Page 27 of Coming Clean

Jeremy

A few days after that amazing night with Connor, my phone rang as I was heading out to the coffee shop I’d been using like an office. I didn’t recognize the number, but something made me answer anyway.

“May I speak to Dr. Parks?”

I was wary. Most callers used my first name unless they wanted money. “This is he.”

“Dr. Parks, this is Melinda Braithwaite from Campton University.”

Oh fuck. Campton University had an unexpected opening on their faculty in the spring, and began a search for someone to fill the position this fall.

I’d applied and been interviewed, but I hadn’t thought much about it since my inheritance.

Dr. Braithwaite was the English department chair. “Good morning.”

“Indeed it is. I have the pleasure of offering you the assistant professorship.”

“Oh, wow. Thank you.” I had to sit down.

I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. Yet I also felt vaguely ill, because as amazing as it was to receive an offer, I didn’t want the job.

For all that Campton was a step (or five) up the academic ladder from Wentworth, I doubted the students would be much more enthusiastic or the work any more rewarding.

A few months ago, I’d been desperate for a chance to escape, but now…

“You’re very welcome. We were quite impressed with you when you visited.”

“I’m so glad to hear that.” That was a major compliment. I’d had the impression that Dr. Braithwaite wasn’t easy to impress.

“I’ll be sending you an official offer letter and a packet of information today. We’re happy to answer any questions you might have.”

“Thank you.” Stall her. “I’ll be watching for the information. I’m sure I’ll have some questions once I’ve read it.” Like how much will you resent me turning it down? The academic world was nothing if not petty.

“Wonderful. Hopefully we will be working together soon.”

“Yes, thank you again.”

I hung up. What was wrong with me? Dr. Braithwaite was warm and charming, so much more personable than Dr. Buxton, my current department chair. Campton was an excellent school, and if I turned this offer down, I’d probably never get another one as good. But my heart wasn’t in it.

Your heart is with Connor.

I didn’t want to admit how true that was, but it wasn’t the only reason I didn’t want the job. Campton was in Wisconsin. I hated the cold like I hated asparagus, and I’d rather eat a live worm than a stalk of asparagus.

I needed to call David and talk it over. Usually, I knew exactly what David would advise, but not this time.

You also need to call Connor.

My breakfast formed a heavy lump in my stomach. No way could I tell Connor I might be moving, not when things were just getting really good for us.

If you want him to be open and honest with you, then you have to return the favor.

I would tell Connor. Just not yet, not until I made a decision. No reason to say anything if I wasn’t going to take the job, right?

Connor

When I first returned to the States, Mario and I rarely talked more than once a month.

That was partly because of the missions he and the team were sent on, but mostly—if I had to guess—because he didn’t know what to say to me.

Now that I knew he thought I’d saved his life instead of seeing it the other way around, his uncomfortable silence made even more sense.

Lately, though, we’d been talking more. Things had been in a lull for the team, and Mario had started calling about once a week.

I rarely initiated the calls, since I never knew when he’d be somewhere he could talk, but a week or so after Jeremy fucked me until I couldn’t stand up, I waited until night had fallen in the Middle East and called him. He didn’t answer, so I left a message asking him to call me back.

The sound of my phone ringing woke me from a dream several hours later. I’d been in the desert—not as a prisoner, just lying there in the unrelenting heat, wondering if I’d ever make it back to camp.

I picked up my phone and squinted at the screen. It was Mario. “Hello.”

“What’s up?”

“I… um…” What the hell was I supposed to say?

I’m gay. Just say it. Don’t wait.

No, I’ve got to work up to it.

“I woke you up, didn’t I? But you must’ve wanted to tell me something important. You never call.”

Was there a sarcastic edge in his voice? Did he expect me to call? He’d never said anything if he did, so how was I supposed to know? “I never know if you’re somewhere you can get a call.”

“I know. It’s fine.”

“I was just… checking on you. Seeing how things were going.”

“Nah, you wanted something else.”

Perceptive bastard. Sometimes I hated how well we could both read cues from others. That skill had saved our lives more than once, but in the civilian world, it was mostly a burden. “Sabrina’s working on graduate school applications. You ought to call her and check in.”

“You’re seriously scolding me about calling my sister? The little shit never calls me either.”

“She probably assumes you’re busy, like I do.”

Sabrina’s going to kill me.

Tell him. Don’t be a pussy.

“Did she put you up to this?” Mario asked.

Fuck. Why couldn’t I just do this? Now I was freezing up and getting Sabrina in trouble. “No, she just seemed to be missing you.”

Mario snorted. “Not likely.”

“So… um… how are things?”

“Like usual. Oh, I don’t guess you heard about Fargo and Cousta?”

“No,” I said. Please don’t let them be dead.

“They were caught fucking each other in the XO’s office.”

My pulse raced and sweat rolled down my back. I’d had both of those men on their knees in front of me. I’d jerked off with them numerous times—but never in an office. Behind a bar, in a closet, in a bathroom stall, sure. But in the XO’s goddamn office? Had they lost their minds?

“What happened to them?” I fought to keep my voice neutral.

“We don’t know yet.”

Fuck.

“Can you believe we didn’t even know they liked it up the ass?”

I wished he’d never told me. “Well, I…” Say something!

“You just never know about people, even when you work with them. I keep thinking about how many times I showered right next to them.”

I was going to puke if he kept going. “They’re still the same men you’ve known and trusted.”

“Seriously? Asheville’s gotten to you, man.”

“No, it’s not Asheville, it’s?—”

“My sister and her damn liberal shit. Now she’s even got you calling me for her.”

“That’s not why I called.” Say it. Tell him you’re gay. “She didn’t put me up to it.”

“Whatever. Look, I’ve got to run. Take care of yourself.”

He ended the call, and I threw my phone across the room. Fortunately, it landed on a chair and didn’t shatter. I would have been even more pissed if I’d had to buy a new one.

What the hell was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I say those few, simple words?

Because he showed you exactly how he feels.

Sabrina’s right. He’s an asshole.

Was he? What had I seen in Mario that made me idolize him? He was brave and incredibly patient with new recruits. He could shoot with a precision most people—even other recon guys—couldn’t imagine. He was the perfect soldier. Or was he? Had he listened to orders that day in the village?

You warned him ? —

It wasn’t my place to tell him.

Had I loved a man who didn’t exist? No. I refused to believe that.

There was as much good in Mario as there was prejudice and arrogance.

Or there had been, anyway. I remembered the dead look in his eyes when we’d said goodbye.

He’d said he wasn’t good for anything anymore but killing.

He’d declared that he was going to die over there. Could I save him? Could Sabrina?

No—not if he knew who we really were.

That thought hurt so much I thought my chest might split in two. Mario had been everything to me. He’d given me purpose, helped me find myself. And then, when I was captured, it was Mario who pulled me out of that goddamn suffocating prison.

I’d been a mess when I joined up—wild, untrained, and full of hate—but Mario had seen my potential and helped me make myself into a soldier.

And we’d saved people together. We’d made a difference when we could, but there’d been so much shit we couldn’t fix, so many people we couldn’t help.

I’d had to get out, or I would’ve died inside too.

I dropped my head into my hands and let the stinging sensation behind my eyes turn into tears. One splashed onto the back of my hand. I watched the droplet break apart from the impact.

Was I going to break apart too?

I wasn’t sure I could both hold myself together and hold onto Jeremy.

I curled into a ball and sobbed. The hell I’d been through the last year of my tour had sent cracks through me, and now they were shattering.

Jeremy called the next morning before I headed to my first appointment of the day. I almost didn’t answer. He knew I’d been planning to call Mario, and I didn’t want to admit my failure. “Good morning.”

“Good morning to you too,” he said. “How did it go last night?”

“Um… he wasn’t available.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’d just lied to Jeremy—not avoided or shaded the truth but flat-out lied. I was doing exactly what David feared. Suddenly the cereal I’d eaten didn’t seem so settled in my stomach.

“That’s too bad,” Jeremy sounded disappointed, but he’d bought the lie.

“I’ll try again.” Would I?

“Okay. I wanted to ask you something.”

It must be something he thought I wouldn’t like, or he wouldn’t be hesitating. “Whatever it is, just ask.” I tried to make the words sound encouraging rather than annoyed, but I wasn’t sure it worked.

“There’s a faculty awards banquet at Wentworth on Saturday night. I’d really like you to come with me. I wouldn’t normally go myself, but I’m getting a research award. It’s dressy casual, not formal or anything. And I…. Fuck, is this too much?”

I answered honestly. “I’m not sure.”

“We don’t have to say you’re my date.”

“You’re gay, they know that. Everyone will assume I’m your date.” Unless they didn’t think Jeremy could be interested in a dumb jarhead.

“I’ve brought David before,” Jeremy said.