Robb At a table in the back of Marshall’s, I stared at my longneck, taking in the sounds around me. The bar was one of several hangouts where Navy SEALs let off steam, shot the shit, picked up women, and harassed the newbies. Flanking me were teammates Juice and JD, or rather, former teammates. They had insisted I show up to this so-called reunion. Juice was a comms expert and could jury-rig a PRC-126 Radio out of a pair of sunglasses and a condom, and JD had done a little of everything and could bench press a cheerleading squad, including pom-poms. And then there was me. Robb Porter. About to be ex-SEAL. They were discussing the training they would begin for an op somewhere in the Middle East. Only the training. The mission wasn’t mentioned. I think they put me between them so I wouldn’t feel left out. What they didn’t realize is that being partially privy to something I’ll never do again was even worse than being left out of the conversation completely. And they didn’t even mention the mission they were training for, except in code. I was technically still a SEAL, but everything SEALs did was on a need-to-know-basis only. And I didn’t need to know. I wasn’t in the club anymore. “Robb. ‘Ssssup, dude.” My best friend Trey walked up and fist bumped me. Trey had been my partner for a couple of missions several years ago. He was a slight man for a SEAL, but he could kick ass as well as the bigger guys. He was quick with a joke and had a heart of gold. We became best friends almost overnight. He’d been my rock when I’d first gotten injured. Everybody caught up on each other’s lives until Trey said that he was meeting his girlfriend Caroline for dinner. He and Caroline were getting serious, and I was glad. She was a great girl. As he passed by me, he put a hand on my shoulder. “Call me if you need me to whip your ass in the ring.” I nodded. “Will do. Be prepared to see a lot of my glove in your face. Then we’ll see whose ass is getting whipped.” Trey grinned enough for the both of us. “Big talk, dickhead.” He shot a meaningful look only I could see. You okay? I nodded and tried to manage the It’s all good smile everybody expected me to wear. “Later.” Around the table, the conversations continued, and as always, when I had sat too long, the pain in the leg that wasn’t there started up. I rubbed it under that table. Saber, another team member who was sitting across from me, leaned forward as he slid his fingers up his beer bottle. “So—how’s—how’s it going?” Sabe was a good guy, and he meant well. Nobody knew what to call what I was going through. Recovery was okay, but that made some people think it was alcohol rehab, which wasn’t what this was. Rehab, same thing, although that was closer to the mark. Prosthetic rehabilitation? Nah, government jargon bullshit. But relearning how to walk and move, rebuilding my strength, learning to look at myself in the mirror without wanting to scream, yeah. Rehab was as good as anything. I nodded. “Going all right. Can’t complain.” My standard answer. Other guys had injuries far worse, so I kept my mouth shut. Yeah, I couldn’t complain. Saber nodded. A couple of guys from another team sat back and reminisced about a mission in Pakistan we were all in a few years ago. If there was a hero on that mission, and there was no such term in SEAL life, it had been yours truly. Intel had been for shit. We had been surprised, and I’d laid down cover fire from an exposed position to give the rest of the team time to carry the knapsack full of C-4 to the demolition site. The mission had taken out a Taliban leader who had been responsible for over a hundred civilian deaths, American and Afghan. I’d won an award for bravery. My finest moment as a SEAL, I guess. And these guys brought it up every goddamn time I went out with them. I had wondered how long it would take for the story to come up, so when I sat down, I decided I would time it. Twenty-five minutes. I stood up, accidentally dragging my chair screeching across the floor. “Guys, it’s been great. I’ve got a meeting with Newsome at oh eight hundred.” Which was true. I could have hung out longer, but… yeah, nah. Everyone stood up, more chairs screeching, and we all fist bumped, shook hands, bro hugged. On my way out, the door creaked, as always. It was a relief to escape the heat of that place. Not to mention the suffocating sympathy my old buddies laid on me whenever we got together anymore. They mean well. They don’t know what else to do. I don’t either. My feet crunched on the gravel as I headed to the truck. With every step I took, the prosthesis sounded different from the real leg. Things even sounded different now. I still couldn’t get used to that. The leg—the real part, not the gone part with phantom pain — had begun to throb, as well. A chart-topping combo. I hoisted myself into the cab, stared at the bar, and blew out the first relaxed breath I’d drawn since I’d gone in. Now for a real drink. There was a bar off the military radar not far away. It was called Troubadour. I’d discovered it shortly after I’d healed enough from the injury to leave base. At first, I’d gone there to get wasted, then Uber back to base, but I’d dialed that back considerably when I discovered—shocker—that drinking didn’t make my leg grow back. But I could relax and be myself there. Be the new “I don’t give a fuck” me. Watch the scene or make mistakes without anyone I usually hung with seeing it. Maybe company? Nah. Not feeling it. The truck lurched as I headed out of the parking lot. The bar wasn’t far, and soon I was making my way in. It was hot, loud, and packed tight with bodies. Heads were backlit by the stage lights, and some guy in front of a microphone was paying decent homage to Bruno Mars. I twisted myself into the miracle of an open seat at the end of the bar. Better. No danger of running into anyone I knew here. The bartender walked up and smiled as she wiped a puddle off the surface of the bar in front of me. “What’ll it be, cutie?” “Beer.” I took a handful of peanuts from the basket and threw them in my mouth. “Anything in particular?” I chewed, swallowed. “Beer.” She chuckled. “Okay.” Then she moved off. Once I had a longneck in my hand, I looked around. The women were pretty. Inviting. A couple of them shot me a smile. Each time I looked away. “Hey, sweetie,” the bartender said. “She’s trying to catch your eye.” She jerked her chin at someone behind me and to my left. I turned. A brunette. Stacked. Cleavage that said she was not planning to leave alone. She winked. I smiled, trying to be polite, shook my head, and turned back around. Before I knew it, though, I felt a swish beside me. Cleavage had made it her business to change my mind. I blew out a breath. “Hey, handsome.” She winked again as she took a sip of what looked like rum and Coke. You don’t waste any time, do you? I said a polite hello and turned back to my beer. The bartender was in my sight line and had an eyebrow arched. “I told you” it said. I didn’t want to be rude, I just didn’t want any company, and why that was, I wasn’t willing to delve too deeply into. “Come here often?” How original. But her voice oozed seduction, and it probably had served her well. I answered her comments with one-syllable words. “Yes.” “No.” “Really?” “Hmm.” She wasn’t getting the hint. When I took her hand, she lit up. I placed it on my prosthesis. She froze and yanked her hand back as if my leg had been a hot coal, and on her face was an expression I’d seen hundreds of times since the day I got the damn thing. Horror struggling under politeness. She didn’t manage it as well as some. I smirked. Three, two, one… “Nice chatting with you.” And with that, she slid off the stool and vanished into the crowd, no doubt to find someone with two legs. What the fuck was I doing here? Time to call it a night. I signaled the bartender, who raised her eyebrow and came over. “She didn’t work out? I’m off at twelve.” Her wink was positively irritating. What was it with the winking? Yeah, sweetheart, wait until you get a load of what I’ve got hiding under these jeans. And I don’t mean my dick. I smirked for the second time in under sixty seconds, this time at my own joke, and when she pouted as I shook my head, I didn’t flinch, sliding off the stool and turning around. Now it was my turn to freeze. I’d know those curls anywhere. A few tables back sat the guy I’d stared at countless times through the door of his yoga studio. Stared at him like the proverbial kid with his face pressed against a candy store window. His name was Stephen, that I knew. Goddamn if my heart didn’t start to race, and my butt slid back onto the stool on its own. Don’t stare too long, idiot. I turned back toward the bar, and fortunately my beer was still sitting there, along with the twenty-dollar bill I’d left the bartender. I took a long pull and shoved more peanuts in my mouth between gulps of air. After a count of ten, I casually twisted around, and since the stools didn’t rotate, the effect was anything but casual. God, he was beautiful. Dark blond, shoulder length curls that swung as he moved. I couldn’t make out his eyes in the dim light, but I knew from staring at him before that they were hazel and kind. Long, elegant fingers wrapped around a—was that a paper cup? He lightly blew on its contents with full, soft lips as he listened to the man beside him, who held a glass of red and was giving me the stink eye. Stephen was gay, I was almost sure of it, and his companion—buddy wasn’t the right word—probably was as well. I was not. Were they lovers? Their body language said they were something. Way more than friends. And Stink Eye was sending me “hands off” vibes like body odor. He leaned over to him and said something to Stephen, who turned and gazed at me. Every muscle in my body stiffened. Every. Single. One. His eyes were shaded, and right then I’d have given my good leg to see them. Wave? God, no. Continue to stare? Really? I’d just flash a small, polite smile, then turn back around. Except I couldn’t. “Sweetie?” I swung around, and she tracked who I’d been looking at. “Huh. I had you pegged wrong. My bad.” She looked at him again. “He’s purdy. But looks like his date’s throwing you some shade. Another beer, then?” She looked sympathetic. “Yeah. Another, thanks.” Why the hell not? This night had jumped up the weird meter substantially. “And I’m not gay.” She arched a brow and slung a bar towel over her shoulder. “Whatever.” Another stacked woman was beside me, turning on the charm. I politely waved her off, too, as I slid the twenty still on the bar toward her. “Thanks.” She took the bill and smiled. “Let me know if you change your mind. About any of it.” She winked. Goddammit. What was it with the winking? Stephen The bar was crowded tonight, and we were lucky to get a table at all. I would have preferred a booth against the wall because it would have been quieter, but a table a bit back from the press of the crowd was fortuitous. Still, it was hard to hear Theo over the din. Between his sips of Merlot and mine of herbal tea—always causing the bartenders to scramble a bit at a place like this, but they knew me here—we caught up on our lives. I had not seen my best friend in almost a month, and although we both lived in San Diego, our schedules didn’t allow us to spend as much time together as we had as college roommates. Three years out and our lives had headed in different directions, as we both knew they would, but we did an admirable job of staying in touch through calls, texts, and in person, like now. He was in grad school studying to be a psychologist, and my yoga studio kept me busy. Two sides of the same coin, in a way. We both sought to bring others peace. And maybe searching for our own. As I blew on my hot tea, which was stinging my fingers in the paper cup—“we can’t find any clean mugs tonight, sorry”—we caught up on what all our friends were doing. A group of us had weathered the storm of college and coming out together. We were friends, some of us had been lovers, all of us were close, and we were fortunate to all remain in the area. We’d even given ourselves a nickname. The Alums. Theo sat up a little straighter, then jerked his head toward a man sitting on a stool at the bar. “He’s watching you. Checking you out isn’t the term for the look on the guy’s face.” He said it with a scowl. I followed his gaze. Oh good Lord. The man had silky black hair that drooped over one eye and was begging to be smoothed back, preferably by sliding through my fingers. He pinned me with the black, narrowed eyes of a beast. A barely caged one. He would be ferocious in bed. My hands twitched at the images that rolled through my mind. Then his eyes went wide, and he whipped back around. “Or not.” Theo threw me a wry smile as I felt myself flush. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you react that way to a guy staring at you. And God knows I’ve seen enough guys check you out,” he groused. That cold wave of nerves washed over me. “He wasn’t checking me out. “Like hell.” Theo scowled and sipped his Merlot. “If he was, why did he turn back around so fast?” I shifted in my chair, hoping he would turn around again. And hoping he didn’t. His middle name must be heat. Or menace. One of the two. I couldn’t tell how tall he was, since he was sitting, but his muscled shoulders and bulging biceps filled out a tight t-shirt and begged to be touched. I wondered what his abs looked like. And had no business doing that. Something about him was familiar, and as close to Theo as I was, I wasn’t willing to share that yet. But I wanted another look so I could figure out where I’d seen him. Theo was talking. “Really, Stephen? Have you not been in this scene long enough? He’s being coy.” I shook my head slowly and stared at my fingers wrapped around my tea. “I don’t think he is. There’s something in his demeanor that says ‘what you see is what you get.’” Theo took another sip of wine. “Yum. I’d be tempted to make a move if he weren’t staring at you like he could lap you up like cream.” My head snapped to Theo. “That’s obscene.” “And I would if I weren’t with you, of all people,” he mumbled it into his wine glass, which he drained. “I’m not in any ‘scene.’ You know that.” My finger almost jabbed his chest. “I know no such thing. You’ve been how many guys’ first gay experience?” My gaze went narrow, hot. “What has that got to do with this?” I snapped and was immediately sorry. Theo could see it in my eyes. He laid a hand on my arm, his own warm eyes softening. “I’m just saying. You open yourself up to a lot of unnecessary heartache.” My breath left my chest in a slow stream. “That is never my intent. Every time I find someone I want to get close to…” “And take to bed…” I glared at him. He just had to add that. “You make it sound sordid, Theo.” I must have looked hurt, because his eyes softened again. “I just mean that you are as physical as you are emotional, Stephen. It’s probably why you teach yoga.” Theo’s eyes—always the most expressive part of him—grew wistful. “As I well know. You don’t set out to get your heart broken. You just don’t guard it enough.” He was right. I hadn’t been careful, and I had run headlong into relationships with men who hadn’t known what they wanted. It always turned out that what they’d wanted hadn’t been me. Some of those men hadn’t even been gay, just… curious. I was nothing more than their walk on the wild side. I’d given a couple of them my love. In return, they’d given it back with an “it’s been real” as they headed for the door. No more. I was done with taking men into my… anything, and I said as much to Theo. “He’s looking again.” It was a whisper this time, and I had uttered it. I just couldn’t look away. Where had I seen him? Not that it mattered. I was not going to encourage him. Really. The tea was ice cold, but I sipped anyway, refusing to look at anything else. Theo eyed me and shook his head. “It’s your heart, babe.” He looked up in the man’s direction. “Annnnnd… it’s moot.” I followed his gaze. A tall blonde woman had walked up to him and was wasting no time. Theo looked at his watch. “I’m due at the suicide hotline center in thirty. I’ve stayed here too long, but hopefully traffic isn’t too bad this time of night.” He stood. On his feet, he looked thinner than I’d ever seen him. School was taking its toll. “Midnight shift again?” “Yeah. Psych rotation. It’s good training. Tough sometimes, though.” I looked up, linked my hand with his. “But you will be a great psychologist. Your sensitivity has always been off the charts.” He lifted our hands to his lips. “Obviously. Otherwise, I’d have gotten over you a long time ago.” In college, we’d been each other’s first, and he would always be my best friend. He’d moved on physically, but his heart never had. I was careful with it until he retrieved it to give to another. His aftershave ticked my nose, as it always had. “Your someone is out there. You’ll find him. And no one will be happier than I will when you do.” He looked at me for a long moment, our hands still linked, his expression familiar. His lips pressed a kiss on the top of my head. “If you say so.” He headed for the door. I’d been here long enough. Theo and I had met here because it was equidistant to our apartments. It wasn’t really our crowd here, but the atmosphere was nice, and the drinks weren’t too expensive. And they had tea, if not always mugs. “Hey there, sweetheart.” My head whipped around. Next to me sat a man who looked very ordinary, except for his eyes. They had evil in them. I cleared my throat. “The table is yours. I was just leaving.” “So soon? I just got here.” He held out a hand to stay me. My chair screeched as I went to stand, but his hand slipped into mine and jerked me back into it, a hand locking around my kneecap in a painful horse bite. “Whoa there, pretty thing.” My mouth must have fallen open, because a grin to match his eyes spread across his face. “Think you’re going somewhere, do you?” Scratchy fingers fisted my t-shirt, and I started to rise. “Look, I’m not interest—” “Ah, come on. Pretty boy like yourself? I bet you give amazing head like the faggot you are.” He had my hands in a vise grip. Is anybody seeing this? No one seemed to think anything was amiss, and I realized I had been frantically looking around. I was no longer holding the cup, so dousing him was not an option. I risked a glance at the bar sideways. Maybe the guy who’d been staring at me could help. His back was to us. I scooted the chair back again, this time planting the toe of my shoe in his groin as I did. The flexibility yoga required was sometimes very useful. He doubled over onto the table, cursing, his concentration waning long enough for me to get my hands free. Then I scrambled for the door without looking back. But the door was too far, and I didn’t get enough of a head start. As I pushed it open, he was at my back. My head rang as he barreled me through the door, both of us spilling into the parking lot. My arm was wrenched behind my back, and I was being forced forward and off to the side of the building. His other hand smothered my mouth, stifling my scream. His alcohol-soaked breath huffed in my ear. “Alright, pretty boy, we’ll do it your way. I want you struggling anyhow.” I was flexible, but he was stronger, and I knew that once he got me into the dark, I would become a statistic.