21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (53 page)

“We haven’t talked in a while. How is it working out with your new chaplain?”

“Oh, she’s good.” Brenden looked away from the courtyard atrium and at the doc. “She can’t hold her liquor worth a damn, but she’s good at getting me to talk.” Corporal Abby Dunlap, the company chaplain, was as middle-American mom’s-hot-apple-pie as they came. But she knew how to listen—that counted for a lot among the guys.

“Good. You’re taking the diplomatic assignments now?” James only asked questions he knew the answers to, or at least it seemed that way.

“Yemen. One year at the consulate there.”

“That’s a tough assignment.”

Neither commented on the recent surge of violence aimed at American embassies and diplomatic missions around the world. They were both aware.

“It needs to be done.” Frankly, he didn’t worry about the violence or the potential for it. His unit was more than capable of dealing with hot tempers and disgruntled political reactions and maintaining the safety of the civilian diplomatic mission assigned to their location.

“It does, but you’ve been off your assignment in Iraq for just a few weeks, and now you’re heading into another hot zone. That takes its toll.”

Again, no questions, only facts, and James didn’t fuss or try to force him to talk—one of the doc’s best attributes. Brenden would or he wouldn’t talk. They could get a drink or shoot hoops, and Brenden would feel better by the end of it.

“So I have a question for you, Doc.” He clasped his hands behind his back. Years ago, he would probably have slid his hands into his pockets or hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. But even dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, his training didn’t allow for sloppy, relaxed postures.

“Hit me.” The psychologist sat forward, interest filling his expression. Brenden rarely asked questions.

“The 1Night Stand service that you and the guys talked about last night….” He considered how to phrase his question precisely. “Is it really as good as you make it sound?”

“Better, I think. The average dating service takes the edge of uncertainty off of the participants because both are aware that the other is
looking
for something more. The 1Night Stand service eliminates it further by providing immediate gratification and certainty of how a night will go.” James exhaled. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen more relationships develop out of the arranged evenings than I have seen them simply be about one night of passion—but the pressure is off. You can enjoy yourself, and go back to your life, no questions asked.”

“So you recommend it?” He had already booked a date based on other’s recommendations. Still, he valued Doc’s opinion.

The psychologist studied him. “If you’re looking for companionship, absolutely….”

“But?” The unspoken word at the end of his sentence blared.

“But be prepared that the fantasy may be closer to true reality than you know. You sign up thinking you want one thing, but the reality is you want more.”

“And more isn’t guaranteed.” That thought had already occurred to him. Hell, it was the only thing he could think about.

“I have the website information. It could take some time….”

“I signed up four months ago.” The confession rolled out easier than he’d expected. “I knew I had leave, so I figured what the hell.” Actually he figured a great deal more than that—the decision far from blasé.

James nodded. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Nope.” He’d expected at least one.

“Did you request the kind of night you really want?” The psychologist cut right to the heart of the matter.

“Do you think it matters?” Brenden returned the challenge.

“Yes, I do.” He set aside the notepad and pen and clasped his hands together. “
Don’t ask, don’t tell
doesn’t apply anymore. You serve your country with distinction. You walk into harm’s way without regard for your own personal safety. You deserve to enjoy yourself—and not to have to worry about how you get to do that.”

Brenden grinned. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate the concern.”

“Lieutenant….”

“Easy, Doc.” He held up a placating hand, halting the reassurance the doc would certainly offer. “I asked for something pretty specific…a guy that I used to know in another life.”

Leaning back, James’ expression relaxed. “Good.”

“Not sure how that will work out, or even if it will, but the email came in this morning. He’s agreed to it.” He blew out a breath. “Just—sounds weird to say it out loud.”

“It’s your business, it’s your life. Take it easy. Don’t pile on the pressure. This isn’t a suppression mission or a surgical strike….”

“It’s intelligence gathering. Yeah, I know.” Unclasping his hands, he flexed his fingers and paced over to the glass. “I have one more question.” When the psychologist said nothing, he glanced back and found James waiting with a patient expression. “I filed the request and filled out the forms. I knew this guy in high school. He’s open and gay, and wildly proud of it. He never let anyone else dictate his sexuality to him—and we had some real bastards at the school. He took a lot of shit for it, but he didn’t change who he was.” Brenden exhaled a deep breath. “I always had a thing for him, but it became a mission to make sure he didn’t know.”

“Were you embarrassed by it?” James prompted after he lapsed into silence.

He shook his head. “No. But the Marines were my future. My dad, my grandfather, my great-grandfather—hell, all the way back to Tun Tavern—Fitzpatricks have all been Marines. I couldn’t be the gay one. I really couldn’t.”

“So you chose the military over your affection for….”

He didn’t quite fish for a name, but Brenden gave it to him anyway. “Liam. And I don’t know that I chose one over the other. The Marines—foregone conclusion. A commitment. A dream. I knew that’s where I wanted to be. Liam—he was a great guy, the best friend I’ve ever had, and a real pain in the ass. His mouth got my nose broken twice in high school. But he wouldn’t have accepted a quiet, on-the-side, discreet relationship. That wasn’t him.”

“And now? Could you handle an indiscreet, direct relationship with him?”

A fair question, one Brenden had asked every day since sending in the application.

“I don’t know that I even know him anymore. I’ve seen him maybe twice in ten years and always in a bigger group. But he agreed to meet me.” Anxiety buzzed in his ears like a lazy bumblebee in the hot summer sun. “So that’s good, right?”

“He agreed to more than meeting you.” A hint of a frown wrinkled James’ forehead. “A lot more. You realize that, right?”

“Yeah, just not focusing so much on that part. Kind of like to cross that bridge with him, if it doesn’t collapse.” Maybe he should have called Liam ahead of time, but if he said no to the 1Night Stand offer, chances were Brenden wouldn’t even have known. Not in the same way he did that he said yes. Because he would be in the field, doing his job, and not worrying about the
what if
of it all.

“Not to be indelicate, but this won’t be your first….”

Brenden’s brows shot up and he laughed. “Yeah. No. We’re good, Doc, and you don’t need to give me any safe sex lectures.”

“Good. Look, Lieutenant you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You’re a solid Marine. You’ve thought this out. Go for it. Have a good time.”

“Thanks, Doc, seriously. I…just wanted to make sure the screws were tight.” He couldn’t count on anything tonight. Hell, it would be good to just sit down and get a beer with Liam. God, he hoped he drank beer. In high school, Liam went through a wine cooler phase. Buying that embarrassing shit fell to Brenden—he’d looked older and rarely got carded.

James rose and they clasped hands briefly. “One word of caution.” He gave Brenden his serious, no-nonsense face. “Don’t make any promises you don’t intend to keep, and be honest with him about your career.”

“Yes, sir. That is my intention.” It didn’t matter that James didn’t wear a uniform or that he only carried the rank of private to Brenden’s lieutenant, the doc possessed presence and dedicated his professional life to helping Marines—on and off active duty. That alone earned him respect.

“Good.” James patted his shoulder. “Lauren and I will see you for dinner with the guys on Friday, yes?”

“Yep, I’ll be there. I can’t wait to meet the woman turning Logan into mush.”

They both grinned at that. Logan Cavanaugh, a rough and tough leatherneck with a bad ass reputation, tamed by the woman he and Zach shared. A sight Brenden would pay money to see. The pair were closer than brothers. They’d grown up together, served together, and when Logan’s career shattered in an attack, Zach followed him out of the service and worked to keep his recovery on track. That they fell for the same woman didn’t surprise him. That they were making a go of their unconventional relationship—it impressed him and deserved his respect.

“If you end up having a plus one, just shoot me a text so I can let Lauren know. God help us if we disturb the
feng shui
of her seating arrangement.”

They laughed again and Brenden headed out. He debated wearing his uniform, the classiest thing he owned for the dinner with Liam, or just going comfortable.

Comfortable won out. He had some stops to make before his date and just a few hours to get it all done, but he whistled all the way to the borrowed truck.

***

Liam stepped out of the rental car and handed the keys to the valet. The Dallas nightclub was not at all what he’d expected. Heavy wooden doors offered a gothic touch to the façade. A red canopy stretched out to the circular drive, matching carpet that led to the doors. A doorman dressed in a nineteenth century, double-breasted coat, top hat, and tails held out his hand for the card from the mysterious 1Night Stand service.

“I think I’m going to wait out here. It’s a beautiful night.” Sliding the card back into his wallet, he walked along the curb to a quieter spot away from the foot traffic and arrivals—and, unsurprisingly, no departures. It was just after six-thirty in the evening, local time. After renting the car at the airport, he’d bypassed his hotel to come straight to the club. He hadn’t decided whether he planned to stay the night or not, no matter what he agreed to with the 1Night Stand service.

Even the name brought a half-smile to his lips. The woman who sent him the three emails offered an uncanny and accurate assessment of his situation. At the end of the day, the forwarded request from Brenden prompted him to say yes.

Extracting a cigar from a case in his inner pocket, he trimmed the end off of one and lit it. The fragrant tobacco filled the air and calmed his mind. He handled power lunches and dinners every night of the week. As a professional banker, he knew when businessmen tried to bullshit him or when they had a plan.

He knew how to say no.

He always knew when to say yes. Reading people for a living wasn’t pretty work, but it proved lucrative.

Another couple arrived, huddled together and dashing up the steps as if it were cold. The forty-five degree temperature and dead still air were hardly cold to his Boston-forged blood.

Why Dallas
? Liam would’ve preferred to meet Brenden at home, at the Tipperary on the Green, to toss back a pint for old times. But no, Brenden invited him to the cow town in the middle of the country where big boots, big steaks, and big boobs seemed to be everywhere.

Big hair, too
. He eyed the next couple arriving.
It looks like the 80s threw up on her
. He puffed the cigar and kept his acerbic opinion quiet, but the distraction helped.

Thirty-two years old and on the ropes over an invitation to drinks. The drinks aren’t the problem. Come meet the guy I’ve lusted after for over half my life and spend the night with him? Yeah, nothing to be nervous about
.

He’d never suspected Brenden was gay—he never exhibited any ‘signs’ or ‘traits’ as the locals used to call them. The Marine didn’t behave queer, effeminate, or different from any other jock in their heavily Catholic neighborhood. But they had moments—a handshake here, a laugh there—always too ephemeral for Liam to grasp onto.

My best friend
….

Frankly, Brenden Fitzpatrick was a best friend, savior, and bodyguard all rolled into one sexy as hell, fit package. But he’d never responded to the flirtatious gestures, negatively or positively. He gave him shit. He watched his back, and he beat the hell out of guys who gave him a hard time.

He stood up for him—even to his Marine father who didn’t approve of his son hanging out with a queer. He’d been there whenever Liam needed him—until the day he went for OCR training and left their Boston neighborhood.

He came back
. The mental argument didn’t sell. He came back a handful of times. They ran into each other at a block party and again during their high school reunion. And, damn, if the man didn’t look good in a uniform. Liam never thought he would go for all the brass buttons, spit and polish, but Brenden made it sexy, so he kept his distance.

Puffing halfway through the cigar didn’t do a damn thing for his nerves. He couldn’t figure out why Brenden made the request.
Unless he thinks he might be gay and I’m a good experiment
.

Grimacing at the thought, he decided against falling for that line. He’d walked down that road a few times in and around college—guys who wanted to experiment, thought they might be gay—and then freaked the fuck out.

Yeah, no thanks
.

Alerted by a scuff of shoe behind him, Liam turned around. His heart fisted and punched against his ribcage. He blew out a hard breath of smoke and shook his head. Brenden looked even better at thirty-two than he had the last time he’d seen him four years before.

“I was really hoping for the dress blues.” Liam switched the cigar to his left hand and extended his right.

Always tall, Brenden had filled out nicely. The dark green polo shirt he wore stretched over his wide shoulders. His arms were corded muscle, and his hands thick and well developed—hell, even his fingers looked like they pumped iron.

Brenden gripped Liam’s hand in a firm, quick handshake that ended with Brenden pulling him forward. The hug startled the hell out of him, and he patted his shoulder awkwardly.