Page 109 of Men of Fort Dale: The Complete Series

“I know you aren’t used to cleaning, coming out of some shithole, but I expect that floor clean enough to eat off,” the Sergeant had barked.

Only an hour later, he was screaming again. “Get that goddamn storeroom organized, Grant! Everything better be in its place within the hour!”

It was one order after another. Almost all of them had been screamed, and rarely did it go without some sneering comment.

“Tired, Grant? Thought you boys were supposed to be tough. Get to it.”

“Give me that look again, Grant, and you’ll find out what I can do to you.”

Carter had to grin and bear it, admittedly without the grinning. By the time he’d finally managed to get to Marco’s apartment, he’d felt ready to collapse. He’d barely been able to keep his eyes open as Marco sat beside him while Carter dozed on the couch, some sitcom playing softly on the TV.

It had also somehow changed his attitude toward the week.

Instead of being stuck on the base for five days because he might end up with a night shift or a double without warning, he started to endure it.

He found himself growing more irritable as the week pressed on, and even texting with Marco didn’t do much to alleviate his mood.

Then, worst of all, Friday came, and with the broadest grin Carter thought he’d ever seen on Reynolds, the Sergeant informed him that despite being promised at least part of his weekends for himself, he would be working a double.

“Yes, sir,” he’d told Reynolds through gritted teeth.

“Back to work, Grant,” Reynolds said, eyes glittering with amusement as Carter spun on his heel to march off.

It’s alright , Marco texted. Don’t let him get to you, Carter. It’s what he’s trying to do .

I fucking know that. That’s what pisses me off.

And if you get into trouble, you’ll never get to leave the base again.

There was that. Before, it had started to lose its effectiveness as a threat.

The only reason he’d ever clung to trying , albeit half-heartedly, to keep himself in check was because being off base meant being away from Reynolds, away from the people on the base he didn’t give a flying shit about, and the reminders of how he was probably going to be stuck on bases for the rest of his career.

Now, the threat meant not being able to see Marco. Carter still had no idea what to think of the man or what was happening between them. Marco hadn’t said anything, though Carter privately swore the man knew. Somehow, he just knew.

Carter didn’t date. That was all there was to it.

He didn’t draw hearts on his journal at the mention of a guy.

He rolled his eyes at love songs and sneered at romance books and movies.

He’d long accepted that romance and dating were not a part of his life.

Hell, even if he might have craved it with some part of himself, it wasn’t like there was or had been anyone who even bothered to pursue him and deal with him.

And yet.

We could go to the boardwalk tomorrow night. Might be a little packed, though, don’t know if you want to deal with crowds.

Carter stared at the text, his heart rate suddenly accelerating. It wasn’t a date any more than Carter’s offer the previous weekend to go to the club had been a date. Yet it had him squeezing the phone more tightly than he should have, and he felt like the world was tipping slightly.

Carter sighed, typing back.

Sure. If I fucking deck someone tho, it’s on you

I’m sure we’ll manage :)

“Grant?”

Carter turned to the voice, knowing it sounded familiar. He stopped short, straightening when he saw Marshall standing in the doorway of the storehouse Reynolds had ordered Carter to inventory. The large man stood, arms across his chest, as Carter instinctively snapped a salute.

Marshall waved him off. “What are you doing here?”

“Sergeant Reynolds ordered me to do inventory...sir,” Carter added, even if the title bit the back of his throat.

If Marshall noticed, he said nothing. “You worked a double last night.”

“I did.”

Marshall frowned. “I told Reynolds that if he gave you a double, you would be given today off. You were promised at least part of your weekends.”

He had been promised them so long as he ‘behaved’ himself. But Carter didn’t say that aloud.

Carter’s jaw worked, and he nodded. “Yes, sir. Just doing what I’m told.”

Marshall eyed him, and Carter couldn’t for the life of him figure out what was going on behind the man’s gaze.

It was a little bizarre to see him again.

The first time, Marshall informed him who his immediate commanding officer would be and told him to be on his best behavior.

Then it had been in the club, where his name was Sloane, and he was apparently unhappy Marco was with Carter.

Now they were having a conversation, and he was the superior and a soldier again, and Carter would swear something was different.

Marshall jerked his head over his shoulder. “Get out of here. I’ll tell Reynolds I ordered you off.”

Carter couldn’t believe his luck. Instead of working a double and then waiting till later on Saturday to get off, he would practically get the whole day.

“Yes, sir,” he said, not caring if there were terms or if it was a trap.

Marshall stood to the side, looking like he would say something. Carter hesitated, but Marshall only shook his head and nodded toward the door.

He had stepped out into the sun when he heard the man rumble. “Going to see Marco?”

Carter straightened, ready for whatever was going to come. “Yes, sir.”

A pause, then, “Dismissed.”

Without looking back, Carter left, not knowing what the hell had just transpired.

It took him less than an hour to change and make his way to Marco’s after texting to warn the man he was on his way. He’d received a smiley face in return, which Carter thought was relatively tame compared to some of the genuine smiles he’d seen from Marco.

After pressing the buzzer to Marco’s apartment building, he waited until the door was unlocked. Stepping in, he marched to Marco’s door and knocked.

He wondered why Marco was so intent on going to the boardwalk of all places.

The man hadn’t struck him as someone with much of an urge to go out, save for when he’d enjoyed himself a bit at the club.

In all honesty, Carter would have been content to laze around the man’s apartment, bitching about Reynolds, listening to the man talk about the plot of a show Carter couldn’t give a shit about, and stuffing their faces.

The apartment door swung open, and Marco stood there, beaming at him. “Hey.”

It was such a small thing, that word, and the smile. For a moment, Carter forgot his complaints, the worries and annoyances that buzzed in the back of his head. Marco’s face turned into a frown of confusion, and his mouth parted. Carter stepped forward, grabbing him by the face.

Marco grunted in surprise as their lips pressed together. The force was enough to cause the man to take half a step backward, but Carter held onto him tightly. Marco was warm, and Carter felt himself grow hard when Marco shivered.

“Well, hello,” Marco said, voice low and rough.

“You are wearing…” Carter said, taking hold of Marco’s shirt and pulling at it roughly, “way too many fucking clothes.”

“I can’t answer the door naked, Carter. I’ll scar Mrs. Palmer worse than she already is,” Marco said with a low laugh as his shirt was pulled off.

“Not my problem,” Carter growled.

“God, I love when you do that,” Marco admitted, pulling at Carter’s pants.

They never made it upstairs to the loft, but that was alright by Carter.

Apparently, Marco had expected something of the sort since there was a stash of supplies downstairs on one of the tables.

It was quick, like the first time. Marco bent over the back of the couch with Carter behind him.

Carter growled and thrust into the man, fascinated as much by the feel of being inside Marco as he was by the sight of the way the man’s back muscles shifted and twitched as he buried himself.

It turned out to be a good thing the couch was leather when Marco cried out and came against the cushion. Carter wasn’t far behind, sagging backward after he was done and catching Marco before the man collapsed into the mess he’d made.

Clean-up was quick and easy, and Carter collapsed on the freshly cleaned couch. Marco followed close behind, though he chose to vault over the back and land on Carter instead.

“Oof,” Carter grunted, grabbing Marco and shifting him off something vulnerable. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“If my therapist couldn’t figure it out, I don’t think we will,” Marco told him happily.

Carter frowned. “You went to a shrink?”

“When my mom died. And then while I was in college,” Marco told him easily, running his fingers over Carter’s upper arm.

“Why college?” Carter asked, not needing to know why the death of a beloved parent might need someone else’s help to cope with.

Marco sighed. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I was wild in college.

Wasn’t so bad at first, but then suddenly, I realized I was so caught up in partying and sex that everything else was falling apart.

When I realized I hadn’t talked to my dad in over a month, I’d dropped a whole grade point, and some of my friends had stopped messaging me after waiting so long, I knew something needed to happen. ”

“So, you went straight for a shrink,” Carter asked, trying and knowing he failed at keeping the doubt from his voice.

Marco laughed, his gentle strokes moving to Carter’s chest and stomach.

“You don’t need to see therapists just when you’re having mental breakdowns or when you’ve gone through something horrible.

A therapist is just someone with the knowledge and skillset to help you right yourself.

There was nothing wrong with me. I just got a little lost, and Dr. Jessup showed me how to read a map. ”

“I could have taught you how to read a map. It’s not hard,” Carter grumbled.