Page 40

Story: Men of Fort Dale

Seeing Simmons clutching his phone to his heaving chest, sweat breaking out on his forehead, Sloane couldn’t see the humor. Sloane reached out, hesitating when Simmons drew his phone further away before finally resting his hand on the man’s upper arm.

Sloane took a deep breath. “John, I’m not going to say you are or aren’t something, okay? I’m just going to tell you that...if you feel a certain way, there’s a reason for it. Maybe you’ve been feeling it for a while, or maybe it’s something new, but don’t run from it, man. You’ll only end up tired and miserable.”

Simmons looked down at Sloane’s hand, shaking his head. “It’s not that easy.”

“Of course it’s not. It can be hard to make peace with something unfamiliar, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”

Simmons looked at him. “What would you know about it?”

Sloane frowned, realizing John had a point...and maybehedidn’t. Wasn’t his mind filled with doubts, fears, worries, and wonder? Was he giving Simmons advice, or himself?

Sloane gave him a squeeze. “Look, I won’t tell you to talk to me. I’m just saying you don’t have to run from it, and you should get comfortable with yourself, whoever the hell you are, okay? And fuck, if you need to talk about it, you can.”

“With you?” Simmons asked incredulously.

Sloane gave him a pat, chuckling. “Yeah, man. You’re an annoying shithead sometimes, but you’re not a bad guy.”

“Just annoying.”

Sloane smirked, digging around for his phone. “Yeah.”

“That’s the closest to a compliment you’ve ever gotten with me.”

“Yeah, don’t tell Trisha, though.”

“She’d never believe me.”

Sloane chuckled, tapping out a message to Dean before he could second-guess himself. He wasn’t going to let this silence stretch out between them again, not this time. Sloane didn’t know what the result would be, but he messaged Dean and asked him to meet Sloane at his apartment when their shift was over.

Simmons plopped down in his seat, holding his phone still. “I...thank you.”

Sloane glanced sidelong at him, smirking. “Don’t worry about it.”

“And I...if I want to, I’ll talk...to you.”

Sloane looked down at Dean’s‘ok’message and smiled sadly. “Good.”

He’d just steppedthrough his door when he stopped, spotting Dean in the hallway. Sloane cocked his head, looking at Dean’s untucked shirt, the wild state of his hair, and the bright, nervous light in his eyes. Sloane didn’t know how long Dean had been there, but he’d obviously been losing his mind.

“Dean, what are you doing?” Sloane asked as he closed the door behind him.

Dean took a deep breath, walking up to Sloane. “I can’t do this.”

Sloane blinked. “Do what?”

Dean shook his head. “This...this quiet, awkward, not talking thing. I can’t live knowing I fucked up, that this all went to hell because of me.”

Sloane yanked his coat off, tossing it over the back of the chair with a careless gesture. “Dean, hold on.”

Dean’s lip trembled. “No, Sloane. I can’t do this; I won’t. I always told myself I was so goddamn lucky to have a friend like you. I never had any real friends growing up, not until I went to basic and met you. You’re the best goddamn thing that’s happened to me, and I was okay. I was glad to have that, and I was even overjoyed. I don’t?—”

Sloane watched in frozen horror as Dean’s eyes swam, spilling over into a single tear.

“I can’t let that all get ruined because of some stupid crush, because of one goddamn drunken night where I was an idiot. I don’t care what it takes, Sloane. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. I don’t have anyone, I never had any family, I lost my team, and I can’t lose you too.”

Sloane stared, his arms locked at his side as he watched Dean unravel in front of him. The tears were flowing freely now, and despite the panic in his voice, Dean was still clear and desperate. His shoulders shook, and he seemed unable to keep his arms still as he paced back and forth.

And what was that about his team?

Table of Contents