Page 51 of Constantly Cotton
“Well, let’s get there and rest in the shade for a bit,” Cotton said reasonably. “There’s a fallen branch a little in from the tree line. We can sit there until you’re ready for the trip back.”
“You aresogood at this nursing thing,” Jason grumbled. “Are you sure you don’t have a school you can apply to?”
“With a GED? Are you kidding?” Cotton blew out a breath. “I love that you have all this faith in me, man, but it’s like you forget who you’re here with.”
Jason hated that note of self-recrimination in Cotton’s voice. He caught his hand and squeezed.
“I know exactly who I’m here with,” he said. “I’m here with the guy who’s going to have to fireman carry me back to the cabin if I don’t stop and get a drink of water.”
Cotton eyed him. “That wouldn’t be a bad workout,” he said speculatively.
“Don’t think about it, angel,” Jason snapped. “My ego is fragile enough as it is!”
Cotton’s mouth quirked, and he looked away. “Yeah, and it might rip your stitches.”
“You suck,” Jason told him, making sure to put one foot in front of the other.
“I do. I’m good at it! Want to try when we hit the shadows?”
“No!”
Cotton’s laugh was good. When he wasn’t cackling, it was a rolling, pit-of-the-stomach sort of sound, the kind that Jason often thought of as a “dad laugh.” For not the first time, Jason wondered who would throw this kid out, who would force him to make that terrible choice? And he wanted to rail at the boyfriend, but he’d seen twenty-year-olds in the service who had wives barely out of high school. Being threatened with being put on the sex-offender registry was truly terrifying.
How resilient did someone have to be to have gone through all of that and still have a laugh that rang through the trees like bells, making them holy?
He didn’t know how to say that—not now, when the echoes of the laugh were still fading, and he was short of breath anyway. Instead, he put out his hand and captured Cotton’s, now that they were past the tree line, and together they made their way to the handy branch where he could sit and rest for the return trip.
COTTON ORDEREDhim to nap when they got back, while Cotton started dinner. They’d made it a habit to have two members of the detail over for dinner, although Cotton claimed he wasn’t fooled. It was just an excuse for Jason to work.
In a way he was right. The guys kept contact with the base in the desert outside of Barstow, and there were usually two or three high-priority things Jason needed to comment on. Jason hadthoughtthey’d declare him AWOL and put a temporary commander in his place since he was gone, but Burton had been right. The brass—Barney Talbot included—really had no idea what he did there, and people were so anxiousnotto get stuck in “fly-swatting duty,” as they called Operation Dead Fish, that there were no ranking officers there to take his place. Burton was acting CO, and he was apparently slipping coded messages on encrypted channels to Briggs, Daniels, and Medina to ask Jason for help.
“And nobody’s figured this out?” Cotton had asked on the first evening. “Nobody? Everybody thinks that you’ve got a three-assassin detail vacationing at Tahoe and Burton is super interested in fish?”
“Are you kidding?” Daniels had said. “After all the work we put into encrypting that equipment? They’ll be lucky if they don’t think we’re up here huntingbears. So don’t worry. Nobody’s going to figure out Colonel Constance is here through us, and Burton reallydoesneed help.”
Jason was used to tracking multiple operations—and multiple possible “fish” sightings. His brain had always been on point when it came to keeping several different data streams straight. It had been what was going to make him such a brilliant coder and programmer in college. When he’d entered OCC, his abilities to process that much information so quickly in real time had been what had gotten the attention of covert ops. It was, as far as he could figure, his one talent. Where other commanders had to bark orders, fish around for information on tablets, and meticulously organize their chains of command, Jason’s operations were literally “all up here!”
But it did make him damned hard to replace.
So Cotton’s command to “Go rest up before your big tactical meeting with food,” had been pretty on point, but it didn’t mean Jason didn’t resent the fuck out of recovery.
Still, as he’d trailed reluctantly to the bedroom, stripping his shoes and sweatshirt off as he went, he remembered that moment on the bed, the way Cotton’s back had arched, the way he’d caught his breath.
They were going to have sex tonight. Or make love. Or bang. Or fuck. Whatever the kids were calling it these days when two consenting adults got naked and did beautiful things with their bodies. Jason was going to get him some of that.
With easily the most beautiful man he’d ever spoken to in person.
Wasn’t that worth a little bit of coddling?
That thought got him to sleep like nothing else could have.
HE AWOKEto voices in the kitchen—Briggs and Daniels, if he wasn’t mistaken—talking to Cotton.
Also the smell of chicken broiling.
Cotton was getting better about eating without prompting, but Jason had noticed he was so very good at making healthy meals. Yes, Jason had conspired with Briggs to get some steak and marinade into the refrigerator at the next shopping trip, and some baked potatoes would be great, but Jason got that if Cotton was going to eat and feel comfortable eating, he would have to eat the foods that made him feel in control of his own body.
His hard work at healing, at doing the right things to function in a frightening world, humbled Jason Constance to no end.