually got it hung. That took the first hour or so. The second hour was spent hooking it up and getting it to work. That involved some more swearing. At one point, someone’s heritage got dragged into it with the insinuation that their family was a complete bunch of morons. Somehow, they both survived. Now Josh flipped with delight through the hundreds of channels, a stupid grin on his face. Mark went into the kitchen to grab a beer and light a cigarette. He tried to decide if he was hungry enough to toss a frozen pizza in the oven. “Ah man, will you look at the fucking detail on this thing!” Josh stopped on some nature channel where a flock of flamingos had taken flight. Mark drank his beer. He had to admit that even from clear across the room, the picture was pretty damned impressive. He’d die a hundred times over before he’d admit that to Josh. Josh continued to flip through the channels. He landed on one that showed a large boat tossed around in heavy seas; men dressed in bright orange rain gear hauled a crab pot on board. “Shit, man, how amazing is this?” Josh resumed flipping the channels. “Yeah, I’m speechless.” Mark shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest.
Gwenna Sebastian
21
“Oh, come on, man, don’t tell me you can’t appreciate how fucking cool this is!” Josh stopped at a local news channel discussing the weather out of Virginia Beach. There was a winter storm moving in, with snow expected. High winds, sleet and dangerous surf, all combined to make for a miserable night. “It’s a TV, jarhead. Big, fat, hairy deal.” Mark finished his beer, tossing the bottle in the trash. He picked up another, twisting off the cap. “Seems a waste as all it’ll likely be used for is the Weather Channel down here.” Josh turned a horrified look on him. “Sweet Christ, don’t say things like that!” He stroked down the side of it in a loving caress. “It might hear you!” Mark almost choked on his beer. “Give me a break, cupcake. You do remember a pair of old retired farts are moving in here? You don’t think they’re gonna be watching porn on that thing, now do you?” “I’ll hafta break it in properly then, won’t I?” Josh flopped down in one of the overstuffed chairs, sprawling more than sitting as he started channel surfing again. Mark watched him, more interested in Josh than whatever he was flipping through. Sweet Christ, he was hot. There was no harm in admitting that to himself. Mark pulled a fresh beer out of the fridge and brought it over to Josh. Just one guy bringing another guy a beer, right? An incredibly sexy guy spread out on the furniture like a fucking allyou-can-eat buffet. He nudged Josh on the arm with the bottle. Josh looked up at him, his eyes a warm golden brown in the firelight. “For me? Thanks, man!” “I think it’s an unwritten rule that you have to have a beer when watching one of these.” Mark shrugged. Josh laughed his agreement. “You’re probably right. You gonna join me?” Mark stared at him for a long moment, not sure if the invitation was just to watch TV or something else entirely. His mouth going dry, Mark quickly shook his head. “I’m gonna call it a night.” He backed away. “Do us both a favor—don’t be up all fucking night with the damn thing, okay?” “Would you be jealous if I was?” Josh flashed him a bright grin. “Don’t flatter yourself, jarhead. We gotta be up and out of here early if you want to come into town with me. I’m meeting the inspector.” “Yeah?” “Yeah, you can do the grocery shopping this time since you’re less than thrilled with my choices.” Mark started for the stairs, relieved that Josh had, for the time being, forgotten all about the nightmare. Or maybe he was too preoccupied with the fancy new TV to ask. “Outstanding! Something besides beer, cornflakes and frozen pizza. Hot damn!”
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“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just be ready to be out of here early tomorrow.” Christ, it didn’t take much to make this jarhead happy. “As long as the coffee’s made, I’m there!” “Hopefully with clothes on,” Mark muttered under his breath, starting up the stairs. He was halfway up, thinking of a hot shower when Josh ambushed him. “So when you gonna tell me who Ryan is?” Mark gripped the banister, his knuckles going white. Shit. He must have shouted Ryan’s name last night. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Swallowing against the tightness in his chest, Mark refused to turn around. “He was someone in my platoon.” He was my best friend, my fuckin’ lover... “He make it back?” “Don’t go, Ryan. Stay with me. Don’t…” Bleeding beside him, eyes glazed over, slipping away… “No, and that’s all I’m gonna say about it.” **** Josh walked across the hallway, dog tags jingling as he toweled his wet hair. He went into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. It was late, Mark having long since gone to bed, leaving Josh to fawn over the huge flat screen TV. The fun he was gonna have with that bad boy went without saying. The one in his bedroom provided the only light, casting the rest of the comfortable room in long shadows that danced on the walls. Outside, a small winter storm kicked up, the wind howling and whipping around the house. Under it, Josh could hear the surf battering the beach. Tossing the towel on the bed, he combed his fingers through his damp hair. He hadn’t been surprised when Mark brushed him off about Ryan. After a quick check on some of the sites Josh had bookmarked earlier, he found Specialist Ryan Moynihan on a list of the men killed in that fateful ambush. Yawning, he crawled onto the bed, sprawling out on his back, idly playing with himself. There was no question, the longer Josh stayed, the more he dug around, the more intrigued he became with the solitary and taciturn Mark Connor. There was a lot Josh suspected, but nothing he was completely sure of. Mark wouldn’t spill his guts and make it easy for him. The broken plea and sobs from the nightmare made Josh wonder how close the two young men had been to each other. In combat, you had no one but your buddies to rely on. Although Josh had never experienced the horrors of Vietnam, he suspected that Mark and his dead buddy, Ryan, were more to each other than brothers-in-arms. Josh knew how to read people. He got good at it as a Marine, more so after he’d been promoted to sergeant. It had been a matter of survival for him and his men. Although Mark wasn’t easy to figure out, there were some things Josh was certain of. The guy suffered big time from PTSD and survivor’s guilt. He was also gay.
Gwenna Sebastian
23
Mark didn’t advertise it and he certainly wasn’t flamboyant. But he wasn’t deep-in-the-closet denying it, either. Josh hadn’t missed the way the man watched him with a confused hunger on more than one occasion. He’d noticed it the other night when he was trying to decide how best to get that bastard tub upstairs: raw desire that Mark ruthlessly shut down before Josh could decide what to do about it. Again tonight, when Mark brought him the beer. There was an attraction even if Mark did his best to bury it. Josh wished he could get Mark to open up to him, even a little, but Mark wasn’t exactly the trusting type. He was in a world of hurt. For some reason, that drew Josh in with a curiosity and fascination he couldn’t deny. He wanted to reach past it, touch on what was beyond it and show Mark that he wasn’t the only survivor and that there was no shame in being the one who’d lived. It was more than casual sex that Josh sought. He wanted to be with Mark, but he wasn’t entirely sure why. Mark was an enigma, with parts of himself buried deep. Maybe it was their experience as survivors that drew him to the other man. He honestly didn’t know. The only thing he was sure of was that he very much wanted Mark. He wanted to love him, long and hard. He wanted to see where that would take them both, if it would just be uncomplicated sex or something more profound. He had a feeling it would be the latter. Right now, still sprawled across his bed and toying with himself, Josh would love to discover what was under the clothes because he hoped the man lived up to his expectations. It was easy to indulge in erotic fantasies about Mark. Josh closed his eyes, letting his mind drift. He fisted his cock, his thoughts becoming more heated as he imagined Mark naked, the shadows of the room sliding off all that smooth skin. Broad chest with dark nipples against pale skin, well-muscled arms and legs. Mark easing onto the bed, dark eyes unreadable as Josh watched him, mesmerized. Josh would turn to face him when Mark stretched out beside him. Mark would slip his hand into Josh’s hair, letting it slide through his fingers, smiling, even a little playful. Cupping Josh’s face in one hand, he would lean in, drawing him into a deep kiss. Opening his mouth under Mark’s, Josh would wrap himself around him, putting his leg over Mark’s hip, erections coming together. Still kissing, Mark nudging him closer, grinding his hips into Josh’s, licking his way into Josh’s mouth, hungry, exploring. He would slide his hand down Josh’s back, over his ass, trailing his fingers into the crease, brushing over the sensitive entrance. Breaking the kiss, tossing his head back, Josh would let Mark feast on his neck, nipping and sucking at the tender skin at the base of his throat. Josh’s breath hitched as he imagined Mark pressing two fingers deep inside him. Pulling his leg up higher on Mark’s hip; wanting, needing to give him more access. Mark capturing him in a heated kiss, plunging his tongue deep in Josh’s mouth, Josh rocking back onto his fingers.
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Christ, he could drift and float on this feeling forever, the slow sensation warming his blood, electric, tingling along his nerves. He could almost feel Mark there with him; kissing, nipping Josh’s lip, rubbing his cheek along Josh’s, breathing, whispering, asking Josh if he liked being touched this way. He could see himself mirrored in Mark’s eyes, lost for words, aching, his climax building by the moment. Wanting to pull Mark closer, to grind his erection against Mark’s. Mark bucking against him, pushing his fingers deeper into Josh. And when he brushed against that spot, lights would explode across Josh’s vision. Oh God yes, this is what he wanted, this is what he’d have Mark do to him. He was on fire, biting Mark’s shoulder, sensations crashing through him. He couldn’t breathe, the world graying out around him, fireflies dancing at the edges of his vision. He balanced on the knife’s edge of release. He wanted to feel Mark closer, imagined him pushing Josh onto his back, sliding between his knees, urging Josh to wrap his legs high so he could thrust, bucking and grinding erections together. It would be wild and slippery and so fucking damn hot. Mark, his eyes wide, panting, covered in sweat. Josh’s climax exploded through him, blanking everything out. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything as his whole body flashed hot and cold. Mark would come with him with one last wild thrust, spilling hotly over Josh, but shouting Ryan’s name. Still trying to catch his breath, Josh lay sprawled over the bed. He treats himself to a vivid fantasy only to have Mark shouting Ryan’s name? What the hell was up with that? After a few minutes, Josh levered himself up on one elbow, reaching for the towel he’d tossed on the bed earlier. “Ryan! Oh God, Ryan, no!” Oh, fuck! Josh was off the bed, grabbing for a pair of sweatpants. Mark screamed out again, crying and begging for his long dead friend. Josh yanked his pants on before he shot out the door and raced down the hall to the master bedroom. **** Mark sat bolt upright, the breath sobbing in his lungs. The vivid green jungles of Vietnam faded away into the shadows of the dark bedroom, leaving him behind with his memories and guilt. Drenched in sweat, shivering, chest heaving, he tried to shake off the last of the nightmare. His ears still rang with the sharp crack of rifle shots and the screams of the dying. It was so fucking long ago, yet it remained as real to him now as when it happened. There was no escaping it. For a few months, it would fade into the background and he could get on with the drudgery of life, going through the motions because he knew no other way. But it was never for long, a few months at best and Mark would find himself returned to the jungles of Vietnam. He took in the destruction of the bed he’d torn up in the throes of the nightmare. His hands shook. There was no way he would be able to go back to sleep, not like this. He might as well go downstairs, knock back a few or more beers, smoke a pack of cigarettes and watch that damn TV. Pushing the last of the blankets aside, he looked up to see Josh standing in the doorway. He was wearing only a pair of tie-dyed sweatpants that hung low on his hips.
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Mark sat on the edge of the bed, hanging his head, swallowing against the sudden nausea that rose in his throat. “You got any Coke or Pepsi in the fridge downstairs?” Josh still stood in the doorway. “Say again?” Mark pushed his hands through his hair, wishing the other man would leave him alone. “It’ll help settle your stomach a lot better than a beer will.” “Get the fuck outta here. Go back to bed, will ya’?” He expected a smartass remark from Josh, or a question about the nightmare, about Ryan, about what had happened all those years ago in Vietnam. Instead there was only silence. Mark looked up, ready to snarl at Josh to mind his own goddamned business. There was no one there. Confused, he blinked, then shook his head before flopping back on the rumpled bed with a muttered curse.
Chapter 4 In the weak morning light, Mark finished making coffee. The storm had cleared off, leaving a light dusting of snow over the dunes that would be gone by midmorning. He skipped his run, having made the decision to go into town without Josh. He wanted some time to himself without the damned guy’s curiosity sitting on the seat between them. He knew Josh would come down, bare-ass naked and half asleep as usual, to get his coffee and he’d tell him he’d see him later on when he brought back the inspector. He fished out one of the travel mugs stacked in the cupboard as the coffee finished. Lighting up a fresh cigarette, he glanced up as he heard Josh come down the stairs. Unlike the last several days, when Mark had been treated to an early morning skin show, this time Josh was dressed, with glasses on, baggy coat over one arm. His hair hung loose around a freshly shaven face. Yawning, he tossed the jacket next to Mark’s on the nearby chair. Sleepyeyed, he came into the kitchen, reaching for the pot. Mark narrowed his eyes. Josh filled the travel mug, and took it with him to the fridge, where he topped it off with milk. “I got coffee, so let’s roll.” Leaning back against the counter, he screwed the cap on the mug. Grumbling under his breath, Mark nudged him aside none too gently to get another mug out of the cupboard. “Not exactly a morning kinda guy, are you?” Josh sipped his coffee as he moved out of Mark’s way. “Shut the fuck up and get your ass downstairs, will ya’?” Mark screwed the cap onto his own mug. He grabbed his coat, shrugging into it. “Christ, I get Sergeant Sunshine here. Just what I fucking need. Probably braided daisies and wore them on his helmet.” Josh raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Finding the keys in his pocket, Mark grabbed his cigarettes and mug. He stomped to the sliding doors, throwing them open, the morning cold blasting him in the face. “Are you fucking coming or not?” he barked at Josh, still standing by the chair. Shrugging, Josh picked up his coat, pulling a much abused boonie hat out of one of the pockets. “Well, when you put it so sweetly, how’s a guy to turn down an invitation like that?” “Fuck you, damned ex-jarhead.” “God, you’re such fun first thing the morning, you know that? And that’s former jarhead, you idiot dogface.” ****
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Josh said nothing as Mark drove. Drinking his coffee, he settled into his seat, considering Mark’s anger and edginess. Josh wasn’t an idiot, he knew when to push and when to back down. He knew that the door slamming, mutterings about wannabe hippies and the white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel were clear signs Mark was pissed off at not having gotten out of the house without him. Like Josh was going to let that happen. But with the miles, Mark’s annoyance waned, replaced by what appeared to be fear which he did his best to hide with grim silence. Josh recognized the signs when he caught the other man sliding him a glance more than once, tapping his fingers restlessly on the steering wheel. Josh knew what it felt like to be scared, and he could tell it didn’t sit well with Mark Connor. This man was used to being alone with his nightmares and flashbacks. He wasn’t the least bit interested in discussing them, even with someone like Josh who could understand. Christ, the guy was a mess. He wondered if Mark had ever tried to get any help. Josh sipped his coffee, watching the scenery slip past. The tide was receding, the surf crashing ashore. Mark barreled the old Suburban down the wet sand above the reach of the waves. Trash littered the empty beaches: driftwood, glass and plastic containers, dead fish, huge piles of seaweed and other things Josh couldn’t readily recognize. Mark wove around most of it without slowing down. The dusting of light snow was already disappearing as they drove back onto the highway. In the distance, Currituck Lighthouse held silent sentry against the lowering skies. Mark said nothing as he swung the truck around a pile of sand that had been pushed into the road by the wind and high surf. Yawning, Josh stretched within the confines of his seat. Mark cast him a dark look that he ignored. “Where we meeting this guy?” Josh couldn’t help himself and yawned again. “And Christ, how did you find anyone stupid enough to come out here?” “Manteo, down past Whale Bone Junction on Roanoke Island.” Mark crushed out his cigarette. “You’re out here, ain’tcha, cupcake?” “Yeah, what the hell does that tell ya’?” They drove through the small town of Corolla in silence. Mark shook out another cigarette one-handed, lighting up as they drove past the lighthouse. Josh saw a small band of wild ponies in the distance, huddled against the cold wind. “How far a ride are we talking here?” “About an hour, that okay with you?” “Hey, just makin’ conversation, dogface.” Josh, still holding his travel mug, held up both hands in a placating gesture. “Just shut up, will ya’?”
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“Are you such a charmer on all your first dates or is this just for me?” Josh flashed a grin as Mark glared at him. “How about a change of subject then? I’ll tell you something about me you don’t know and you can tell me about last night.” Mark stared straight ahead, letting the silence speak for him. “I’d like to know who Ryan was.” “There’s nothing to discuss.” Mark watched the road, the smoke from the cigarette hanging in the air. “It was a long time ago. The guy’s dead. Enough said.” “You know, I looked you up on the internet the other night.” Josh swallowed what remained of his coffee. A road sign indicated that the town of Duck was next, then Southern Shores. “You did what?” Mark shot him a dark glance. “You were in the Highlands for your first tour, then went north for your second, near Chu Lai. That’s where your unit got hit, wasn’t it? North of Chu Lai, not that far from Danang?” Mark said nothing, driving in stony silence. Josh decided to keep on pushing. “Took some heavy casualties in that ambush. You nearly died there yourself, didn’t ya’? Got shot up pretty badly from what I could find.” “You done now?” Mark’s voice was as empty as their narrow road. They entered the town limits of Duck. Josh studied Mark, took in the clenched jaw and tensed muscles. The hand not on the steering wheel lay fisted on Mark’s leg. “I know how that can stay with you.” “No, you can’t.” Without warning, Mark yanked the steering wheel, slicing the truck left across the empty highway into a small parking lot. Jostled by the sudden change in direction, Josh grabbed onehanded for the dash to keep his balance, almost dropping his mug. Mark slammed on the brakes, sliding into a parking space in front of a local convenience store. Heart pounding, Josh let out a long, slow breath as he stared at the store window, filled with various ads and signs. There were a couple of other cars parked to either side of their truck, both empty. Mark shoved open his door and climbed out. “I need cigarettes.” Josh turned, swallowing against the sudden dryness in his mouth. “You got two choices. You can get the fuck out and hike back to the house or you can shut the fuck up for the rest of the drive. Those are the only choices you got, am I clear on that?” He didn’t wait for Josh’s reply. Slamming the door shut, Mark turned his back. Josh watched as the other man shoved the glass door open, stomping into the tiny market. The wind whipped around the old truck, rocking it as Josh closed his eyes. He sank down in the seat. “Sweet Christ, Myers, but you really screwed that up, didn’t ya’?” ****
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Josh stayed in the kitchen, putting together a pot of homemade chili while the inspector went over his plumbing work upstairs. Mark was with him, leaving Josh to his own devices. They hadn’t exchanged a single word for the rest of the drive to Manteo, Josh deciding not to push his luck. He found a large metal bowl to dump a sack of navel oranges into. He added a bag of apples. He finished putting away the rest of the groceries he’d bought while Mark had gone into the local Home Depot to get some things. With clipped words, Mark told him he’d drive back with the inspector. He barely spared Josh a chilly look when he tossed the keys to the truck to him. He walked away, leaving Josh in the mostly empty parking lot with the bitter wind whipping up. That had been the last thing said between them. So Josh bought groceries, picked up some beer, and filled up Mark’s gas tank before he drove back to the house. It gave him far too much time to think about what he was doing here, besides plumbing. Maybe it was best to leave in the morning. He could head south to Myrtle Beach or Hilton Head. It wasn’t like he hadn’t slept in his truck before. He would likely do so again. What was he expecting, anyway? Even if he got Mark into his bed, where did they go from there? Mark wasn’t looking for a partner of any sort. Josh had made the decision a long time ago he wasn’t gonna be anyone’s fuck buddy. In all honesty, the guy was completely screwed up. Josh had his own demons; did he want to take on someone else’s? He could make it easy on both of them and leave in the morning while Mark was out on his run. The guy would probably be relieved when he realized Josh had cleared out. He had enough money to get by until he could line up another gig. This would have been a sweet payoff, true, but he was no longer sure the money was worth it. He could hear two voices, indistinct words drifting down the stairs. Josh identified Mark’s from the other guy’s. He slid a couple of boxes of donuts, along with a loaf of white bread on top of the refrigerator and folded the paper bag. He checked his chili, stirring the pot, the aroma filling the room. Leaning against the counter, he looked out onto the tossing ocean. There was still daylight, the weak winter light spilling through the huge expanse of glass. It did little to cut the damp chill. Josh decided to light the fire, flipping on the TV to keep him company while he started it. With the fire now burning, he tuned up the Weather Channel, deciding to leave it there. Mark and the inspector came down the stairs, discussing the work left to do on the other bathrooms. Josh stayed where he was, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the two men. The inspector, somewhere around Mark’s age and as tall as Josh with a shock of red hair, smiled when he saw him. “You gotta be Myers.” He extended his hand. Josh nodded and shook it. “I’m Calvin. I was telling your buddy here that you did a class A job up there. No problems with the inspection at all.” “It’s Josh, and thank you. I’m always glad to hear it.” Josh flicked his glance to Mark, but the other man was looking away. “If you’re staying in the area, I can recommend some other jobs if you’re interested.”
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“I appreciate that, but I won’t be staying. This was a nice enough gig, though.” Calvin pulled a business card out of his pocket, handing it to Josh. “If you change your mind, call me.” He pointed at the large box that still held center court in the room. “That’s got to be the tub you were talking about, I assume?” Mark nodded. “Yeah, that’s the bastard. I guess we’ll spend tomorrow trying to get the damned thing up there.” “The box makes it look a helluva lot bigger than it is, I’m betting.” Calvin walked around it. “Tell you what, since I’m here, why don’t I help you guys get it up the stairs. I’m sure the three of us can handle it.” Josh started to say “hell yes” as Mark shook his head. “That’s nice of ya’, but we got it.” “The hell we do!” Josh pointed at Mark. “You turn him down, Connor, and you can haul that bastard up there by yourself while I watch with popcorn and a beer!” Calvin barked out a laugh, grinning at Mark. “He’s right, let’s get this uncrated. We probably can have it upstairs inside an hour.” “Damned ex-jarhead, you’re such a fuckin’ cupcake, you know that?” “How many times I gotta tell ya’, it’s former jarhead, you idiot dogface!” In the end, it took the three of them more than two hours to muscle the tub up the stairs and into the master bedroom. There was a great deal of swearing, along with some pinched fingers, but they got it resting on two-by-fours next to the wall between the bath and the bedroom. Josh offered Calvin some dinner but the inspector, with a quick smile, told him he should get back at least to Highway Twelve before it got too dark. Josh walked him to his truck. “You get into town often, Myers?” “If you mean Manteo, no, that was my first and likely last trip.” Josh brushed his bangs back from his face. Calvin smiled at him. “Maybe you should. I wouldn’t mind meeting up with ya’ for a few drinks.” He reached over, ran his fingers along the length of Josh’s arm from elbow to wrist in an unmistakable invitation. “Connor tell you I was gay?” Josh moved back a step, raising his head. “No, he didn’t. Does he know you are?” Calvin was still smiling at him. There wasn’t anything sinister there, nothing malicious behind the handsome green eyes. “You don’t have something going on with him, do you?” “It’s just a job, that’s all I’m doing for him here.” Calvin slid onto the seat of his truck, putting the keys in the ignition. With the door still open, he turned it over. He looked up at Josh. “You get tired of that, you got my number. I’d like to see you again.” He winked at Josh before pulling the door shut. He backed the truck out of the driveway, giving Josh a final wave and disappearing down the road. Josh waited until he was gone before he pulled out the business card. Without looking at it, he tore it in half and held it up to the wind, letting it snatch the pieces from his fingers.
Chapter 5 Yawning and pushing the hair out of his face, Josh came down the stairs as he did most mornings wearing nothing more than his dog tags, white socks and a tattoo on his ass. He could put on sweatpants, but where was the fun in that? Besides, he liked Mark looking at him. It was a complete turn on. Mark was already in the kitchen, a pair of coffee mugs out on the counter, the pot finishing up. Two coffee mugs? Well, that was a first. Hell, an apology if Josh ever saw one. Whatever anger that had been there yesterday was gone now. Lighting up a fresh cigarette, Mark leaned back against the counter in front of the sink. Behind him, framed by the windows, morning came in across the ocean pale and weak. Crossing the room into the kitchen, Josh picked up a sense of unease from the other man. Usually, morning found Mark wrapped in annoyance, eyes narrowed, arms crossed over his chest. Even his stance; always on the defense. Not now. He was subdued, the normal irritation replaced with something more contrite. Okay, he’d had another one of his flashbacks during the night, but still. This was something altogether different. Last night, Josh hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d spent the better part of an hour convincing himself that Mark wasn’t worth the effort. They were, after all, talking casual sex here. No strings attached, rolling around, two sweaty guys kind of sex. That’s all Josh had in mind when he came to the Outer Banks, didn’t he? He should walk away from this. There was nothing to be gained but a paycheck. Or so Josh wanted to convince himself. When had the rules changed? Josh never planned on this, the last thing he needed or wanted was someone as damaged as Mark Connor in his life. He had enough of his own baggage courtesy of Beirut. He’d made the decision a long time ago to face life head on and enjoy the ride. That didn’t mean he didn’t have bad days himself. Mark had nothing but bad days. Maybe it was the fact the other man was so incredibly screwed up that drew Josh in. He could sympathize with the unending guilt of being a survivor, of “why not me?” It was more than that, though. Josh had caught glimpses of it at the most unexpected times. He’d seen it again last night when he told Mark he was calling it a day. The aching loneliness, the need to be touched by someone else and the fear that came with that realization. Mark had been alone all his life. It was a huge risk to reach out to Josh, to open parts of himself he’d left for dead back in Vietnam. 31
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He didn’t even know it but he had Josh, sweet fucking Christ but he had him, by the balls and by the heart. A messed up chain smoker, probably an alcoholic and a fucking Army boonie rat from Vietnam, no less. Right now, Josh couldn’t think of anyone he wanted more. Still yawning, Josh grabbed the bigger of the two mugs and filled it. From the corner of his eye, he caught Mark surreptitiously trying to glance at his left flank. Since that first day when Mark had realized there was a tattoo on his ass, he’d been trying to figure it out, but the bastard refused to come out and ask him what he had inked there. Josh, loving a good game, deliberately made sure Mark never got a clear view. He went over to the fridge, taking out the carton of creamer he’d picked up yesterday to top off his mug. Sipping the contents, he sighed with pleasure. Mark remained silent, cigarette in his mouth. On a whim, Josh leaned around Mark, reaching for the bowl on the other side of him. Sweet Christ, he smelled good. With total disregard for personal space, Josh pressed against the other man as he reached, pinning him back against the counter. Mark wore a faded t-shirt, the fabric soft and warm against Josh’s bare skin. Josh felt muscles stiffen as Mark froze under him, eyes widening, the cigarette still in his mouth. Josh saw a flash of attraction and confusion in Mark’s dark gray eyes. Pressed groin to groin, the seams of the other man’s jeans rough against his now growing erection, Josh felt Mark’s instant and unmistakable response. For a long moment it hung there between them, electric and charged. What started out as mischievous, even playful, could be something more. The urge to kiss this man flashed across Josh’s mind, impossible to ignore until he saw fear come into Mark’s eyes. He wasn’t ready. Josh took an apple from the bowl. He stepped back, giving them a little space. Mark stared at him for a long moment, pressing the heel of his hand to the bulge straining against the front of his jeans, but said nothing. Josh swore at himself for letting it get out of hand. He had no one to blame but himself. Deciding that retreat was a good idea, he tossed Mark a quick smile, coffee in one hand, apple in the other. He threaded his way through the building supplies to the stairs. “I’ll start building that tub deck in the master bath unless there’s something else you want me for.” He could feel Mark’s gaze following him. “Yeah, that’ll be fine. I’m gonna be painting the other guest room.” Josh didn’t miss the strain in Mark’s voice. He paused at the top of the stairs, turning in time to see Mark crushing out his cigarette in the sink before he glanced back at Josh. There was something in his storm gray eyes but the other man ducked his head and picked up his mug, reaching for the pot. “There’s a game on tonight, you interested?” “I can hardly wait.” Mark finished filling his mug.
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“I’ll take that as a yes.” “You’d better be wearing more than just dog tags, jarhead.” That made Josh smile, the tension evaporating between them. “Aw, come on, what fun is that?” **** It had been another long day of furniture moving, carpet ripping and painting for Mark in the second of the four guestrooms. In the background, drifting down the hallway, he could hear Josh singing along to such legends as Jimi Hendrix, CCR, and Bob Dylan when he wasn’t drowned out by the squeal of the circular saw. Mark ended with a long, hot shower, a beer and several ibuprofen as his shoulders ached like a bitch. Now clean, feeling almost sociable, he decided to come downstairs to see what was for dinner and watch the game with Josh. Josh had lit a fire, chasing back the damp chill and the shadows of the great room. What sun there had been had long since set, the windows that ringed the room showing nothing but blackness. The Weather Channel was on the flat screen, the volume muted. Josh was in the kitchen, belting it out with Ike and Tina Turner to Proud Mary. Captivated, Mark stopped at the bottom of the stairs, watching. Josh wore his baggy jeans, an oversized brown t-shirt that had the sleeves ripped out and displaying a cartoon daisy with a peace sign smack in the middle of it. Hanging down around his shoulders, his long hair was loose and glossy in the firelight. He was barefoot, the jeans too long and frayed at the hem. What had Mark’s attention, though, was the fact that Josh was not only singing, but practically dancing as he hung in there with Ike and Tina. Sweet Christ, but the guy was sexy. Josh glanced up, the firelight spilling off the rims of his glasses. He flashed Mark a smile before reaching over to the small boom box behind him, slapping it off. The room dropped into silence. “What?” Mark blinked, shaking his head. “Nothing. For a minute there I thought you were gonna cut loose and dance like Tina Turner.” Josh grinned at him. “Nah, I don’t have the legs or the high heels for it. Besides, there’s only one Tina Turner.” He spooned something out of the crock-pot into a bowl. “Thank God for that,” Mark muttered under his breath. “Hope you’re hungry.” Mark shrugged like he couldn’t care less. He wasn’t going to admit that whatever it was Josh had thrown together earlier that day smelled delicious. “So, who are ya’ now, Martha Stewart?” “Oh, come on, I’m much cuter, ya’ gotta admit!” Pushing a deep bowl of what looked like chicken stew at him, Josh winked. “Somehow, I don’t think a couple cans of condensed soup, a cut up chicken and a bag of frozen veggies makes me Martha Stewart.”
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Mark snagged a couple of long necks out of the refrigerator. With the bowl in his other hand, he retreated to the couch. Josh followed him, setting his own dinner and a couple more beers on the coffee table before going back into the kitchen. He returned with a basket of rolls and butter. “Christ, don’t tell me you were a damned cook as a jarhead?” “Give me a break, will ya’? The rolls are out of a tube, open and put in the oven. Even an idiot dogface like yourself can do that.” Josh settled into the other corner of the sofa, pushing his hair out of his face. “And no, I was not a cook when I was a Marine. I was a door breaker like the rest of my buddies.” He fumbled around for the remote before realizing he was sitting on it. “But you can still call me Hot Cakes, if ya’ want.” Mark nearly spit out his beer. He glared at Josh who paid no attention as he flipped through the channels until he found the game. Turning the sound back on, he settled back with his dinner, the firelight dancing over his face and hair. “Fucking jarhead, what the hell was a cupcake like you doing in the Marines anyway?” “Sergeant Cupcake.” Mark paused, fork halfway to his mouth. “You were a goddamned sergeant? For Chrissakes, how long were you in?” “Long enough to make sergeant, dogface.” “In the Marines.” Mark hesitated, but curiosity was getting the better of him. “So why be a jarhead?” “You mean instead of a dogface?” Josh shrugged. “I had my reasons.” He looked at Mark with those incredible gold-brown eyes. Apparently if Mark wanted to know what those reasons were, he was going to have to ask. He considered, he seriously thought about it but then shook his head. “Yeah, whatever, cupcake.” It was getting too personal, too close. Mark wasn’t ready for that. Instead he dug into his dinner. For something as simple as Josh made it sound, the food was pretty damn good. Mark ate his entire bowl, leaving only a few chicken bones. Josh got up at one point for more and brought back a couple of beers for them. Mark watched the game with little interest; he wasn’t even sure who was playing. But he was comfortable and warm. Whether he’d admit it or not, he was glad for the company. He’d gotten so pissed at Josh yesterday when the other man had pushed his buttons. The anger and annoyance had given way last night as Mark lay in bed, wondering if Josh would clear out in the morning. He’d caught something when he’d introduced Calvin to him. The sparkle of mischief gone, replaced by distant coolness. Mark wasn’t used to that from the easygoing Josh. It wasn’t in Mark’s nature to apologize, nor was he going to. Josh had no business pushing when he couldn’t possibly understand. But Mark didn’t want him to leave over it, either.
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It was strange to start feeling again after shutting down for so long. There had been Ryan, then no one. Period. Not even to pick up for casual sex with no strings attached. Mark had let himself drift alone through life, believing that it was supposed to be that way. It was his punishment for surviving when Ryan hadn’t. Now, here was Josh and in less than a week, everything had changed. The nightmares remained, Ryan still dying no matter how hard Mark tried to save him. But now, Mark also had daydreams and fantasies that left him aching, sweaty and feeling alone. The guilt wouldn’t leave him. He’d survived, Ryan had died. Was he betraying that memory if he let Josh into his life? He’d told himself for years that he wasn’t entitled to any happiness. Charismatic, Josh was larger than life. He didn’t apologize for who he was or for his homosexuality. Mark never did either, but he’d come from a time when it was considered a mental illness. In Vietnam, it could get you raped and then killed by the same men who had been your buddies the day before. Times had changed. Although Mark didn’t hide what he was, he had no reason to put it out there, simply because he didn’t care. Besides, the wonders of the internet made gay porn easy to find. It wasn’t a relationship, but it was something to get off to when Mark needed it. Josh sprawled at the other end of the sofa, one bare foot on the floor, one long leg stretched out, the other bare foot resting on the coffee table. He draped his arms loosely over the back of the cushions, a beer in one hand. The firelight painted that mane of hair in gold and copper. He was long and lean and alive with a love for life that Mark hadn’t known since before Vietnam. It would be so easy for Mark to slide across the cushions, pin Josh down with a bruising kiss as he undid those loose jeans and pushed his hand inside, wrapping it around that cock. It would be easy because Mark knew that Josh wanted it as much as he did. He’d pull Mark down to him, wrapping his legs around Mark’s hips, grinding up into him as he slid his hands over Mark’s ass. God, what he wanted to do with this man, sink into him, wrap around him, taste his skin. More than that, he wanted to wake up next to him. What a sight it would be to see the sunlight play over his face and long hair first thing in the morning. Not for a few days or weeks, but for a long time... “Mark?” Mark blinked. He found himself staring at Josh. The other man still sprawled but watched Mark with some puzzlement. And possibly hope. “You okay?” Mark shifted, trying not to be obvious with the raging hard-on he’d given himself. He hadn’t been this turned on since he was a kid and didn’t know what to do about it. “Just watching the game.” “Yeah, I can see that.” Josh sat up, setting his beer on the table, all the while looking at Mark with those ever changing gold-brown eyes. “I don’t suppose you can tell me the score or who’s even playing, can ya’?”
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There was a strangled moment when Mark wasn’t sure he’d be able to answer. What then? Tell Josh he didn’t know because he was daydreaming of pinning him to the sofa and screwing him senseless in the firelight? “Oh, for fuck’s sake, it’s the Eagles and Vikings, get over yourself.” Josh still watched him. Mark wasn’t dense, he could see hunger there. It had been unmistakable that morning when the younger man pinned him to the counter. The heat generated between them in that briefest of moments and his reaction to it terrified Mark. It was happening again. Mouth going dry, he stayed where he was, waiting to see what the other man would do. If Josh decided to take a chance and come over, Mark wasn’t sure whether he’d tell him “yes” or push him away. If Josh came over, if Mark let him, would it be such a bad thing? Josh nodded once, then got up. For one frozen moment Mark thought he was going to do it, but then Josh gathered up some of the dishes and empty bottles before going into the kitchen. “Halftime. You want chips or pretzels or both?” Mark let out a long breath, realizing he’d forgotten to breathe. “Both. Grab me another beer while you're at it.” Mark pushed his hands through his hair, calming his jangled thoughts. He couldn’t decide if he was relieved or disappointed that Josh didn’t make his move. He glanced over his shoulder at the other man, who poured chips into a large plastic bowl while he hummed. What exactly was going on between them? Patting himself down, Mark found his cigarettes and shook one out. “What the hell’s wrong with me?” he muttered, searching for his lighter. “I’ve got to be an idiot. Playing with fire, that’s what I’m doing.” Josh came back, setting a couple of beers and bowls of snacks on the coffee table. He sat down again, comfortable and loose limbed, legs spread as he twisted the cap off his beer. He tossed Mark an easy smile. If there had been a hunger there before, it was gone now. Mark looked away, swallowing. As the game came back on, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d let an opportunity slip away. He wondered how many more Josh was willing to give him. **** Mark couldn’t sleep. Restless, he lay awake, watching the clock tick by. Ryan and Josh chased through his thoughts in tattered circles. He knew he was losing Ryan, his memory and what he’d always meant to him. He didn’t like admitting that it had been happening long before Josh showed up on the scene with his carefree, easygoing manner. Ryan had, after all, died thirty-eight years ago. All Mark had were his memories of their short time together, along with a couple of precious black and white photos tucked in a worn paperback book that had been in Ryan’s rucksack when he’d been killed. It was where he’d found them, not realizing Ryan had the pictures until after his death.
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Physically, there was little the two men had in common. Ryan had been Mark's height with bright blue eyes, strawberry blond hair and a rash of freckles across his face Mark had found endearing. A very Irish boy who came from coal mining roots. But Josh had Ryan's same love of life, ready smile and sweet nature. Even the same spark of mischief in his eyes. They were the things that Mark remembered most about his long dead friend and lover. He had no doubt that if the two men had met, they’d have made fast friends, despite Josh’s unfortunate career choice with the Marines. But Ryan, killed in the jungles of Vietnam almost forty years ago, would never meet the outgoing and often outrageous Josh Myers. Ryan was the past that Mark wouldn’t let go. On the other hand, Josh was here, now, and very much alive. He’d given Mark not one, but two wide open invitations today to nail him right there. Mark couldn’t help but think that Ryan would laugh at the improbable situation he now found himself in. He was too old for this shit. Sure, he had no doubt that Josh would be fun to screw a few times, but that would be it. Quick sex with the younger man who would be on his way in a few weeks. Even that was more commitment than Mark wanted to make. He levered himself up on one arm, reaching for the remote. The TV in the master bedroom was on the wall opposite the bed. Mark flipped it on but muted the sound. The clock read ten past two. So the guy was sex on a stick, big deal. All that rich, long hair that Mark ached to sink his hands into. When Josh pressed against him that morning, Mark almost came apart. He’d let no one, absolutely no one, get that kind of close to him. There had been a moment where Mark almost grabbed him with the intention of pinning him to the island in a full body, crotch-grinding press. It scared the hell out of him, because Josh wanted that too. Mark tried to find something to fall asleep to, but at that hour of the morning there wasn’t much on. He finally settled on a rerun of Deadliest Catch. He’d always thought of himself as a little bit crazy until he’d seen the crab fishermen and decided he had nothing on them. With the light from the TV flickering, Mark tried one more time to drift off. But every time he closed his eyes, Josh was there, sweeping that mane of hair out of his dark eyes, singing to CCR or The Doors, walking across the great room wearing nothing but his dog tags. Sprawled on the couch with the firelight spilling off his wire-rimmed glasses, watching Mark with that quirky smile and a sly wink, a beer in one hand, the other hand inside his pants. Mark sat up with a muttered curse, throwing the blankets back. He swung his legs over, sitting on the edge of the bed, hands fisted in his hair. There was only one way he was gonna get any sleep at this point and that was with a few beers. Pulling on an old pair of sweatpants, he left for the kitchen.
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At the top of the stairs, he realized that the flat screen was on and the fire built back up as well. He knew Josh had gone to bed after the game; he’d followed the younger man upstairs. More curious than annoyed, Mark started down the steps, ready to give Josh a hard time about not being able to sleep, when he realized what was on the flat screen. Mark had seen more than his share of hardcore gay porn so that wasn’t what made him slow down, gawking at the screen. What had his complete attention was that he’d never seen it so vividly displayed as it was on the big, high-definition flat screen. He’d almost bet that you could see it from the nearest house, a mile or so down the road. These things were never much for dialogue and this one was no exception as two well-hung young studs went at it as could be seen only in a gay porn vid. Unable to stop himself, Mark walked down the stairs. Mesmerized, he drifted over to the couch, staring at the screen. The pair had a lot of enthusiasm if nothing else. He found Josh, sprawled on his back on the couch, stroking his impressive erection. Mark stared at the younger man much as he had the screen only moments ago. Those actors had nothing on Josh Myers. Sweet Christ, he was such a fucking sight, his chest bare but for his dog tags, bright sweatpants shoved down past his hips, the firelight playing over skin slicked in sweat. His eyes were shut, his breathing rapid as he pumped his cock into his fist. Mouth dry, Mark gripped the back of the couch, unable to look away. Josh drew his knees up, feet flat on the cushions, thrusting harder, more erratically, groaning with each push. Mark caught himself grinding his own erection against the back of the couch. Realizing that Josh was almost there, it took every ounce of strength Mark had to back away before the other man came. The last thing he wanted was for Josh to find him standing over him with his own hard-on, staring. He went in the kitchen, on the far side of the island when he heard Josh’s strangled cry. Mark pressed the palm of his hand against his crotch, trying to ease some of the ache of another hard-on for the night. Cursing under his breath, he yanked open the fridge, taking out a couple of beers. Josh waved at him, hidden by the couch, Mark able to see only his hand. “Can’t sleep, Connor?” “What, with you playing porn on that damned thing and jerking off?” The two young porn stars were finishing up. Josh must have hit pause as the picture froze on a moment that made Mark pinch the bridge of his nose. The two studs were a tangle of limbs and bodies, one inside the other. The camera angle showcased a tight shot of nothing but a cock buried in an ass. None of this helped Mark, who couldn’t remember being this wound up in years. “Christ Jesus, I can’t believe you’re playing porn on that thing. You realize the neighbors could see that if they were in.” “Oh, come on, you gotta admit it’s pretty spectacular.” Josh got off the couch, pulling his sweatpants back up as he did. “As if any cheesy gay porn video could be classified as ‘spectacular,’” Mark muttered. “You got your own bedroom to jerk off in, you know.”
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Josh wasn’t looking at him; he appeared to be searching for something in the couch cushions. “Yeah, well, that’s true. But I couldn’t sleep and I thought, why not? Ah, here they are.” He disappeared for a moment behind the couch, then stood up again, putting on his glasses. Mark twisted off the cap of one of the beers, taking a long swallow. Josh came into the kitchen, sweeping the hair out of his face as he went to the sink and washed his hands before fishing the donuts from the top of the fridge and pulling one out of the box. “I always crave sugar after that.” He held it in his mouth as he put the box back. “I didn’t need to know that.” Mark didn’t need to know that the wildly colored sweatpants were actually SpongeBob SquarePants, either. He was now convinced that Josh did all his shopping at the Rescue Mission and K-Mart. Eating half the donut in one bite, Josh tossed him one of his wide smiles. “You didn’t have to stand there and watch, ya’ know. Two’s definitely more fun than one.” Mark tried not to act like he’d been busted as he shot Josh what he hoped was a frigid look. “Yeah right, cupcake, a jerkoff contest with you is all I need.” He was not going to have this conversation. “You better not have made a mess on that couch.” Taking both his beers, Mark went around the far side of the island, praying Josh didn’t notice that he had a raging hard-on.
Chapter 6 Josh woke up with one of his killer headaches. Groaning, he pulled the pillow over his head in an effort to evade the weak, early-morning sunlight. He’d been prone to headaches ever since Beirut, after being thrown like a rag doll across the room and slammed into a wall. It had been weeks before the ringing in his ears stopped. The weather must be changing. Josh had the sense that something big was moving in. He was gonna have to check out the Weather Channel. Hopefully some coffee and the over-the-counter painkillers he kept in his duffle would knock it back to manageable levels. He’d worked before when it seemed like his brains were leaking out his ears, but it would be nice if he didn’t have to. Well, headache or not, he wasn’t gonna miss his usual opportunity to go downstairs to get his cup of coffee in nothing but his dog tags. Besides, even with a monster headache, Josh wouldn’t deny Mark a chance to try to get a look at his butt tattoo. Christ, the guy was so fuckin’ uptight, but it would be worth every moment, splitting headache or not, to watch him try to sneak a peek while pretending not to. Even so, it didn’t stop Josh from wincing and swearing under his breath as he dragged his naked ass out of bed to go downstairs. Mark was where Josh always found him in the morning, leaning against the counter in the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest as he smoked a cigarette, waiting for the coffee to finish. At fifty-eight, the guy was incredibly sexy in Josh’s opinion, although it eluded him how anyone could drink and smoke as much as Mark did and still be in good shape. It was hard to believe that running several miles most mornings was the answer. He must be one of those men who got sexier with age. Like Mark Harmon or Sam Elliot, who Josh thought had to be the sexiest older men on the planet. For a moment Josh had a wild desire to walk up, lean in and pin Mark where he stood. He wanted to lay an open-mouthed kiss on him that left no room for no uncertainty. Not like yesterday, when he’d backed away. He knew it would be so much more satisfying than coffee. Josh thought he had him last night as they watched the game. It was there in Mark’s eyes. Josh had watched him with anticipation, praying the older man would come across the sofa and kiss the shit out of him. It had hung in the air between them, but then it was gone, replaced by panic in the other man’s eyes. He had no doubt now that Ryan and Mark were more than buddies, even more than fuck buddies. To love someone so much that forty years later you still couldn’t let go of them; Josh couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be worthy of such devotion. The skies framed by the windows behind Mark were a dark, ugly gray that sucked up what little color there was from the landscape. A fine snow whipped up, thrown against the expanse of windows by a fierce wind. Yawning, head still hurting, Josh pushed his hair out of his face and 40
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walked up to the coffee pot, reaching for the larger of the two mugs. Staying where he was, Mark said nothing as Josh filled the mug. He went to the refrigerator for the milk, all the while making sure Mark couldn’t get a clear view of the tattoo. The Weather Channel was on the flat screen TV, the sound muted. Josh glanced at it as he reached for the box of donuts. “Weather’s changing.” He pulled one out, biting into it enough to hold it between his teeth as he turned, offering the box to Mark. Mark raised an eyebrow at him but took one. “There’s a good sized nor’easter comin’ up the coast. Gonna get nasty here by this time tomorrow.” Bingo, that would explain the fuckin’ headache. By tonight he would be downright miserable. “I’ll be tiling the shower so I’m gonna use the wet saw.” Josh dunked his donut in the coffee, Mark making a face at him when he did. “What?” He stuffed it in his mouth. “Do you have to do that?” “Do what?” Josh dunked the remainder of the donut. Making a strangled sound, Mark pushed Josh out of his way so he could get at the coffee maker. “Dunk. You’re dunkin’ a perfectly good donut in a perfectly good cup of coffee.” He poured his own mug full. “You’re fuckin’ kidding me, right? You don’t like donuts dunked in coffee?” Well, hell, where was the freakin’ box? Damn, he’d have to buy stock in Starbucks! The fun to be had here! “For Christ’s sake, will ya’ get the fuck outta my face already?” Josh couldn’t help it. He reached past Mark, snatching his donut. He dunked it in Mark’s mug before beating a hasty retreat out of harm’s way. Mark growled and swore as Josh ate the stolen donut while he climbed the stairs. “This ain’t over, you crazy hippy ex-Marine. Don’t think I won’t get even with you!” “Oh, I’m counting on it!” Josh sashayed on the top step as he grinned down at Mark. “And that’s crazy hippy former Marine, you idiot dogface!” **** Mark sensed that Josh wasn’t on his game today. Although he was all mischief that morning with his usual nudity and the donuts, there was little of that as they took a break for lunch. Josh normally wolfed down a couple of sandwiches, something to drink and a piece of fresh fruit before disappearing back upstairs to the master bathroom. Not today. Mark raised an eyebrow when Josh ignored the sandwich he’d made. Instead he drank a warm Coke even though there were plenty of cold ones in the fridge. There was something there, something off, that drew Mark’s attention. He couldn’t put a finger on it, though. It annoyed him that he couldn’t figure out what had snuffed out some of Josh’s shine. He was so preoccupied watching Josh, he knocked over the large push broom leaning against the end of the island. It hit the floor with a clatter, causing Josh to flinch and wince. Mark knew then what was wrong. He bent over, picked up the broom, and leaned it back against the counter.
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Ryan had had terrible headaches, had told Mark he’d had them since he could remember. He’d learned to deal with them, gutting his way through most of them without a single complaint. Mark knew he’d never be able to manage with nearly as much grace. But there were times when they dragged his lover down, making his life a torment. Those were the days when Ryan didn’t smile or tease him, when he wouldn’t eat or drink. He’d flinch from the bright sunlight or start at any loud noise. It was clear to Mark that Josh was dealing with a vicious headache. Mark knew the pain Ryan had lived with so he could not only sympathize with Josh, but also admire his determination to work through it. Josh finished his can of soda and grabbed another. His sandwich remained untouched though. Judging by the way Josh looked at it, it was gonna stay that way. “You get a lot of headaches?” Josh glanced up at him. “Not as much as I used to. I think it’s that big storm comin’ in.” He took his sandwich over to the counter so he could wrap it in foil. “Don’t worry, I’m good at not letting them slow me down.” Ryan gave him a tired smile as they sat in the dappled shade at the edge of a lush green meadow. The thick, humid heat beat down, shimmering in waves over the elephant grass. Pale under his tan, shivering with exhaustion and pain, he knelt next to Mark, rifle across his lap. They’d humped through the boonies for the last several hours and still had several to go before the platoon bunked down for the night. Mark tried to get him to drink some water, offering him his canteen. Hand shaking, Ryan took it. “Stop worryin’, will ya’, Mark? I don’t need ya’ fussin’ over me. Besides, I’m real good at not lettin’ ’em slow me down.” He came back from the flashback, shaking his head. Josh must not have noticed as he finished wrapping up the uneaten sandwich and shoved it in the fridge. “I’ve got more tiling to do in that shower, so I’d better get back on it.” “You’ve been bustin’ your ass in that master bath since ya’ got here. Let’s knock off for the rest of today, give ourselves a break. I want to haul some wood in for the fire before the weather hits the fan.” “I’m fine, Connor.” “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know you’re a badass tough ex-Marine, but I’m still pulling the plug for today anyway. Go jerk off to some of your porn collection.” Mark finished his sandwich, tossing the paper plate in the trashcan, followed by the now empty beer bottle. He put the remark out there on purpose to see if Josh would make his usual comeback of “former” Marine. But Josh said nothing, instead taking another swallow of the warm cola. God, the guy had to be in some major pain if he wasn’t gonna jump all over that opening. Mark didn’t like admitting it, but it bothered him. This wasn’t the Josh he was accustomed to.
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Josh shrugged, retreating toward the stairs as Mark watched him go. “I’m almost done with that shower. It’s no big deal.” For a moment Mark was tempted to follow him, seized with an overpowering need to catch up to him in the master bedroom and pull him toward the bed. Letting his imagination run with the tantalizing thought, he could see himself grabbing Josh’s wrist, pulling him around. Mark would cover his protests with a deep kiss. He would push him to the bed, undressing them both until there was nothing but skin between them. They would kiss and touch, Mark spooning up behind Josh, nuzzling into that gorgeous long hair as he breathed in the scent, nipping at the nape of his neck. He’d stroke down all that smooth skin to a lean hip, Josh leaning back against him with a soft moan. He would look up at Mark with those stunning gold-brown eyes, Mark cupping his cheek in his hand, stroking his thumb over his lips before he would lean in and kiss him, slipping his tongue into Josh’s mouth, tasting him for the first time. Josh would guide his hand to his growing erection, groaning into Mark’s mouth as he wrapped both their hands around his thick cock. Mark would fist him slowly, Josh rocking into his hand, eyes closed, resting his head on Mark’s shoulder. Mark was hard and leaking pre-come. He would push himself into the crease of Josh’s ass, thrusting in time with the rocking of Josh’s body. It was warm and loose, easy and unhurried, Mark whispering in Josh’s ear, sometimes kissing him. They could make love like this all afternoon; Mark was convinced there wasn’t a better way to pass time. He’d spent a similar afternoon in a hotel room with Ryan in Saigon, as they loved each other for hours… He came back to reality with a start. The great room was empty, Josh gone. The wind whipped around outside as Mark glanced out the windows at the gray landscape. He sighed, picking up his cigarettes and tapping the box against the palm of his hand. The lines were blurring more and more between Ryan and Josh. Whether he liked it or not, Mark realized he’d begun to care about Josh. A lot. He couldn’t help feeling that in accepting Josh, he was leaving Ryan behind, alone and dead in Vietnam. **** Using his elbows, rifle gripped in his hands, Mark crawled over to Ryan. Dusk filled in the shadows of the jungle that surrounded them; it would be pitch black real soon. Ryan, flat on his stomach behind a rotting tree trunk, peered over the top into the lengthening shadows. He glanced back at Mark with clear blue eyes, his face smeared with dirt and blood. “Been real quiet for the last hour, man. Don’t suppose it’s too much to hope they pulled out?” Mark had dragged several ammo belts and half-full canteens with him, taken from the men who didn’t need them anymore. He dumped them beside Ryan. “They’re waiting for nightfall.” He pulled himself up next to Ryan, rolling onto his back. He pulled the clip out of his M-16 to check how many bullets he still had. “Throw one of these over to Henly for me.” “How’s the leg holding up?” Ryan took one of the ammo belts. With a swinging toss, he sent it sailing over to Henly, hunkered down by another fallen tree. Henly waved before leaning over far enough to snag and pull it to him.
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“Smarts like a bastard, but I’ll live.” Mark gave the clip a couple of sharp smacks against his thigh, then snapped it back into place. “Simmons, Parker, Abermarle and Higgins are dead. So are both the newbies.” Mark hesitated, swallowing his fear and sorrow. “Michaels too.” “Aw fuck, Sarge?” Ryan closed his eyes. He ducked his head, hiding his face under his arm. “That’s what, less than a dozen of us now?” His voice was muffled and strained. “More like ten. Hartman and Silverstein are alive, but barely. They ain’t gonna make it.” “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Ryan rolled onto his back next to Mark. “We’re almost out of ammo. Christ, Mark, we’re in a real bind here.” “I managed to grab most of the ammo belts and canteens. I spread ’em around and repositioned some of the guys. It might help.” He rebound the wound in his left leg. He’d taken a bullet through the thigh when they’d first been ambushed. He knew he was lucky; their lieutenant took a headshot, never knowing what hit him. It had been a duck shoot since then, the NVA pinning them down, picking them off pretty much at will. Now night was coming in fast, which meant no gunships, no dustoffs and no help. The NVA waited for the cover of darkness to finish the job. “We’re gonna make it.” What else could he say? He sure as hell didn’t want to die in the jungles of Vietnam. He tied the strip of cloth tight over the already-soaked-through bandage, swearing under his breath as the pain lanced knife-hot through him. “You find the radio?” “Dead. Don’t matter, you know we’re on our own now that it’s getting dark.” Ryan pulled the clips out of one of the ammo belts, stacking them in a neat pile. There were a couple of hand grenades, probably the last any of them had. Night rushed in like it always did in the jungle, eager to steal the last of the light, dropping them all into blackness. There would be a full moon, but it wasn’t up yet. They had some flares, Mark made sure he’d spread those around as well. Behind them, he could hear Hartman begging for help, begging to die, his breath ragged as he choked on his own blood. There wasn’t anything they could do for him, the morphine long since used up. Even if their medic wasn’t dead, there was little he could do but stay by Hartman until he finished dying. Someone recited the Lord’s Prayer, the words mixed with Hartman’s pleas. Then there wasn’t anything, the silence filling in with the darkness; even the night insects were quiet. Someone lit a flare, tossing it out in front of them, lighting up the landscape. At least a dozen NVA were there, closing in on their position, now caught in the glare. Mark and Ryan opened fire with the remainder of the platoon, trying to take down as many as they could.
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Henly cried out when he got shot, thrown back like a rag doll, his chest ripped open. He lay there under the glare of the flares, mouth open, staring sightlessly up at the clear sky. Ryan stripped the clip from his rifle, reloading with a fresh one as Mark emptied his at the oncoming NVA. The racket of the guns, the screams of men dying, the shrill squeal of the whistles that the NVA blew washed over Mark with the acrid smell of gunpowder and blood. The flare burned down fast. “Reload!” he snapped at Ryan as he rolled to his side, fumbling for a new clip with one hand. He stripped the empty one from his M-16. Hands slippery with blood, he dropped the fresh clip, swearing as he grabbed for it as the flare burned out, dropping them into pitch black. “Flare, throw another flare!” Mark shouted. He found the clip but had to bang it clean before he could slap it in place in his rifle. A fresh flare sailed over their heads, landing in front of Mark and Ryan. “Fuck! Mark, look out!” Mark froze for a breathless moment as the NVA came out of nowhere, lunging for him. Ryan was already rolling over the ground with another one. Mark rammed the clip home but his rifle got knocked from his grasp, skittering across the torn-up ground as he grappled with the enemy soldier. He managed to get his Ka-bar free, but the other man pinned him down with a knee to his chest that knocked the air out of his lungs. He grabbed Mark’s wrist in a crushing grip; Mark felt the bones snap as he dropped his knife. Stunned with the pain, he wasn’t quick enough to stop the bastard from grabbing his knife. He sliced across Mark’s arm, the blade sharp and biting deep. His arm felt like it was on fire, his vision hazing even as he watched the NVA slice for his throat. Then he was gone, hauled off by Josh, who yanked the man’s head back, slitting his throat. Mark lay on the ground, panting, dazed, his arm and wrist in agony. Josh looked down at him. He heard the “thunk,” that sickening sound when a bullet tore into flesh. Warm blood sprayed over him as Josh spun around, then collapsed to the ground beside Mark. “No! Josh, oh my God, Josh, no!” **** Mark sat bolt upright, screaming his anguish into the dark that closed in around him. The jungle faded away, replaced by the shrouded master bedroom walls and furniture. He couldn’t catch his breath, throat raw, eyes burning. He scrubbed at his face, realizing his cheeks were wet. He fumbled for the lamp, almost knocking it to the floor in his haste to switch it on. The light chased back the shadows. He choked on the swelling nausea that always came in the wake of the nightmares. A movement out the corner of his eye had him whipping around. Josh stood in the doorway. Pale in the lamplight, but still alive. He didn’t say anything, only turned, leaving Mark alone with his demons. Staring at the now empty doorway, he heard the distinct sound of a door being shut.
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Fucking Christ, was he shouting Josh’s name? Mark crawled out of the bed. He went straight for the shower, turning the water on and standing under the cold spray, dizzy and swaying. He still wore his sweatpants and t-shirt. Hanging his head down between his arms, he braced his hands flat against the cool tiles. What the hell happened? Why was Josh in that nightmare? Why was it Josh who got killed this time and not Ryan? Josh had never even been to Vietnam, for fuck’s sake. Turning off the shower, Mark sagged back against the wall, icy water dripping from his hair. The implications made him shake. Ryan had meant so much to Mark, and for the past four decades, he was the only lover he’d ever wanted. You didn’t talk in terms of love or the future when you were trying to survive in a war thousands of miles from home, especially if you were queer. Especially in ’Nam. There was only survival and the hope that you’d see the sun come up the next day. Mark didn’t know when it happened, never understood how it happened, but he’d somehow gone and fallen in love with Ryan. He let himself believe it was the same for Ryan, because he’d never have survived this long any other way. Where did Josh fit into all of this? Mark squeezed his eyes shut, digging his nails over the new tile. He wasn’t looking to replace Ryan, not with Josh, not with anyone. The precious few memories that Mark had of Ryan were slipping away. He didn’t see Ryan’s clear blue eyes or hear his laughter anymore. It wasn’t Ryan dying in his arms in Vietnam. Now it was about Josh. Mark wasn’t ready for that. Or was he?
Chapter 7 Josh woke, yawning and pushing his hair out of his face. After the nightmare that had Mark screaming his name instead of Ryan’s, Josh hadn’t been able to fall back asleep right away. So he’d sat up in the comfortable chair, watching TV, before eventually dozing off. The wind tore around the house, causing it to creak and shift. It felt damp and chilly, forcing Josh to dig out a sweatshirt from his duffle. He pulled it on then found his glasses, deciding that it was a bit too nippy to go parading his attributes while getting a cup of coffee. Besides, it felt like the fire needed to be built up. Josh wasn’t interested in doing that naked. He pulled on a pair of loose jeans but couldn’t be bothered with his sneakers. Combing his hair with his fingers, he went downstairs to see how Mark was doing in the wake of his latest nightmare. Sweet Jesus, but that had scared the hell out of him. He was sort of used to hearing Ryan’s name, but the last thing he expected was to hear his own. He’d come racing down the hall much like he did the first night it had happened, only to find Mark already awake, breathing hard, shaking like a leaf as he looked around himself in confusion. Josh thought he could back away before Mark saw him, but he’d chosen that moment to turn and look at him. The relief and the horror mirrored in his eyes had floored Josh. He was halfway down the stairs when he realized Mark wasn’t in the kitchen, nor was the coffee started. The wind flung snow and sleet against the expanse of windows, making it impossible for Josh to see the ocean. He could hear the surf, though, pounding against the beach, the sound almost as loud as the wind. There was no way Mark was out running in this. He wasn’t that foolish. He probably didn’t feel up to looking Josh in the eye, afraid he might want to know why it was his name and not Ryan’s being screamed. Josh got the coffee started. He pulled down the donuts and took one, leaving the box on the counter before going over to the fireplace to get that started. Munching on the donut, he flipped the flat screen on, finding the Weather Channel. He stood with his eyes half-closed, the heat of the fire soaking through him. It was a good day to make a pot of beef barley soup. He could make it in the slow cooker and let it do its thing all day. It was easy enough to throw together. The coffee was almost ready so Josh went back to the kitchen, finding his favorite mug. Humming to himself, Josh made his coffee, dunking and eating another donut with it. He smiled with the memory of Mark’s dismay over dunking. He kept expecting Mark to show up, using equal parts snark and terror to cover the fear of his growing feelings and confusion toward 47
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Josh. The house remained quiet, the storm howling outside while the fire burned inside. Josh took what he needed out of the fridge. Still humming, he started to slice up onions and mushrooms for the soup. As the Weather Channel cycled around to the news regarding the nor’easter tearing up the coast, Josh raised the volume, watching as he sliced the beef chunks. He tossed them into the cooker. Apparently, this was only a sample of what was to come, the worst of the storm slated to arrive along the North Carolina shoreline later that afternoon. He poured a can of beef stock over the ingredients, covered the slow cooker and turned it on low. Topping off his mug, he went back upstairs to see if Mark was still in bed. The door to the master suite was closed. Josh rapped on it, sipping his coffee. “Hey, you awake in there? I got the coffee on.” There was no answer. Josh couldn’t hear the water running so it was reasonable to assume Mark wasn’t in the shower. He tried the doorknob, ready to give him a hard time about being a lazy ass sleeping the day away but the door was locked. That was odd. Mark almost never closed the door, let alone locked it. “Mark, you okay in there?” There was only silence, which didn’t sit well with Josh. “Connor! Answer me or I’m bustin’ this fuckin’ door down!” After last night’s nightmare, Josh grew more concerned by the moment. Setting his coffee on a nearby hallway table, he sized up the door, deciding it would be easier to pull the pins out of the hinges. He might have been a jarhead once, but he was a smart jarhead. “I’m fine, Myers. Leave me the fuck alone.” “Mark? Christ, what’s up with you? Why you got the damned door locked?” But there was only silence. Josh contemplated the wisdom of either trying to take the door down or keep talking to Mark through it, but decided in the end to leave the guy alone, at least for the time being. “You know where to find me if you need anything, Connor.” Still concerned, Josh retrieved his mug and went back downstairs. **** Josh left Mark alone, but after a few hours of watching the flat screen and listening to the storm outside, he decided he could work on one of the guest bathrooms. There was a big loose-leaf binder with various projects noted in it, showing what room got which fixtures and colored tiles so Josh didn’t need Mark to tell him what still had to be worked on. He spent the rest of the morning in the bathroom across the hall from his bedroom, doing some demo work to prep for the new vanity, sinks and tile. Shutting the door, he played his music, doing his best to put Mark out of his mind since there wasn’t anything he could do, at least until the man decided to open his door and his heart. If ever.
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Late in the afternoon, he decided to take a break. He shoved the large trashcan out into the hallway, stuffed with what he’d torn down and ripped up. He was covered in sweat, his faded shirt and ratty jeans coated with plaster dust. It was time for a Coke and a sandwich. He would check on dinner while he was at it. He stripped the pink bandana from his hair, shaking the strands loose around his shoulders as he came downstairs. Mark was there, sprawled in one of the overstuffed chairs by the fire. Josh started to make a sarcastic remark but he found himself biting back the words. Something was wrong. Josh came the rest of the way down the stairs as Mark watched him. It wasn’t until he was on the bottom step that he smelled it. He spotted the bottle of scotch on the coffee table. Mark had a half-full glass and a lit cigarette in the same hand. This was the hard stuff, not a couple of beers. Mark was doing some serious drinking. “Hey there.” Josh stepped around the sofa and the coffee table, keeping his distance from the other man without being obvious. He was more than drunk, Josh could see that. Mark glared at him with undisguised fury. “Looks like you’re not havin’ a good day here, Connor.” Mark said nothing, only knocked back some of the scotch as he continued to glower at Josh. “This have anything to do with last night?” Mark remained silent, watching Josh with eyes the color of slate. His other hand, the one not holding the glass, clenched into a fist. Behind him, the nor’easter was in its full glory, lashing around the house as it dumped snow and sleet, driving it against the windows. It was nothing compared to the approaching storm brewing inside. Josh had wondered if at some point this would all come to a head. If Mark would at last tell him about what had happened in Vietnam and who Ryan really was. But he didn’t plan on it this way, with Mark drunk and furious. He could walk away, should walk away. Good sense told him to do exactly that. But under the alcohol there was pain. And guilt. Josh knew all about that, knew how it could eat at a man from the inside. You tried to cope with it. Either you learned to live with it or you died by inches. Mark coped with alcohol. Josh had realized that from the first day he came to the house. He dealt with it by isolating himself, refusing to accept even something as simple as friendship. He left no room for anything but the guilt and grief. Josh understood all of that, understood that this could be himself if he hadn’t made a different decision years ago. It wasn’t in Josh’s nature to turn his back on someone who was drowning, even if that person didn’t want his help. Somewhere in the past couple of weeks, Josh had come to care. He’d waited long enough, it was time to get it out there between them. Sometimes if you break the wound open, then the healing can begin. Josh sat on the coffee table, choosing his words with care, ready for the backlash. “You think you’re the only one in this room entitled to what’s eating you up?” Josh picked up the bottle, screwing the cap on. “I’m sorry about what happened in ’Nam and about your buddy, Ryan. But I can’t believe this is what he’d want for you.”
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Mark’s face was flushed with the liquor, his jaw clenched so tight it made Josh’s teeth ache to look at him. His fury hung in the room, the tension almost tangible. But his eyes, those storm gray eyes, showed Josh something else. This was a wounded animal, trapped and dangerous. “He was more than your buddy, wasn’t he?” Josh saw something flicker in Mark’s expression. “That couldn’t have been easy in ’Nam, I know that.” “You know nothin’,” Mark growled, sitting up. He pinned Josh with a frigid look. “You weren’t there, so stop pretending you got any right to tell me what you’re entitled to.” “I wasn’t in Vietnam, so you automatically assume I can’t relate or understand?” “You were a fuckin’ peacetime Marine!” Mark surged to his feet, Josh joining him. “You weren’t in any war, so don’t lecture me!” Josh braced himself, waiting for Mark to take a swing at him. “I’m not lecturing you! I’m trying to get you to understand I know exactly what you’re going through!” “Fuck that! Come back to me after you’ve had most of your platoon killed around you! When you hear the dying ones crying for help, begging for their mothers, for God, for anything!” Mark threw his glass across the room. It hit the kitchen island, shattering, glass exploding all over the counters and cabinets. “So you were a fuckin’ jarhead, so what? You got the fuck out before you had to serve in any real action, didn’t ya’?” Josh almost gave it to him. Wanted to tell him that he was in Beirut, that he did know exactly what it was like to lose his buddies, to hear those who didn’t die in the blast but were wounded beyond hope dying around him. That he lay there shattered, bleeding, deaf and stunned, not even knowing who he was. Yeah, he was more than entitled. But what would be the point? Mark was too drunk and angry. More than that, he was frightened. He was terrified of Josh, terrified because Josh made him feel again. Because Josh was alive and here and Ryan wasn’t. That Josh almost died in Beirut would mean nothing in the face of Mark’s anguish and fear. “You survived, if you want to call this surviving.” Josh swept his arm out. “For Christ’s sake, you were a hero! They gave you a Silver Star! You saved men’s lives. Why can’t you accept that? Because Ryan wasn’t one of them?” “There were no heroes, not in Vietnam.” Mark gripped the back of the chair, digging his fingers into the upholstery. “They pinned a medal on me, for what? You dress like a hippie, think it’s fun but those hippies back then spit on me when I came home. Bastard kids who thought they were entitled, just like you!” “I can’t change that” “You’re damn right you can’t! They yelled at me, called me names, called all of us baby killers, and I stood there in my uniform with that fuckin’ medal pinned on my chest!” Mark’s voice broke as he looked away, his whole body shaking. “Ryan, died for nothing! His only sin was me!”
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Josh grasped at it, hoping this was where he could finally get in and reach Mark. “What you had with him wasn’t wrong, you know that.” Mark’s head snapped up, gray eyes bright with hurt and anger. “Do you know what they would’ve done to us if we had been found out?” Josh started to answer, but Mark cut him off with a vicious look as he pointed at him. “It was being ‘a queer’ back then, not the cutesy name of ‘gay’. At the very least we’d have been brought up on charges. More likely they’d have killed both of us out in the bush.” Josh didn’t know what to say. The time when he served wasn’t forgiving either, but your buddies were more tolerant in 1983. Most of his unit knew him for what he was, but kept it to themselves. It wasn’t common knowledge outside his unit, but it wasn’t a dark secret to be hidden the way Mark and Ryan had to hide theirs. “You had each other in the worst circumstances. In the middle of that nightmare, you two found each other. Nothing’s ever gonna change that, not time or prejudices or ignorance. I’m not trying to either, Mark, but you gotta know, I do understand, whether I was in Vietnam or not.” “Shove your understanding!” Mark came around the chair and grabbed the bottle from the coffee table. “Just fuckin’ get away from me! You can clear out tomorrow, I don’t want you or your understanding here anymore.” He turned his back on Josh and stomped into the kitchen, unscrewing the cap from the bottle. He hurled it into the sink. It cut deep. Josh realized there was no way to reach this man. Even if he could, what could he do for him anyway? Sometimes things broke and were never meant to be whole again. Mark had survived this long without him. He was right. Josh just hoped he could survive without Mark. **** It didn’t sit well with Josh that he was going to leave in the morning, but he wasn’t going to stay where he wasn’t wanted, no matter how attracted to Mark he was. It was more than attraction, Josh knew that now. Be that as it may, he couldn’t and wouldn’t force Mark when the guy wasn’t ready. This wasn’t the first time Josh walked away from a relationship. Unfortunately, this was the first and only one that had meant anything to him. He pulled back the curtains that covered the French doors, staring out over the snow-covered deck into the swirling storm. It was still in full swing, making it impossible for him to leave this afternoon or evening. Even tomorrow, it would be tough with the roads in such a mess. There wasn’t anything back in Norfolk for him. He’d been staying in a cheap hotel there when he found Mark’s ad. Going south was more logical, maybe into Georgia or even northern Florida. At some point he wanted to work his way west to Seattle. He didn’t know why, it was just something he wanted to do.
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Mark was downstairs, no doubt getting drunker and meaner by the hour. Would it have changed anything if Josh told him about Beirut? He couldn’t help but wonder that someone who had grieved for as long as Mark could realize anyone else could hurt. Or care. Josh wished he had known the man before the war and his lover’s death had irrevocably changed him. What must he have been like, young with his whole life in front of him? Instead he came back a broken man from a thankless war, to be spit on and vilified. Some things were never fair. Josh understood that better than most. He’d been foolish to hope he could reach past that. He dropped into the chair, leaving the drapes open, the storm outside suiting his mood. Sliding his laptop across the bed and onto his lap, he booted it up. The TV was on but muted. Josh left it on the Weather Channel for now. He’d download a few movies to take his mind off of things. It wasn’t like he had a lot to do. He could be packed and gone inside of ten minutes come morning. He’d finished one movie and was well into the second when he heard Mark come upstairs. It was hard not to. There was a terrific crash and the sound of something breaking. Then it was silent but for the storm. Josh set his laptop aside. Deciding to take a chance, he opened his door and peered down the hallway. Mark was on the floor, having taken out the hallway table, smashing the seashell lamp. Josh could smell the whiskey. Christ, what a mess. Josh sighed and came down the hall, kneeling next to Mark and yanking the cord to the broken lamp at the same time. Other than drinking himself blind drunk, Mark appeared to be okay. Josh doubted he’d remember any of this once he sobered up, including his throwing Josh out. Not that it mattered. He was leaving anyway. However, he couldn’t leave Mark here in the hallway. Josh considered his options: a bucket of cold water or shouldering him up for the short distance to the bed. Appealing as the cold water was, Josh rolled Mark onto his back, pulled him to a sitting position, and lifted him over his shoulder. Okay, he wasn’t a young Marine anymore and maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, but Josh manned up with a grunt, carrying Mark to the bed. He dumped him without any ceremony, his back and shoulders screaming at his stupidity. Christ, he’d pay for that tomorrow. Swearing under his breath, Josh shoved Mark onto his side in case he got sick and vomited. He was trying to be charitable. After all, it wasn’t like he hadn’t gotten soaked in booze a time or two when he felt sorry for himself. He contented himself with the gleeful knowledge that Mark would wake up with the motherfucker of all hangovers. ****
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After cleaning up the mess, both upstairs and down, Josh stayed in Mark’s room. Sitting in a comfortable chair with his feet up on the bottom corner of the bed, he kept watch on the unconscious man. It wasn’t a good idea to leave anyone that drunk alone, so Josh brought his laptop and turned the TV on, muting the sound. He spent the rest of the night surfing the internet, trying to decide where he would go next. The light from the TV flickered over the walls and drapes, making odd shadows that shifted and changed. Outside, the wind howled around the house, whipping up the snow and sleet, beating it against the siding and windows. Josh checked the weather reports, sighing his mounting frustration as he glanced at Mark. It wasn’t looking good for getting out tomorrow, but Josh wasn’t going to stay. He’d take his chances and try to make it to one of the smaller towns, if not Kitty Hawk. Mark slept, tossing and restless. The night spun itself into morning. Josh nudged the nearest drape aside to glance out at the storm. A pale winter light replaced the darkness but the wind was still up, making visibility nearly impossible. Mark shifted and groaned, Josh letting the drape fall back into place. The other man started to wake. Josh closed his laptop and turned off the TV before climbing to his feet. With a last glance at the still-waking Mark, he slipped out of the room back to his own. Bad weather or not, it was time for him to go.
Chapter 8 Mark’s head pounded. He lay there, eyes shut tight. He tried not to move. It took some effort but he finally rolled to his side, groaning, pulling the pillow over his head. His mouth tasted nasty and his whole body ached, reminding him he wasn’t a kid anymore. Christ Jesus, he must have gotten himself more than stupid drunk, but it was all a blur. Josh was in there somewhere, he was sure of it but he couldn’t figure out how or when. With his head still pounding, Mark made the supreme effort of pushing himself to a sitting position on the edge of the messed-up bed. The bedroom was cast in a dark gray light, the drapes drawn over the windows. Okay, he was in bed, in the huge house in the northern Outer Banks. That was a start, anyway. The place was quiet with only the sound of the wind and what Mark assumed it was sleet ticking against the windows. He stayed where he was for several minutes, dizzy with the monster headache. He couldn’t remember the last time he tied one on like this. Oh sure, he got good and drunk, he did that all the time. But not like this, not to the point that he couldn’t remember anything that happened. Deciding that coffee would help, Mark pushed to his feet. He swayed, the room tilting, but then caught and steadied himself, swearing under his breath. Fumbling around on the nightstand, he found his cigarettes and lighter and got himself into the bathroom. It was brighter in here, the weak winter sunlight filtering through the skylights. Mark flinched back from it, then flipped the shower on. He ran it cold on purpose, hoping it would chase the headache back to something more manageable and clear the fog from his brain. As he stripped them off, his clothes smelled like he’d slept on the floor of a particularly nasty bar. He pushed himself under the cold water, muttering he was some kind of real idiot. The long soak in the cold shower chased the headache back somewhat but did nothing for his memory. Mark toweled off before pulling on some sweats and a faded t-shirt. With a fresh cigarette, he decided to see what Josh was up to. **** Josh leaned against the counter, drinking his coffee as Mark came downstairs. The man showed all the classic symptoms of a monster hangover. Under other circumstances, Josh would have given the guy a hard time, enjoying the other man’s stupidity with the knowledge he’d done it a time or two himself. But this wasn’t one of those times, not after last night. He poured a mug of coffee for Mark and put it on the counter with a bottle of Tylenol before settling back against the counter. He’d already thrown his gear in his truck, which he had warming up. The wind still blew but the worst of the storm had moved on. The pale winter sunlight painted the large room in dull shades of gray. At least the fire chased back the worst of the chill. 54
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Mark popped a handful of painkillers, swallowing some of the coffee to chase them down. Josh watched him, wondering if the other man even remembered last night. He tried to decide if telling Mark what a idiot he was and that he didn’t have an exclusive corner on the “I’ve been through hell ’n back” block was worth the effort. Screw it, he was leaving anyway. Why not burn a few bridges on the way out? “You managed to fuck yourself over but good last night.” Mark glanced up at him with eyes filled with chagrin and no small amount of fear. Tough. “You even remember what happened?” Mark looked away, saying nothing. He went over to the coffeepot, refilling his mug. “Yeah, I figured as much.” Josh dumped what was left of his coffee down the drain and rinsed out the mug. “I’m not in the mood to hear it from you, Myers.” “Too bad, because you’re going to hear my two cents worth anyway.” “Save it for later, now is not the time.” Mark took his mug, walking back toward the stairs. Josh wouldn’t let him off that easy. “Beirut.” Mark paused, then turned around, slow, eyes going wide. Josh watched as the realization washed over him. “You were a Marine in 1983. In Beirut.” “Yeah. And yeah, I was there, in those barracks. I didn’t die, but I spent most of the next year in a hospital being put back together. But then I was one of the lucky ones, considering that more than two hundred of my fellow Marines didn’t make it at all.” Josh looked out the expanse of windows, over the snow-covered beach to the tossing gray ocean. “You’re right, though, I was a peacetime Marine. And I didn’t lose my lover there, only a lot of good friends.” “If I said that last night, then I was outta line.” Josh knew that was as close to an apology as this man would ever make. “I lost two years of my life I can’t get back, between my time in the hospital and the year after that when I was depressed, angry, drunk and I took it out on anyone within a country mile of me. But I pulled myself out of it. Decided that here I was, still alive when they had died. I was doing nothing to honor them in the state I was in.” The color had drained out of Mark’s face. “I don’t sum up my life or theirs with what happened in Beirut. Instead, I live each day with the knowledge that I got another chance at life. I honor those Marines by living instead of dying over and over each day.” “Listen, I’m...” Mark trailed off. “You’ve mourned Ryan for close to forty years. Maybe it’s time you stopped dying with him all the damn time and try to remember him when he was alive.” Josh shook his head as he grabbed his coat. “Although to be honest, I doubt you even know how to be happy after all this time. Do you even remember him alive outside of that battle?”
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Mark flinched with the cold words. “More the shame for Ryan who, I’m sure, never deserved this.” He shrugged into his coat. “Good luck with this place.” “You leaving?” Mark pushed his hand through his damp hair. “Christ’s sake, the roads are a fuckin’ mess right now. You won’t even be able to get off the island, the bridges are all closed.” “You told me to clear out yesterday.” Josh stood at the sliding door, hand on the frame. “I wish I had known the both of you, Ryan and you, back before you both died. He must have been incredibly special.” Josh pushed the door open, the sharp wind whipping past him on the open deck, snatching his breath away. He didn’t look back as he slid the door shut and walked away. **** Mark pulled a couple of beers out of the refrigerator before killing the lights and heading upstairs to his room for the night. It had been a long day of working by himself. The house had been so quiet without Josh banging around, singing some Vietnam-era song or shouting at the flat screen TV during a football game. It was, in fact, too damned quiet. Mark tried not to think about it. What would be the point? Josh had moved on, apparently his feelings hurt over something he’d said the night before. Mark couldn’t remember telling the guy to get the hell out. “Some big, tough jarhead you are,” Mark muttered under his breath as he placed the extra beer on the bedside stand, taking a deep swallow from the open one. He turned on the TV for company. “So I said something. Like I knew you were in Beirut...” Sweet Christ Jesus, Josh had been in Beirut. In 1983. In those barracks when they’d been hit. Mark dropped into the soft chair by the bed with a muttered curse. He remembered when the terrorist bombings happened, had watched it then on the news with a sick feeling. Okay, so Josh was there. That still didn’t make it Vietnam. Yeah, sure, he lost a lot of friends. But he didn’t lose someone like Ryan. He was still a wannabe hippy, a former Marine who served his hitch during peacetime. Mark knocked back the rest of the beer and fumbled for the second one. The TV news out of Norfolk was all about the recent storm—where it was now and the record snow it dumped. Locally, it reported how much of North Carolina and Virginia were closed down because they weren’t equipped to handle this stuff. There was no way Josh would get off the island anytime soon. It wasn’t Mark’s concern if he did or didn’t. It was Josh’s decision to leave, not Mark’s. It was high time he went, anyway. He was more annoyance than help. The light and shadows from the TV danced over the dark bedroom walls. He’d gotten along fine for close to forty years with no one else’s help. What did Myers know? Groaning, Mark closed his eyes and laid his head back against the chair’s headrest. He still couldn’t remember what had
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happened last night. It all remained a blur soaked in anger and whiskey. Mark didn’t like thinking he did more than accuse Josh of being a peacetime Marine. Which in itself was a pretty crummy insult. He kept telling himself it didn’t matter, Josh trespassed where he didn’t belong so he got what he deserved, didn’t he? Mark had never apologized in the past, he’d be damned if he was gonna start now because the guy was in those barracks in Beirut when they were bombed. That didn’t give Josh a free pass. But the empty house echoed without the other man’s presence. Before Josh, Mark never noticed. Now though, the silence ate at him. He could turn on every TV on in the place and it still wouldn’t fix it. Because Josh brought more than his sixties music and laughter. He brought life with him, along with a bright, happy, easygoing come-what-may attitude whether Mark wanted it or not. Josh couldn’t and wouldn’t apologize for living. Those beautiful eyes golden in the firelight and filled with mischief, the too-long hair that begged to be touched, that lean body... Mark could easily see it all as he pictured Josh turning, smiling at him. Mark never did figure out that fucking ass-tattoo. He was never going to now. He’d gone and snuffed out some of that light. The quick smile had been replaced that morning with grim resignation. Mark bowed his head. Fucking Christ, he was such a fool. Somehow, after almost forty years, he’d gone and fallen in love. He hadn’t realized it until now, when it was too late to do anything to fix it. Josh was right, he didn’t even know how to be happy. He could have had it all with Josh but instead he freaked out and drove him away because he was afraid. How perfect was that? **** Mark found himself standing in the shattered remains of a room, thick dust glittering in the shafts of sunlight that spilled through the ruined walls. Chunks of concrete, twisted rebar, and busted furniture were strewn around. Behind him, Mark could hear shouting and screaming. Here in the destroyed room were only the sounds of debris shifting and settling. And of someone dying. Now as he looked, he saw more than the ruined bones of the room, the settling dust...he saw the shattered bodies of men, or what was left of them. This wasn’t the jungles of Vietnam, Mark realized. No, this was Beirut. More specifically, Beirut, October 23rd, 1983. Josh lay against what was left of the far wall like a broken doll that had been tossed there, forgotten. He was a horrible mess, with gaping holes in his fatigue pants and t-shirt, both covered in dust and blood. Blood leaked from his nose and mouth, even his ears. Mark could only stare, knowing the then much younger Josh Myers, Marine Sergeant Joshua Myers, was a mess of torn flesh and broken bones as he lay, half buried by the collapsed wall.
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Somehow the young Marine watched him, his eyes glazed with shock from the blast and blood loss. Worse was the disappointment in his eyes. That was for Mark and the bitter words he’d thrown in Josh’s face, that he and all his dead buddies in mangled pieces around them were sorry excuses for soldiers because they served during peacetime and not during a real war. “I’m sorry... I didn’t… I couldn’t... How was I supposed to know?” The young Marine with the beautiful, golden-brown eyes looked away. Mark found himself alone among the dead. He woke with a start, sitting up in the tangled blankets. The room, the entire house for that matter, was dark and quiet. The TV was still on, but the sound was muted. Outside, the wind chased around the house with the distant sound of the surf crashing on shore. The clock on the dresser said 4:34 AM. Mark stared at it, confused and lost, trying to understand how he could dream about Beirut. Why was he there? It was then that the lost hours of his debauchery from the night before came at him from nowhere in lurid detail with every drunken, sarcastic and cruel word as he lashed out at Josh as if he had the right. How the light and the laughter snuffed out in those beautiful eyes, replaced with the same disappointment Mark had seen in the bizarre dream. He groaned, drawing his knees up to his chest, burying his face against them. Even if Josh hadn’t been in Beirut, it didn’t excuse Mark’s bitterness and recriminations. The sad truth was, the guy had done nothing at all but be nice with a quick smile. He'd been accepting, patient and understanding of Mark’s shortcomings. For that, he’d been nothing short of a total asshole to someone who had more than earned the right to understand. “Aw fuck, what have I done?” Josh was gone and Mark didn’t know what to do. Somehow Josh had crept in under his defenses. No one had gotten this close to him, no one saw him when he was vulnerable, shaking and sick from the nightmares. Until Josh. It had been Josh who had looked past the broken pieces. Mark didn’t know how, but Josh saw what Ryan had seen a lifetime ago. Christ. Ryan. Mark didn’t believe in fate or God; he’d given up on everything with the death of his lover. Yet here was Josh, with the same mischief and sparkle, playful and sweet. There was so much of Ryan there...was it any wonder he reached past Mark’s defenses when no one else could? Why throw that away? Mark moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Still shaky with the dream of Beirut, he turned the bedside lamp on. “Let’s think about this a minute, Connor.” He shoved his hands through his hair. There was no way Josh would have gotten off the island today; he wouldn’t even be able to get to Manteo. This was January, there weren’t a lot of hotels open. Mark reached for his pants. He could do this. He could find Josh. He wasn’t sure Josh would listen to him, but if he didn’t try, he’d never know.
Chapter 9 Mark had been right. There was no getting off the Outer Banks for at least the next day or two. Outside of some drifting in the more open stretches along the empty highway, there wasn’t all that much snow. The roads were slick from a coating of ice, rather than buried under several inches of the white stuff. But here in this lonely chain of barrier islands where snow was rare, the six or so inches dropped over the last couple of days had the same impact as six feet. The roads and bridges were closed, and the islands themselves were pretty much shut down. It took Josh a while to make it to the main highway. The narrow beach road that took over for the highway above Corolla was slick. More than once, Josh had to fight to keep the truck straight as it fishtailed, sliding on the ice. Highway Twelve hadn’t been much better. When Josh made it to Kitty Hawk where the highways divided, a sheriff’s cruiser sat across the road that led to the bridge off the island. The sheriff, bundled up while he drank coffee from a thermos, told Josh that there were a few large “chain” hotels further down the main highway in Kill Devil Hills or Nags Head. He shouldn’t have any problem getting a room for a night or two. So that’s what Josh had done, got a room and found himself waiting for the bridges to clear and open, although he still had no idea where he was going. There was a diner open next to the hotel. The young desk clerk, who Josh estimated to be maybe all of twenty-three, told him that the food there was actually pretty good. She flashed him a shy smile, her sandy-colored hair clipped back in a bun. Josh smiled back at her with a “thank you” before walking across the empty highway to get some breakfast. He now sat in a booth, a road atlas open on the table as he drank coffee. He’d already finished off a large plate of pancakes and bacon. A waitress closer to Josh’s age and wearing a wedding band topped off his mug. She gathered his empty plates with a tired smile, leaving the check behind. She’d told Josh earlier she’d come in at midnight. There were a few other stranded travelers scattered in booths, drinking coffee and eating breakfast. But except for the piped-in music and the sounds from the kitchen, the dining room was quiet. Like Josh, they were waiting for the chance to move on. He jotted some notes on a pad of paper, deciding that heading south was probably his best choice. New Orleans was still rebuilding in the wake of Katrina. He could be reasonably sure of finding temporary work there until spring. Then he could decide if he wanted to drive to Oregon and Washington to try his luck there. Sighing, he nudged the still-open atlas aside and pulled his mug over. The waitress had told him that it was unlikely the bridges would open today, but for sure tomorrow. Tomorrow, Josh could put this whole experience behind him. 59
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He had no one but himself to blame. Sure, Mark was gay, but the one problem he didn’t have was his sexuality. Josh wished that were the problem instead of the mountain of other issues that Mark wasn’t dealing with. Okay, talking a guy, certainly an older guy, out of the closet wasn’t easy, but still… Josh traced his fingers along the edge of the mug, staring at nothing. Mark had been closed off for far too long. It was foolish to believe that he could open up after all this time. He would never acknowledge that he suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, let alone that he had issues with alcohol. Josh had given it his best shot; it wasn’t his fault Mark had died with his buddy back in Vietnam. Nor was it for him to judge. Beirut didn’t necessarily give him a free pass. But sweet Jesus, Josh had been attracted to the man right from the beginning. He sensed that same vibe from Mark, even though he did his level best to hide it. Josh was willing to bet this was the first time in years that Mark had felt anything for anyone, and it wasn’t just rolling around naked on the couch in front of the fire. Although, yeah, the sex would be mind blowing, Josh would have made sure of that. Christ, he’d wanted to get the guy naked, to explore every inch of his body, to screw him senseless and have Mark do the same to him. They’d make love later when they’d caught their breath. Josh wanted to share more than sex with Mark, but that would never happen now. He needed to get over it. He wasn’t a sixteen-year-old kid who’d been dumped for the first time. He’d have to man up and move on. He hoped that the bridge opened tomorrow so he could get the hell off these damned islands. With a soft murmur of voices, a young couple slid out from their booth. They shrugged into coats, getting ready to head back to the same hotel he was staying in. Josh stopped paying attention, turning to stare out the window at the churning surf, instead. The door opened with a tinkle of bells, a sharp chill whipping down the aisle before it slammed shut. The room fell back into silence with the distant murmur of voices. The hotel had internet access. Josh considered going back to his room. He could download any number of movies, or maybe some raunchy porn and get himself off a few times. Then he could sleep in an effort to forget about Mark, how the man would look and smell and taste, how he would feel under Josh’s hands. How he would move... “The food ain’t half bad here.” Mark’s voice shattered his fantasy. Blinking, Josh turned to find Mark standing beside his table. The other man still had his coat on, but had pulled off his gloves. There was something wounded in his dark gray eyes, something that Josh didn’t want to explore. Not anymore. A few days ago, yes. But Mark wasn’t his problem now, he’d made that more than clear. “I was just getting ready to leave.” Josh took the check, glancing at it as he pulled his wallet out of his jeans’ pocket. “The bridges are still closed.” Mark didn’t move.
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“So I’ve been told.” Josh tossed out enough to pay the bill, leaving a generous tip. He picked up the atlas, flipping it closed with his notes and pen sandwiched inside. “Look, Myers—” “What do you want, Mark? Was there something else you forgot to rub my face in?” Josh wasn’t used to being angry, but Christ, he was only human. He so wanted Mark. It was stupid and foolish, and he was tired. “You left without getting paid.” Mark actually blushed as he looked away. “You did excellent work and that was the deal.” Josh stared at him. “You came down here…to pay me.” He shook his head as he grabbed his ratty boonie hat. “You have my email, you could have contacted me and made arrangements.” Josh wanted to stand but Mark remained, blocking the way. Josh wasn’t sure if it was deliberate. “I didn’t think that’d be right, you know, emailing ya’.” Mark fished out a folded envelope from his coat pocket, then set it on the table. “You’re gonna need the money. A deal’s a deal. I’m an asshole, but not that big an asshole. You earned it.” Mark shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked like he wanted to say more as he glanced at Josh before looking away, unable to look him in the eye. “Can I get you a cup of coffee, hon?” The waitress paused at Josh’s table, looking at Mark. “Uh, no thank you.” Nodding, the waitress eased past him with her pot to top off other mugs. Josh didn’t look at what he assumed was a check. He did need the money, so he pocketed it in his oversized flannel coat before climbing to his feet, forcing Mark to step back. “Well, now you can sleep better, Connor.” “If only it were that easy.” “Excuse me?” Josh had turned away, zipping up his coat, the atlas tucked under his arm against his body. He wasn’t sure what he’d heard as he turned back to Mark. Mark watched him with a shattered look, the color gone from his face. He shifted his weight restlessly, looking down at the floor before he glanced up and met Josh’s gaze. “I was way out of line the other night.” He sucked in a deep breath, waiting for Josh to say something. Josh continued to stare at him. Mark must have taken it as an invitation to have his say. “An’ even if you hadn’t been in Beirut, that didn’t give me the right to say the raft of shit I did.” He brushed the back of his hand over his mouth, swallowing rapidly. Josh said nothing. “I’m sorry, for that and a lotta other things I know I’ve gone and thrown away. I wanted you to know that.” Josh remained silent. Something in Mark’s eyes shifted as he looked away. Josh couldn’t be sure but he thought he saw defeat there. “Good luck to you, Myers.” He pushed past Josh, moving down the aisle. By the time Josh turned around, Mark was already gone, the door swinging closed behind him. Josh slid back down to his seat. He felt blindsided. The last thing he would have expected was this.
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He looked at the door. What it must have cost for Mark Connor to come here, to track him down like this. The rawness in his eyes and fragile hope. Maybe Josh was wrong about all of this. Maybe Mark could change, could accept what Josh was offering. Josh would never know if he left now. He got back to his feet, shaking his head. It wasn’t like he was getting off the island anytime soon. Besides, he knew exactly where to find Mark. **** Mark returned to the large, empty house alone, dragging in some groceries along with some other supplies he’d picked up, since he was, after all, in town. To see Josh. To hope that maybe... Well, he didn’t know what he hoped. But it was pretty clear that Josh had already made up his mind. The way the other man had stared at him as Mark fumbled through his apology. There had been nothing in those stunning eyes, not even an acknowledgement. The sparkle of mischief was gone, replaced with a coolness. Okay, what had he hoped for, anyway? For Josh to shrug and say “no big deal”? He put the last of the groceries away and took out a beer. After lighting up a cigarette, he twisted the cap off the bottle, leaning back against the kitchen counter. He looked out over the beach to the tossing ocean. The house, big as it was, closed in around him, empty and silent. No Josh singing or joking or doing inappropriate things on the sofa, things that Mark played at being annoyed with. Yeah, right. Josh sprawled naked on that couch, jacking off while he grinned and teased Mark, taunting him into coming over. Christ Jesus, he’d been so fucking hot. How long had it been since Mark even noticed another man? Was there a time since Ryan’s death? Fuck, he’d done more than notice Josh... He drained the beer, tossing the empty bottle into the trashcan with more force than necessary. He grabbed another from the fridge. If all he wanted was sex, then he didn’t need Josh for that. But it was hard to ignore the soft voice that whispered to him that it was way more than sex and he knew it. That Josh offered a helluva lot more. Fuck it. He’d been alone for so long now he wouldn’t know how to live with someone else, let alone someone like Josh, someone who found living to be a whole lot more fun than dying. Josh was better off—they were both better off— having parted company before something regrettable happened. More regrettable than Mark’s going off the deep end and being a total bastard to Josh at the bottom of a drunk? Myers was right, it had been so long that Mark doubted he could ever be happy. Looking around the huge room at all the stacked boxes and other supplies, he sighed. How would he ever finish this place now, when instead all he wanted to do was pack up and leave, forget the damned house. More importantly, forget Josh Myers. Crushing out what was left of his cigarette, Mark went upstairs to figure out what still needed to be done.
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Mark spent the rest of the day gutting the room that Josh had stayed in. He was determined to put the other man out of his thoughts. The best way to do that was to work himself into exhaustion. The room needed to be done anyway and with Myers out of the house as well as Mark’s hair, there was no reason not to get going on it. The bedroom was neat as a pin, nothing out of place. It was as if no one had been there for the past couple of weeks. But Josh’s scent still remained. As Mark closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, he could smell it, the lingering scent of something fresh and almost spicy. He could imagine Josh in the overstuffed chair with his feet up on the bed, computer in his lap. Swearing under his breath, Mark set to work moving the furniture so he could rip up the carpets. He lost track of time in his single-minded effort to be done with Josh Myers once and for all. He spent the rest of the afternoon dragging the heavy boxes of wood flooring up from the great room, then priming the walls to be painted. He worked long into the evening, tiling the bathroom across the hall. It was well after dark when, finally exhausted, Mark called it a day. Filthy and dripping sweat, he decided that he wanted a shower more than a beer and something to eat. He put the tools away and dragged his tired and sore ass to the master bathroom. He didn’t think about the fact that the bottle of ibuprofen was somehow already there on the vanity. He took a handful dry as he turned on the shower, adjusting the water to be as hot as he could stand it. His shoulders ached like a bastard, as did the back of his legs, from hauling the boxes of flooring. It was okay, though, Mark reasoned as he stared at himself in the mirror, because then he could whine to himself about how fucking sore he was, instead of the fact that he’d lost Josh. The mirror fogged over. Sighing, he swore, stripping out of his filthy clothes and leaving them heaped in the middle of the floor. He lit a cigarette, tossing the pack and the lighter on the vanity next to the ibuprofen. Steam from the hot water hung in the room as Mark eased his tired body into the shower under the stream. He let the water sluice over him, let it pound on his sore shoulders. He doused his head before putting the cigarette back in his mouth, eyes closed. He braced his hands against the wall under the showerhead, hanging his head between his arms, letting the moist heat sink into his abused muscles. Josh slipped into his exhausted thoughts, Mark groaning his misery. He’d managed to keep Josh out of his head for most of the day but now, fucking Christ, now he had nothing to fight back with. Being tired and sore like this left Mark wide open for the flashbacks that were Vietnam, but not this time. This time it was Josh, wet and naked and smiling at him, saying something that Mark couldn’t hear. He ached to touch the other man. He reached down to grasp his own cock, needing the release that getting himself off would give. “Why don’t you let me do that?”
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Mark jerked back with a gasp, dropping his cigarette as Josh wrapped around him from behind. Josh pressed his body against Mark’s back, pushing his hand away from his erection, replacing it with his own. Josh nuzzled and nipped the sensitive skin right behind Mark’s ear even as he palmed one nipple, grinding his cock against Mark’s ass. It had been years since anyone had touched him. Mark’s whole body felt like a live wire as he groaned. “Oh God, please tell me I’m not making this up in my head. Because I’m that pathetic and the only way I can have you is in my fantasies.” Josh nipped his ear. “I’m real, Connor. I’m not going anywhere. No more fantasies, for either of us.” He fisted Mark’s cock hard, and he gasped as the sensation shot through his body, heat pooling in his groin. “Tell me what you want, I know it’s been awhile.” Been awhile? There had been Ryan, then there’d been no one since. Oh yeah, it had been awhile. Mark laid his head back on Josh’s shoulder, thrusting into the tight grip as he reached behind him and grabbed Josh’s hips, desperate to have him closer. “I just want you.” “Tell me what you want, what you need.” Josh’s voice was a rough whisper. Reaching up, Mark buried his hand in Josh’s long hair, reveling in the way it spilled through his fingers, pulling Josh into a hard possessive kiss. Josh didn’t hesitate, crushing his mouth to Mark’s, licking, biting, sucking Mark’s breath from him, eating him alive. There was nothing careful or searching, no gentleness. This was something else entirely. Mark responded to it like a lightning rod. They broke apart, Mark trying to catch his breath as he stared into those goldenbrown eyes. Josh licked his lips as he pushed his wet hair off his face. Something broke loose inside Mark. “This is what I want, what I need. Don’t play games with me, Myers.” Josh smiled at him, his eyes darkening a shade. He palmed one of Mark’s nipples, pinched it hard between his fingers, causing Mark to jerk and gasp as the electric sensation rocketed straight to his cock. “I promise you, that’s the last thing I’ll do.” Josh pulled him into another crushing kiss, plunging his tongue deep into Mark’s mouth even as he turned him around to face him. He shoved Mark against the slick tile walls. He came up against Mark in a full body press, nudging his knee between Mark’s, urging him to spread his legs. This was Josh in control. Whatever he wanted, Mark was more than willing to give so long as the other man didn’t stop touching him, didn’t stop doing this to him. Josh appeared to have no intention of stopping as he captured Mark’s hands, pinning them to the wall to either side of his head, their fingers laced together. He shifted and hips, thighs, and cocks slid together with Mark banging his head back against the tile as Josh bucked against him. The sensations slammed through him, Mark meeting Josh thrust for thrust, the slippery friction pushing him in a rush for the edge.
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He couldn’t remember ever being this turned on, this hard, this much in need. Josh watched him, mouth parted, his eyes wide, his long hair wet and hanging to those ripped shoulders. Mark started to see lights dance at the edge of his vision, his heart pounding so hard he was sure Josh could hear it. Josh’s movements became more frenzied as he bucked and thrust and ground his erection against Mark’s. It was so good it was almost painful as Mark hung on that knife’s edge of release, muscles straining. Then Josh stopped, still pinning Mark to the wall. He was there, so fucking close! Josh leaned in, whispering against his mouth. “Come for me...” Mark’s climax slammed into him. He cried out, the shower, the bathroom, the entire house disappearing in an explosion of light and sensation that wiped everything away, leaving no more than Josh’s whispered words. When his thoughts cleared, he realized that Josh was holding him, that they were holding each other. Mark, knees weak and trembling in the aftermath of the most incredible climax of his life, held onto the other man, afraid if he let go he’d collapse right there. Josh stroked his hand down Mark’s back, nuzzling into his wet hair, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. It took several moments for sanity to set in. When it did, Mark shoved away, staring up at Josh who watched him with a satisfied expression on his face. Mark grasped his arms, fingers digging into flesh. “Why, why are you here?” “You gotta ask?” Josh captured his face in both hands, smiling softly. “You’re staying? This isn’t about making me feel like more of a shit than I already do, is it?" Josh captured him in a deep kiss. Not like the previous crazy, crushing, soul devouring ones; this was something completely different, but no less possessive. Mark melted into it, let Josh lick his way into his mouth and claim ownership. When they parted, Josh nodded. “I’m not going anywhere, Connor. Not tonight, or tomorrow or next week. Tonight we’re gonna fuck each other senseless until we both can finally sleep, without the nightmares. Then tomorrow, we’re gonna talk.” “Talk?” Mark traced his fingers down Josh’s chest. “Tomorrow.” Josh kissed him again, long and deep until Mark gave over to him. Only then did Josh release him. Still smiling, he turned off the water. “That’s tomorrow. Tonight, I’ve got other plans, because I’m not done with you yet, Mark Connor.” **** In the late morning daylight, Mark woke first. He lay there, a little confused. Josh shifted and murmured beside him. Mark sat up, staring at the sleeping man. It came back with amazing clarity, the shower, then most of the night spent with a lot of sex and not much talking. When they were both exhausted and wrung out, Mark remembered Josh spooning up behind him, wrapping him in his arms. He whispered that tonight there would be no nightmares. He’d been right.
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Mark couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t wake up with the nightmares tearing into him. Unless he drank himself senseless. Josh had given him what he thought he would never have again, the simple gift of peace. Peace from his guilt and shame at being a survivor. And, well, the sex had been nothing short of mind blowing. Mark rolled his shoulders. They were still sore but it wasn't anything painkillers couldn’t handle. He should get up and run, maybe get the coffee going. Which meant he’d be treated to naked, half-asleep Josh shoving his tousled hair out of his face as he came down for his first cup. Now Mark could openly admire that fine ass... Shit! Goddamn it! That fucking tattoo! Josh had his back to him, sleeping on his right side with the blanket barely covering his hips. Mark pushed it back enough to get a good look at the one thing that had driven him to distraction. There it was, inked on the guy’s left ass cheek, a cartoon daisy with the words “Flower Child” encircling it. “You have got to be fuckin’ kidding me! You’ve got a damned flower tattooed on your ass?” “It’s a daisy, you idiot dogface. What did you expect to be there?” Josh yawned, rolling onto his back. He smiled at Mark with sleepy eyes. “Well, not a freakin’ daisy on the ass of an ex-jarhead, I can tell ya’ that!” “Former jarhead, dogface.” Josh levered himself up on his elbows, the blanket doing a lousy job of covering up an impressive hard-on. “Christ, you must have been real popular in the showers.” Josh grinned at him, tossing that mane of hair out of his face as he sat up all the way. He reached for Mark. “If you’re good to me, maybe I’ll tell you when and why I got it.” Josh nuzzled against Mark’s neck and nipped his shoulder. “You really think I want to know?” The words were a little breathless as Josh palmed one of his nipples, rubbing his thumb over the tip. Fuck, he was hard again, aching and leaking. He was close to begging Josh to touch him. “Oh, you know you do.” Josh caught him up in a sizzling kiss even as he tumbled Mark back on the bed.
Epilogue With the house finished and Mark and Josh paid for a top-notch job, they made the decision to go to the Florida Keys. The owners of the Outer Banks house had friends who were looking for a major remodel while they spent the summer back north. It would be another sweet deal. The last few months hadn’t been easy but Josh wasn’t going anywhere. Mark relied on that, especially since Josh’s only condition was no more alcohol. Mark wasn’t happy with that. Josh made it clear Mark could get pissed at him all he wanted, call him any name, scream his head off at him, but he’d do it stone cold sober. In return, Josh promised he wouldn’t make Mark give up cigarettes. So they agreed to make a go of it, to be friends, partners and lovers, both knowing the obstacles they’d face. At least they’d face them together. But drying out Mark hadn't been easy. Josh was thankful they were so far north that getting back to town wouldn't be easy without driving, so he‘d hidden of the trucks’ keys. They got nothing done on the house for those first couple of weeks. It was another two before Mark was well enough to join Josh in the work. Through it all, Josh stuck with him. For all his easy-going attitude, Josh remained realistic. He knew they had issues, both were damaged by circumstances beyond their control. Being former military and gay didn’t help matters. Sex, however fantastic, wouldn’t fix those problems. But together, talking, sharing and leaning on each other, they could work through some of the issues as they found acceptance with each other as well as an understanding that came with being survivors. Part of the healing process was for Mark to come to terms with what happened in Vietnam, with Ryan’s death. Josh knew they didn’t stand a chance in hell until that started to happen. That meant a trip to Washington, DC. before they headed for the Keys. He’d been surprised when Mark told him he’d never been to The Wall. Josh had gone more than a dozen times, always stunned at the power and majesty of it. A soft, warm rain fell on them now, dripping from the boonie hats they both wore. Josh was thankful, as the rain would keep the crowds to a minimum. Since it was dusk, shadows creeping over the mall, there would be even fewer people. This was hard enough on Mark. He’d never be able to handle tourists shouldering against him or gawking. Josh had gone to the books and found Ryan’s name listed with the tens of thousands of others who had died or gone missing in action. Mark stood staring at the statue often referred to as the “Three Buddies.” The rain spilled down over the faces, looking like tears. Mark waited for him, both of them soaked since they hadn’t brought umbrellas. “I found him.” Josh touched Mark’s arm, the other man looking up at him. Mark’s eyes were large. They were filled with a riot of emotions that cut into Josh. 67
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“I don’t think I can do this.” Mark’s voice was choked as he looked back at the statue of the three soldiers. “Yeah, you can. I’ll be right there with you. It’s time, Mark, time to forgive yourself.” Josh took Mark’s hand. The other man stood shaking beside him. “It’s all right, I promise.” A park ranger saw them approach. Without Josh having to ask, he moved a lingering family along. The Wall loomed before them, slick and shining in the rain, the lights from the other monuments casting a shimmer over the mirrored surface. It wasn’t quite night, but it was coming on quickly. Mark could only stare. There were no words to describe the simplicity that always touched Josh in ways he’d stopped trying to understand. This was not his war, yet somehow, to Josh, it was a symbol of all those who had fought for God and country and died far from home. He couldn’t imagine how deep it ran for someone like Mark, a man who lost so much in Vietnam but still survived. The names, thousands of them, lined the surface as Josh led Mark down the path, reading the numbers until he found the correct panel, near the center, where the names for those killed in 1970 were etched in the black surface. The Washington Monument reflected in stark detail on the wet, glossy surface. It was Josh who found Ryan’s name, there among so many others. It was above eye-level for Mark, who reached up, sliding his fingers along the letters. Josh stepped away, giving Mark some space, to let the other man finally face the reality he’d struggled with since that horrible ambush almost forty years ago. Mark pressed his hand over Ryan’s name, leaned his forehead against the glistening surface and wept. Josh remained where he was, close enough that Mark knew where he was without intruding. Some tourists, not deterred by the steady rain or the late hour, approached, but the park ranger intercepted them. Josh couldn’t hear what was being said. He watched as they nodded then walked back the way they came. Josh appreciated the thoughtfulness as he returned his attention to Mark. Bringing Mark here was the right thing, Josh was sure of that now. Everyone needed closure. Josh wasn’t foolish enough to think this would fix years of damage, but it was, he hoped, a new beginning that Mark had never allowed himself to have. It wasn’t Josh’s intention for Mark to forget Ryan, to forget what Ryan was to him, what they were to each other, two scared kids in the middle of a war who found each other in more than a friendship, but love. There should be no shame in love or for surviving. Having come here at long last, Josh hoped that Mark could maybe remember the Ryan he fell in love with, remember him as he lived rather than how he died. To Josh’s way of thinking, there was no finer tribute. It was time at long last to heal and move on.
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Mark had Josh now, had someone who did understand. It wasn’t perfect. They would stumble, things would be said only to be regretted later. Josh took comfort in the fact that neither of them had to face it alone now. Vietnam or Beirut, it didn’t matter as they’d both somehow survived it all and found each other.
About Gwenna Sebastian http://www.lyricalpress.com/gwenna_sebastian Years ago, Gwenna became fascinated by the Vietnam War and the U.S. involvement in what was considered a thankless war by those who served. A tumultuous time, the Sixties became a defining era, complete with a soundtrack that even today conjures up memories of long-haired hippies and young soldiers who fought half a world away. Gwenna enjoys exploring these complicated times with gay characters who served in the military. Vietnam was dangerous enough without your buddies finding out you were a “queer” and the consequences could be tragic. This was where Mark Connor came from—drafted right out of high school, thrust into the middle of an impossible situation, only to fall in love with his closest buddy, Ryan. The nightmare that is war and the close bonds that men form under these difficult circumstances create extraordinary situations. That two men could fall in love in such an unforgiving time and the cost of such a relationship is what Gwenna strives to bring to her novels. Gwenna, whose son is an Army medic, is a proud supporter of our troops and the fight to abolish this country’s policy of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.” Gwenna’s Website: www.gwennasebastian.com Reader eMail:
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