Semper Fi (29 page)

Jim turned his head, and they almost bumped noses. “Now you’re just humoring me.”

Cal swallowed hard. “Me? Humor you? Never.”

Laughing again, Jim’s breath fluttered across Cal’s face. It was warm and smelled of whiskey, and Cal wanted to dive into Jim’s mouth and taste him. They stared at each other for long moments—too long. The look in Jim’s eyes—Cal could almost convince himself Jim returned his feelings. Maybe…

“Cal? Can I ask you something?”

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

“Do you ever—”

But before Jim could say another word, Joe vomited loudly in the grass, and Jim jerked away and jumped to his feet. “We’d better get back. Reveille is in… Lord, too soon.”

“Let me just piss.” Swallowing the disappointment, Cal disappeared into the bushes. He was out of his mind, thinking even for a moment that Jim could ever feel anything for him but friendship. “Wishful fucking thinking,” he muttered as he pulled out his cock and pissed.

“What is, mate?”

Cal nearly jumped out of his skin. He glanced to his right, where a man leaned casually against a tree. They were hidden from sight by thick bushes on all sides. Cal said, “I thought I was alone.”

“Apologies. Didn’t mean to startle you.” The man was a few years older, with broad shoulders and what looked to be light brown hair. He was handsome, and his gaze didn’t falter.

A thrill shot up Cal’s spine. He returned the appraising look boldly. When he finished pissing, he didn’t zip up. Instead he stroked his cock lightly, giving his audience the show he clearly wanted. “Shouldn’t you be off at war?”

The man grinned, dimples creasing his cheeks. “I was. Got enough of my leg blown off that I don’t have to go back.” He knocked on his left shin, which reverberated hollowly. He pushed off the tree, limping slightly as he stepped toward Cal. “How long are you here for?”

“Cal?” Jim’s voice echoed in the night.

Feeling strangely guilty, Cal tucked himself away. “Coming!”

The man smirked. “Not yet. But meet me here tomorrow night and we’ll see what we can do.”

Cal nodded. Maybe it was just what he needed.

When the first explosion rocketed into the night, Cal jerked, and his breath caught as his eyes popped open. He rubbed his bleary face and blinked at the bursts of color—red, blue, green, pink, and yellow—reflected in the windows across his office.

He could hear the distant cheers of the crowds as the fireworks continued. Pushing his chair back, he got up and walked around his desk to the window. The explosions sparkled and shimmered over the water with
pops
that echoed, fading along with the trails of color.

Before he could stop himself, he thought about bringing Sophie and Adam next year—how they could have a picnic in Central Park beforehand and ride the carousel, and maybe he could convince Jim to ride it too.

He wondered what the Fourth of July fireworks in Tivoli were like. Surely couldn’t compare to New York City, but he wanted to be there so badly his chest burned. He leaned his forehead against the glass, the bursts of light visible even with his eyes closed, licks of flame around the edges of the darkness.

“Oh! Mr. Cunningham.”

Cal turned to face the plump, older woman in the doorway. “Hello, Audrey.”

“I didn’t think anyone else was still here.” She pushed her glasses up her nose. “You gave me a fright.”

“Sorry.” He frowned and glanced at his watch. “You should’ve gone home hours ago. Not to mention that you shouldn’t have been at work at all today.”

She held up a folder and smiled. “I was just going to leave this for you on your desk. I had some files to finish up for your father. And I could say the same to you. I thought you’d be at your family’s barbecue on the beach.”

Cal stepped forward and reached for the folder. “Didn’t feel like the Hamptons today. All that fresh air and sunshine.” He exaggerated a shudder.

Audrey smiled wryly. “Yes, what a trial it must be. Why don’t you go out with your friends? It’ll do you good.”

“I was just getting ready to leave.” Cal put the folder on his desk and shrugged on his suit jacket. “See you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, sir.”

When Cal was alone again, he leaned against his desk. He’d had no real reason to come into the office, but his Fifth Avenue apartment had felt suffocating since he’d returned to the city two weeks before. He took any excuse to go out. His nights were restless as he tossed and turned and dreamed of freckled skin and warm lips.

He nodded to the security guard on his way downstairs and braced himself for the blast of humidity once he was out of the building. He had Wall Street to himself as he made his way uptown. The air was ripe with the smells of the city, especially the lingering scent of garbage that never quite disappeared in the summer. He could have taken the subway, but that would just get him home to his empty apartment faster.

By the time he reached Greenwich Village, his tie was in his pocket and his jacket slung over his shoulder. He approached a bar and thought about going in for a drink, but hesitated by the door, remembering another establishment a couple of blocks away.

Maybe it’ll do me good.

He found himself walking again, turning down a dim alleyway behind a row of shops that were closed for the holiday. As he approached the battered red door, he felt that familiar old rush of adrenaline, even as the pang of guilt hit. He wiped the sweat from his brow, pausing at the threshold.

There was no sign, or markings of any kind. Just a bright door with chipped paint and a handle that creaked as he twisted it. The hinges were rusty as Cal swung the door open decisively. Inside, a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling illuminated the staircase leading down. If he’d thought the humidity outside was bad, it was nothing compared to the lush, thick air he practically had to push aside as he descended.

Most men with money would go to the Everard on West Twenty-Eighth, but Cal cringed at the thought of running into anyone he knew. The last thing he needed was Nicholas Bourne wanting to go for drinks after a fuck, or even Michael Thorngood, eager to relive their past.

The young man in the booth at the bottom of the stairs glanced up, his head resting on his hand. “Sixty cents.” He slid a thin folded towel across the counter along with a basket. Cal dropped his wallet, keys, watch, and spare change inside after taking out two quarters and a dime.

“Room seventeen.”

Cal nodded and continued to the end of a short hallway. Once through the door, the steam and smell of sex hit full force. Men of all ages were spread out across the open shower room—some literally spread, being fucked and moaning hoarsely.

Along the wall were small rooms with faded curtains for doors. Cal didn’t bother pulling the curtain behind him as he entered seventeen, which was empty but for a low cot and hooks on the wall for his clothing. He stripped off and slung the scratchy towel over his shoulders. Making his way slowly through the main shower room, Cal perused the clientele, falling back into his old routine. Hands reached for him, touching here and there, but he didn’t stop.

Finally he saw a young blond waiting his turn outside the small steam room, glistening and hard, with dog tags around his neck. Cal joined him, turning on the smile he knew few could resist. The boy blinked and stepped close, his hand reaching for Cal’s cock as he leaned in. Cal turned his head, avoiding the kiss.

Closing his eyes, he willed himself to relax. The boy’s hand was smooth—
too smooth—
but he stroked Cal expertly. Cal returned the favor, keeping his face averted as he began to get hard. The boy nipped at Cal’s neck, making little sounds—
too high—
and Cal fought to clear his mind. To just be in the moment.

What would Jim think of this place? Think of me?

The guilt reared its head again, and Cal swore under his breath.

The boy’s movement faltered. “Is it okay?”

Cal nodded and dropped to his knees on the hard, gritty tile. He swallowed the boy’s dick, breathing him in desperately. Sucking roughly, he stroked around the base of the stranger’s shaft with his hand. But it was all wrong.

When the boy spurted into his mouth, Cal spit it out and wheeled away, ignoring the stares and the boy’s calls. In his room, he yanked the curtain behind him, gasping for breath. He leaned a hand on the wall and spread his legs, stroking himself harshly. If he could just forget…

But his mind filled with Jim’s smile.
His laughter. The taste of his skin. The gasps he made when he came. The feel of his touch. H
is brea
th in Cal’s ear. The thump of his heartbeat. T
he reas
surance of his quiet presence. T
he twinkle in
his eyes when he made a joke. The firmness of his body.
Cal’s name on his lips
—

With a choked gasp, Cal’s balls drew up and he shot over his hand. Any pleasure was gone in a blink, and he stroked himself harshly, spending as much as he could until he had to stop, hollow and empty. He wiped himself with the towel and tugged on his clothes, getting his socks wet and not caring as he shoved his feet into his oxfords.

He practically ran up the stairs and outside, choking in the humid air. As he walked on, weaving over to Fifth Avenue, the tension that had taken root since he left Clover Grove only felt tighter.

“Cal.”

“Father.” Cal closed the office door behind him and sat in one of the chairs opposite his father’s desk. He waited.

It was almost a full minute before Calhoun Cunningham the second put down his pen and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his round belly. He was impeccably dressed, and his graying hair was trim and brushed back with pomade. “What can I do for you?”

Cal cleared his throat. “I was thinking that with everything going on in London, it might be smart for me to go back over and take care of a few things.”

His father only watched him with a steady gaze, barely even blinking.

“There’s uncertainty, and I can help ease the transition as we open the new branches.”

“Can you now?”

Cal stopped himself from fidgeting by digging his fingers into the armrests. “Yes.”

His father stared a while longer, and Cal swallowed the resentment burning in his gut. Yes, his father had taken him back at the bank with no questions asked when he’d suddenly returned. But he’d known the silence only meant his father was biding his time before saying what was on his mind.

“What’s to say you won’t abandon your post again?”

“I didn’t
abandon
anything. I waited months to come home, and made sure everything was running smoothly. But with the new acquisitions, the situation has changed. I think the company will be better served with me back in London.”

At least with the Atlantic between them, Cal wouldn’t be tempted every day to get in the car and drive back to the orchard, even only for a visit. The best thing was to get far away.

“And what happens when your
girlfriend
has another crisis?”

Cal’s breath caught. In all his years—in all his battles with his father—it had never been addressed. But now disdain and disgust dripped from his father’s tongue.

“You know it was my war buddy who needed help,” Cal said.

His father laughed, a bark that echoed off the polished wood surfaces around them. “Oh, I know a lot more than you think. I’m not such a fool as you like to imagine. What happened? Lover’s spat?”

Struggling to breathe evenly, Cal shifted in his seat. “No. It wasn’t like that.”

“I don’t want to know what it was like. I’ve put up with your filthy predilections for far too long. You were useful after the war. It did you good, going over there. Toughened you up.” He paused, emotion flickering in his eyes. “I was proud of you.”

Despite himself, something small and young inside Cal rejoiced at hearing those words.

Then his father went on. “But if you go to London this time you’d better not come back unless it’s with a wife.”

“That’s not going to happen.”