Page 23
Story: Men of Fort Dale
Sloane’s eyes flashed. “And I just fucking told you I’m pissed you decided to keep it a secret from me! So how about you tellme why you thought you needed to keep this a secret when you tell me about anything fucking else.”
Dean stepped back, grinding his teeth. “Because you can be a dick.”
“I haveneverbeen an asshole to you before. I have never treated you as anything but the best friend you are. So why the hell would you think it was necessary to keep it from me?”
“Sloane,” Dean warned.
“You could have just casually mentioned you were going on a date. Or shit, mentioned you’d had a date and how great it was.”
“Sloane.”
“You could have told me after the second date. You could have told me after you guys decided to fuck. Hell, you told me any other time you fucked someone, why not this time?”
“Sloane.”
Sloane was practically bellowing. “So why not this time, Dean? Huh? Why not this fucking time?”
Dean’s temper snapped, and he shoved Sloane away from him. “Because it’s been hard enough being in fucking love with you for almost six goddamn years!”
Sloane stumbled, taken off guard by Dean’s words and his shove and gaped. “What?”
Dean’s eyes stung as he realized what he was saying, but he’d been pushed into a corner and unable to help himself. The truth was out in that one instant, and the rest poured from him as he forced himself to grip his shirt desperately.
“For six fucking years, I’ve been hanging on to some stupid, thin thread, swinging back and forth between hoping and knowing it will never happen. I’ve been crazy about you since we first became friends. Maybe it wasn’t that deep initially, but I knew how I felt by the time we left Basic. All I’ve wanted for six years, sixfuckingyears, was you, Sloane.”
It felt like his lungs were on fire as he heaved in a gasp of air, trying to keep his voice steady but knowing he was failing. Dean remembered what it had been like alone and trapped behind a dune as armed insurgents bore down on him, pouring bullets into the air around him. Trapped, with limited ammunition and no one close, Dean had faced down the inevitability of his death and, perhaps, even his capture. Staring death in the face had been so much easier than speaking the words that felt as though they were being ripped from his throat, but they kept coming.
“It’s taken me this long even to start to get over it, to accept the fact that no matter how great we are together, this is all we’ll ever be. And you know what? I’ve had to accept that this is fine, that this is wonderful. So long as I have a friend like you, I can be okay, even if it’s not exactly what I wanted. I worked at it, I fought for it, I fucking lost my shit over it, but I finally got to the point where I could try.”
Sloane hadn’t moved, his eyes wide as he leaned against the wall silently. Dean took a step away, reeling from the emotions pounding through him. It felt like if he didn’t find a way to calm down, his chest would burst.
“And I did it, okay? I got out there, and I found Marco. And he’s good to me. He’s funny, smart, and good-looking. And every fucking time I’m with him, I have to remind myself that he’snot you. And he never will be, and I have to be okay with that. So yeah, telling you, the man I’ve been secretly pining for like some lovesick, stupid thirteen-year-old for six years, would have been too much for me until I had the fucking courage to say it out loud and face the truth that you’ll never,neverlove me like I love you.”
Dean’s voice finally failed him, trailing into a faint whisper, so quiet it wouldn’t have been heard if the apartment hadn’t been dead silent. Sloane stared at him, the hand held against the wall slowly dropping to his side. Seconds ticked by as they staredat one another, and the reality of what Dean had done began to sink in.
Sloane’s voice shook when he finally spoke. “Dean?—”
Whatever remained of Dean’s courage and willpower snapped, and he turned and fled. Sloane called out after him, and Dean ignored it, shoving through the door and down the stairs. As soon as the outside air hit him, Dean took a huge, wretched gasp as his feet almost tangled around one another, spilling him onto the sidewalk.
Not wanting to stay there for too long, and risk Sloane catching up to him, Dean righted himself and kept running. Honestly, he was sure if anyone saw him, they’d wonder what the hell was wrong. His pace wasn’t that of a man trying to exercise in his free time, and he certainly wasn’t dressed for it. He was gasping like he’d been running for miles but ignored it until he finally reached one of the beaches outside the base.
The sand managed what his feet hadn’t, and Dean tripped as the loose sediment gave way, dumping him face-first on the beach. Dean caught himself, bowing his head as his back heaved with each breath. Sweat coated his skin, sand sticking to it as he pushed himself onto his knees.
“Oh fuck,” Dean gasped, realizing what he’d done.
All he’d wanted was to chew Sloane out for being an asshole. Maybe they would fight, have it out right there, maybe even throw a punch or two in the process; he didn’t know. He’d expected the two of them to face the problem head-on and find a way to get over it just as quickly. Never in his wildest imaginings had he seen himself spilling his secret.
“Oh, fuck. What am I going to do?” he moaned.
SLOANE
Cursing at his phone for being too slow and fickle, he tossed the device onto the desk. It clattered loudly in the silence of the guardhouse, and Sloane heaved himself back in his seat with a grunt. He didn’t care if the thing broke; he needed a new one anyway.
“And here I thought being close to the end of your shift would put you in a better mood,” Trisha said from her usual spot in the corner.
“You thought wrong,” Sloane told her.
“So, any reason you’ve been a grumpier shit than usual? Or are you just turning your charm up high?”
Table of Contents
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