couldn’t let him arrive home without some kind of greeting.
I shouldn’t have left the car at the airport . But he couldn’t let Eli keep walking away from him. He screwed up, so he needed to fix it. The man had to talk to him first.
Or listen.
Either would provide him the opening he needed. His cellphone buzzed in his pocket and he stood to pull it out.
The hospital. Shit . If paged to come back in, he’d need his car.
“McConnell.”
“Commander, Lieutenant Shell is having difficulty breathing and complaining of pain.” His last patient from the day before, Shell was a prime candidate for a pulmonary embolism.
“Fever?”
“It’s been steady at one-oh-one.”
Secondary pneumonia was on the table. “Order a Spiral CT and V/Q scan stat, add a CBC and D-dimer. Page Kensington for a consult and follow-up.” Rick glanced at his watch. “Page me again if his temp doesn’t come down.”
“Yes, sir.” Webber hung up. The young physician was an excellent intern in the program.
The shower shut off. Carrying the beer into the kitchen, Rick emptied it into the sink and disposed of the bottle. If he had to go back to the hospital, better to not have any reactions dulled by alcohol.
Wanting something to do, he dug through the fridge and found sandwich fixings. Someone had stocked the kitchen for Eli—likely the housekeeping service he used. The man liked his apartment and it didn’t matter how often he deployed, he kept it up and paid a service to close it down and open it back up when he planned to return.
Over the years, Rick had scored an invitation to the sanctum sanctorum twice. But Eli kept his life neatly segregated. It made sense when outing either one of them could have cost their military careers, but the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell gave them options. So why the hell couldn’t Eli see that?
“Still here?” Mild surprise echoed in Eli’s voice. He leaned against the door frame of the kitchen. He’d changed into jeans and a T-shirt. His hair was still damp, his too-blue eyes narrowed and suspicious.
“Left my car at the airport.” Rick handed him a plate with a sandwich. “And I made lunch. Eat. Want another beer?” He thought Eli might refuse the food, his cool stare freezing him out.
Eli took the plate. “Thank you.”
Rick grabbed a cold beer out of the fridge and passed it over. They carried their food into the living room, where Eli picked up the remote and turned on the television. Channel-surfing to a sports station, he stared at the scores. Rick may as well been invisible for all the attention Eli paid him, but the man hadn’t thrown him out yet—so he took that as a positive sign.
Eli focused on the television, but Rick studied him. As a field sniper, Eli would outlast him every damn time. But Rick understood the value of riding out the turbulence. Sooner or later, he would have to talk to him. Rick simply needed to be present for it to occur.
When they finished their sandwiches, he took the dishes into the kitchen, made coffee then checked his messages. The silent treatment continued. If Eli didn’t want him making himself at home, that would require talking, wouldn’t it? A commercial played on the screen when he re-entered the living room. He carried an extra mug with coffee for Eli, to find him stretched on the sofa, sound asleep. Unwilling to wake him, he retreated back to the kitchen and left the extra coffee on the counter.
He’d replayed their argument before Eli’s deployment in his mind a million times in the last twelve months and hoped the anger separating them had dimmed, but it had only cooled to indifference. An indifference that cut him far deeper than anger ever could.
“No.” Eli growled, irritation flaming to life in his sleep-roughened voice.
They’d spent the weekend at one of their favorite hunting cabins in the Shenandoah. The trips there served two purposes—absolute privacy, and open land where they could hike, roam and just
I shouldn’t have left the car at the airport . But he couldn’t let Eli keep walking away from him. He screwed up, so he needed to fix it. The man had to talk to him first.
Or listen.
Either would provide him the opening he needed. His cellphone buzzed in his pocket and he stood to pull it out.
The hospital. Shit . If paged to come back in, he’d need his car.
“McConnell.”
“Commander, Lieutenant Shell is having difficulty breathing and complaining of pain.” His last patient from the day before, Shell was a prime candidate for a pulmonary embolism.
“Fever?”
“It’s been steady at one-oh-one.”
Secondary pneumonia was on the table. “Order a Spiral CT and V/Q scan stat, add a CBC and D-dimer. Page Kensington for a consult and follow-up.” Rick glanced at his watch. “Page me again if his temp doesn’t come down.”
“Yes, sir.” Webber hung up. The young physician was an excellent intern in the program.
The shower shut off. Carrying the beer into the kitchen, Rick emptied it into the sink and disposed of the bottle. If he had to go back to the hospital, better to not have any reactions dulled by alcohol.
Wanting something to do, he dug through the fridge and found sandwich fixings. Someone had stocked the kitchen for Eli—likely the housekeeping service he used. The man liked his apartment and it didn’t matter how often he deployed, he kept it up and paid a service to close it down and open it back up when he planned to return.
Over the years, Rick had scored an invitation to the sanctum sanctorum twice. But Eli kept his life neatly segregated. It made sense when outing either one of them could have cost their military careers, but the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell gave them options. So why the hell couldn’t Eli see that?
“Still here?” Mild surprise echoed in Eli’s voice. He leaned against the door frame of the kitchen. He’d changed into jeans and a T-shirt. His hair was still damp, his too-blue eyes narrowed and suspicious.
“Left my car at the airport.” Rick handed him a plate with a sandwich. “And I made lunch. Eat. Want another beer?” He thought Eli might refuse the food, his cool stare freezing him out.
Eli took the plate. “Thank you.”
Rick grabbed a cold beer out of the fridge and passed it over. They carried their food into the living room, where Eli picked up the remote and turned on the television. Channel-surfing to a sports station, he stared at the scores. Rick may as well been invisible for all the attention Eli paid him, but the man hadn’t thrown him out yet—so he took that as a positive sign.
Eli focused on the television, but Rick studied him. As a field sniper, Eli would outlast him every damn time. But Rick understood the value of riding out the turbulence. Sooner or later, he would have to talk to him. Rick simply needed to be present for it to occur.
When they finished their sandwiches, he took the dishes into the kitchen, made coffee then checked his messages. The silent treatment continued. If Eli didn’t want him making himself at home, that would require talking, wouldn’t it? A commercial played on the screen when he re-entered the living room. He carried an extra mug with coffee for Eli, to find him stretched on the sofa, sound asleep. Unwilling to wake him, he retreated back to the kitchen and left the extra coffee on the counter.
He’d replayed their argument before Eli’s deployment in his mind a million times in the last twelve months and hoped the anger separating them had dimmed, but it had only cooled to indifference. An indifference that cut him far deeper than anger ever could.
“No.” Eli growled, irritation flaming to life in his sleep-roughened voice.
They’d spent the weekend at one of their favorite hunting cabins in the Shenandoah. The trips there served two purposes—absolute privacy, and open land where they could hike, roam and just
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