Page 1 of Men of Fort Dale: The Complete Series

“Inventory.”

“Inventory was done this morning.”

Troy shrugged. “I’m doing it again.”

“If I don’t do something, I’ll go crazy.”

Dean almost wished he could say the same, but in reality, he’d learned to appreciate the peace and quiet.

Sure, being assigned to a secure base wasn’t the most glamorous or exciting of positions, but at least he didn’t have to worry about being shot.

The months he’d spent on deployment in the Middle East had taught him the value of serenity.

Dean leaned back in his seat, shaking his head. “Well, unless you’ve been pocketing things, you won’t find any difference. We haven’t had anyone come in today.”

Troy sighed. “I know. Hard to believe we don’t even have an exam scheduled. No fights to deal with…or anything.”

Dean chuckled. “Please, I don’t want another day dealing with the aftermath of fighting. Last Saturday was bad enough.”

A casual observer might think Friday night would bring out the fighting since many people stationed at the fort went out for the evening.

In Dean’s time at the base, however, he’d discovered it was usually the morning or even the afternoon of the following day that brought the most issues.

Only when everyone was hungover and grumpy did the issues start setting everyone off.

“I was almost convinced we’d been getting more fights,” Troy said.

Dean shrugged. “Goes in spurts. Some months, you can’t walk around here without tripping over someone fighting, other times, everyone seems to be behaving themselves.”

Troy wasn’t totally paranoid, though. Dean, too, had noticed an uptick in fights, both on and off the base. It wasn’t enough for Dean to wonder what might have got into the water, but it was enough to catch his attention.

“It’s no different out in the field,” Dean continued.

“You’d think people would get along better in the middle of a warzone,” Troy said, setting his tablet aside.

Dean chuckled. “And you’d be wrong. Sure, when you’re under fire and fighting for your life, everyone gets along. When you’re back at camp, though, all bets are off. Sometimes things happen out in the field that aren’t settled until you’re safe and sound.”

“With fists.”

“And a lot of cursing.”

Troy shook his head. “Never going to understand that.”

“You joined the wrong government organization then. Cram a bunch of guys together, and the testosterone will fly. When it does, that’s where we come in.

Either because someone decided to settle a problem by throwing a fist or because some genius got the bright idea to dive into a pool from a second-story balcony,” Dean said with a grin.

“Didn’t someone do that last week?” Troy asked.

“Yep, forgot to aim for the deep end. Dumbass is lucky he only bumped his head instead of snapping his neck. God looks out for drunks, toddlers, and privates trying to show off, I swear,” Dean said with a shake of his head.

Troy glanced over Dean’s shoulder. “What are you up to anyway?”

“Pretending I’m going over the appointments for the week and resupplying.”

Troy sighed. “Probably a good idea. I don’t need old man Winter on my ass about not having enough supplies again.”

Dean frowned. “Don’t call him that. General Winter is probably in better shape than you despite being twice your age.”

“He’s also a hard ass.”

“Only to people who are a pain in his.”

Troy stuck out his tongue. “Kiss ass.”

Dean rolled his eyes, choosing not to dignify that accusation.

While it was true he had a great deal of respect for General Winter, the man he reported to and the man in charge of Fort Dale, he didn’t see it as brown-nosing.

He was the youngest general Dean had met, being in his early forties, and probably the youngest he’d heard of.

Anyone capable of earning a high rank at such a young age was more than worthy of respect in Dean’s eyes.

Troy plopped down on the edge of the desk. “How long do you have?”

“Another hour,” Dean said, glancing at the clock on the screen.

Troy groaned. “I’m pulling a double.”

“I did that pretty much all last week. You’ll survive, I’m sure,” Dean said.

“What are you doing after you get off?”

“I’ve got a dinner date.”

Troy’s eyes widened with delight. “Oh? So I take it you and what’s his name worked out pretty good then?”

Dean scoffed. “Marco and I worked out three weeks ago and have been working out ever since. Where the hell have you been?”

“Apparently not in the loop,” Troy said, scooting forward.

Dean groaned, looking around, hoping to find something to distract Troy.

It was ultimately futile, as there wasn’t anyone in the small, curtained-off cubicles for Dean to send Troy to check on.

The entire building was empty except for them, and Troy didn’t look like he would be dissuaded from being nosy.

“Are you guys serious yet?” Troy asked.

“After a few weeks? What is this, high school?” Dean asked dryly.

Troy snorted. “A few weeks is a perfectly reasonable amount of time to get to know someone well enough to say if you want to commit to something more serious.”

“Not when you’re constantly working double shifts, which, to be fair, Marco and I both do,” Dean pointed out.

Troy screwed up his face in thought. “True, I guess you are pretty busy. What’s he do again?”

“Tech consultant. He landed a nice position at one of the security companies further inland.”

“Oh, smart, and makes good money. Damn, you’re in business if he’s good-looking too.”

Dean did not want to be the one to tell Troy that Marco was, in fact, quite handsome.

Troy made it his business to be involved in everyone else’s business and, for some reason, took a particular interest in their love lives.

The others working in the clinic were usually safe, either because they already had a steady relationship and thus weren’t all that interesting to Troy or because they didn’t give him as strong a reaction as Dean.

“And what’s Sloane think about this?”

Dean frowned. “What’s Sloane got to do with it?”

Troy raised a brow. “I mean, the guy’s your best friend, isn’t he?”

It was true, he and Sloane had met in boot camp, and from then on, the two of them had been close.

Fate seemed to conspire to keep the two of them around one another, ensuring they were transferred to the same bases.

Even when Dean had been deployed, Sloane had ended up deployed to the same desert outpost, though on an entirely different squad.

They were never assigned to the same team, duty, or anything too close, but they were never too far apart.

It had been a relief, though not unexpected, when Dean arrived at Fort Dale after his deployment, only to discover Sloane was already there.

“Yeah,” Dean said, forcing his jaw to relax.

“Well, unless you guys have a different kind of relationship than what other people call friendship, I imagine he’d have an opinion.”

Dean shrugged. “Not really.”

Troy snorted. “I find it hard to believe Sloane doesn’t have an opinion. The guy’s got an opinion on everything, and it’s usually a foul one.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Dean told him.

“Am I wrong?”

“He’s not that bad.”

Dean tried not to let Troy’s eye roll get the better of him.

Sloane wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, but his best friend had a good heart.

It was just buried beneath a foul attitude and an even fouler mouth.

Many people were willing to look past the surly expression usually planted on Sloane’s face, with at least half of them willing to do so because of the man’s looks.

Having known Sloane for almost six years, Dean was pretty sure his friend had no idea how attractive he was.

What Sloane did know was his looks tended to lure people closer to him, much to his irritation.

“Anyway, he doesn’t know,” Dean said.

“Wow, don’t you guys share everything?”

Not everything, though it wasn’t from a lack of wanting on Dean’s part.

In the early days, he would have happily shared a bed with Sloane.

Even in boot camp, Sloane had been big, and his time serving had made him into a veritable slab of muscle.

With pitch-black hair, flashing green eyes, a jawline that could cut glass, and a low, rough rumble for a voice, Dean could unashamedly admit Sloane was sex on two legs.

Once Dean got to know Sloane better, the sexual element of his thoughts had eased, though never disappeared completely.

The more he’d seen of Sloane, ignoring the grumpiness while also knowing when to cut through it with bite of his own, the more his feelings for Sloane changed.

Lust and desire had grown into an intensely close friendship and, eventually, something Dean could only call love.

Everywhere they went, people commented on their bond, and Dean could easily see himself spending the rest of his life with the man.

Except, Sloane was completely, utterly, and hopelessly straight.

“I’m not going to go running to him every time I go on a date,” Dean finally told Troy, turning away to face the computer.

Troy leaned back as though sensing he was treading on dangerous ground.

“Look, I know what I said a minute ago, and I mean it. Sloane is a grumpy fuck who’s just as willing to knock you over the head for looking at him wrong as he is to ignore you completely when you talk to him.

But he’s not like that with you, and heaven help anyone stupid enough to talk shit about you when he’s within earshot.

The dude is really protective, and he obviously gives a shit.

Just seems like something you’d tell him. ”

Dean breathed, pushing away the familiar but faint pang of longing.

How many times had he seen the same behavior from Sloane in the past and hoped it meant there was a chance for them?

The nights Dean had spent analyzing everything Sloane said and did that day, hoping for a sign, looking for a clue that his dreams might come true.

It had taken him years to learn how to move past that, keeping hold of his close bond with Sloane at the same time, that he could only now ignore the feelings and move on with his life.

Hence his budding relationship with Marco.

“Well, that’s exactly why I haven’t told him about Marco yet. I don’t need him getting stressed out because I’m dating when I don’t even know if it’s going to be anything serious,” Dean said, opening the spreadsheet again to keep busy.

“But you’re going to tell him if it does, right?”

Dean glanced over his shoulder, smirking. “For someone who doesn’t like Sloane very much, you seem worried about him.”

Troy wrinkled his nose. “Look, if he gets pissed off, everyone around him is going to suffer, and probably the people around you too. I just don’t want to get punched.”

Dean smiled sweetly. “If you were worried about that, you wouldn’t constantly be sticking your nose in my dating life.”

Troy hummed, holding his hands out. “I promise I shall endeavor to maintain a more professional and respectful relationship with you from here on out, and I shan’t enquire any further.”

Dean looked unimpressed. “Uh-huh, until tomorrow, or more likely, when a new question hits your tiny brain.”

Troy’s eyes widened. “Speaking of…have you guys screwed yet?”

Dean picked up a nearby binder and smacked Troy across the knees. “Out! Go scrub the bathrooms, find cobwebs, walk into the ocean, I don’t care, out!”

Troy darted off with a laugh before Dean could find something to hit him with in earnest. Dean glared at his retreating shadow before returning to the computer. He swore, one of these days, he was going to find a way to keep Troy quiet for at least ten minutes a shift.

His attention was pulled toward his phone, which blinked its silent alert.

Opening the screen, he smiled softly at Marco’s name above the text notification.

The man was confirming their date in a couple of hours, and Dean tapped back his response.

They were going to some Thai place Marco was a fan of and swore up and down Dean would like, right before the hot food burned him out.

Dean, who adored spicy food, took that as a personal challenge and was looking forward to the little competition they would have.

Dean had no sooner set the phone down than the thump of the doors to the clinic being thrown open jerked his head up. His heart hammered, and he only managed to unclench his fist when annoyed cursing and footsteps could be heard. Troy appeared in the doorway, rolling his eyes.

“Shot himself,” Troy grunted.

Dean stood up. “What?”

“With a bag round,” Troy added.

“A...those bags of beans...for practice? How did...never mind,” Dean said, pushing past Troy to deal with whatever soldier had just stumbled through their door.

Just another day.