Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

2016

“You’re Off Topic with Roe Finlay and Jake Denver. I’m Roe, and Jake’s giving me shit for freaking out about turning twenty-nine today,” I said.

Jake grinned and leaned back in his seat across the table. “You big baby. Try turnin’ thirty-three.”

No, thanks. I was good.

Since our birthdays were like four days apart, we’d hosted a combined celebration this weekend, and I was still a little hungover. I wouldn’t mind postponing my next birthday at least five years.

“I remember when I was a teenager and thought my cousins were so old,” I chuckled. “I think I called Cullen a granddaddy when he was twenty-nine or thirty.” But that’d been old to a…whatever I’d been at the time, thirteen or fourteen? My memories from that period were hazy.

“I reckon now’s the perfect time to apologize to him on air,” Jake proposed, amusement dancing in his eyes. Fucker. “You should obviously include Angus since he’s older than Cullen.”

“Or we just go off topic and get our frustrations out about schedules being fucking impossible to keep in this town,” I suggested smoothly. “We have a lot of viewers and listeners in the film industry, so apologies to the rest of you when we get ranty about Tinseltown.”

“I think we’re on the fourth try now.” Jake leaned forward and adjusted his headphones. “As y’all might remember, Roe and I were scheduled to shoot in San Diego last fall—and we managed to get a week, when we’d planned for a month. After that, it’s been one scheduling conflict after another.”

“And now we have a new date set for April,” I added. So we were three weeks away. A lot could happen. “I heard a saying once—from my cousin—how it’s not an orgy until someone’s canceled—”

“Hold up,” Jake laughed. “I have questions. Which cousin?”

I smirked. “I’m not throwing Greer under the bus.”

Jake cracked up harder. “Man, is he gonna come at you next time we’re in Brooklyn.”

Pffft, Greer lived happily on his farm in Virginia. But yeah, next holiday, I would get some shit. No doubt. It was all in good fun, though. We had permission to use their names, and I knew where the lines were drawn.

“Whatever,” I chuckled. “It applies to our industry too. When you have so many businesses involved, pinning down a date everyone’s available is close to impossible.”

“Not that we’re callin’ the Coast Guard a business.” Jake handled that transition perfectly and moved us forward. “Which brings us to this week’s guest. On Friday morning, we’re havin’ a Coastie with us. Joel Hayward is a sniper in the Coast Guard, and Roe and I are very much looking forward to following him and his team around next month.”

“Unless there’s another scheduling conflict.” I grinned and took a sip of my coffee. “You don’t really think about the Coast Guard having snipers, though, right? I sure didn’t anyway, but I’ve been schooled by my jarhead right here.”

Jake chuckled. “They’re badass. We like to give the Coast Guard a lot of shit in the other military branches, but it’s all in good fun. If you think about it, they’re the branch constantly at war. They protect our borders, they catch smugglers—”

“Up to seventy-five percent of the intercepted drugs are confiscated by the Coast Guard,” I provided. “Joel Hayward went through his training in Jacksonville, Florida, home of the HITRON—which Jake will explain before I make a fool of myself.”

“You mean more of a fool…” Jake smirked when I flipped him off. “HITRON stands for Helicopter Interdiction Tactical Squadron, and Roe is correct. They’re based in Florida, but they deploy their teams across the country. Joel Hayward has recently returned to San Diego for another three-month stint aboard a Coast Guard cutter, which Roe and I will get to revisit soon.”

“And we’ll be going up with Joel’s team in the helicopter too,” I added. “So what does a sniper like Joel do in the Coast Guard?”

“I daresay he’s got one of the toughest jobs around,” Jake replied. “In the Marines, we have a motto, I guess you can call it. Every Marine should be a rifleman. And Joel takes that to the next level when he’s not only a sniper—he’s sitting in a helicopter in a high-speed chase, aiming at tiny engines of smuggling boats bouncing across the waves at thirty-five knots per hour.”

I let out a low whistle. “In short, it’s gonna be an interesting interview on Friday. Make sure to listen in.”

Our episode continued, as always without a script. Although, after so many years, we had a good understanding of what our viewers and listeners liked. We covered LA life, our industry, parenting mishaps and shit our kids got into, a little bit about our future projects, Q&As, food recommendations, travel advice, things like that.

The new weekly interview had been Haley’s idea—and a great way to rope in new demographics.

We shied away from religion and politics, with the exception of last year when same-sex marriage had been legalized in all fifty states. I could admit I’d cried a little in the bathroom. It’d been a big day with a lot of emotions. Happiness with a smidgen of despair was just an unbeatable pairing for me. There was nothing like knowing two men could get married now, all while I was married to a woman, and my best friend I had failed miserably at falling out of love with was hella straight.

We wrapped up today’s episode with an anecdote, told by Jake, about his recent attempts at learning how to cook. Our followers definitely enjoyed hearing about our failures. Both the ones they could laugh at as well as the ones some people could relate to. Like last fall when we hadn’t won any Emmys. We’d obviously been prepared, but it was still one of those moments that sucked, and it was okay for things to suck for a couple weeks. We were open about that.

Better luck next time and so on.

I closed the laptop while Jake went over to turn off the camera, and I stretched my arms over my head and yawned. Breakfast would be nice now.

“You think Haley’s here yet?” I asked.

“Given that she’s expecting our answer about the studio today, I bet she’s standin’ right outside with the company credit card in her hand.”

I chuckled. If she wanted to make changes to our podcast studio, by all means. Even I could admit it was pretty dull in here. We still had our round desk we sat at. We’d added more comfortable chairs, and we had a custom-made sign with our logo on the wall. Newspapers and magazines littered the table. My laptop, our mics… Equipment was probably the one thing we liked to keep state-of-the-art. We had better sound these days, mics you didn’t have to sit so close to, and wireless headphones.

We didn’t find Haley outside the door; instead, we found her in the office across the hall, and fuck me, she wasn’t alone. Sandra was there too.

I couldn’t hide my surprise. “Hey, you.” Was I happy? Yeah, I believed so. Right? Happy and confused? And something else? Why was she here?

“Hi!” She beamed and trailed over to me, so I dipped down and kissed her.

No, this was good. I was glad she was here.

“Haley asked if I wanted to go shopping for studio furniture,” she divulged.

“Oh.”

I loved Haley. I sent her a grateful look and kissed Sandra on the forehead. We’d had a rocky start last summer, but Haley had really come through. She’d started by engaging more with Sandra on Facebook and Instagram, which had led to a couple coffee dates and getting their nails done together. Eventually, my wife had mustered the courage to come over after work. Sometimes she brought cookies or lunch.

To Jake’s credit, he’d made an effort too. He was kind to her, and they’d reached a somewhat relaxed stage where they could complain about me to each other.

Nikki… Well. I didn’t know what her problem was. She was polite—nothing more, nothing less. And she and I didn’t have the kind of relationship where I could ask outright what she had against Sandra.

“You just assume we’re gonna say yes on the demolition of our studio?” Jake drawled.

I looked back at him, and he was ready to be an annoying brother to his sister.

Haley could take it. “Obviously. Here’s what I’m thinking. The back wall—you have your sign, of course. But we paint the wall in the same burnt-orange color you have in the background of the sign, and since you have black text, we put up a bunch of black-and-white photos from your past projects, and we use black frames. So we turn the theme into your brand, you know? And we wanna replace the desk and the chairs too. Sandra saw this old, sturdy, black-painted oak table at an auction, so we just need to find you some cushy chairs. Maybe a couple potted plants in the background—we want it both cozy and cool. I think viewers will like that.”

Damn. The woman had a vision.

I glanced back at Jake again.

He was leaning against the doorframe and scratching his jaw.

“Fuck it,” he said. “I’m too hungry to bitch. Go for it.”

I smirked. He rarely turned down an opportunity to fight with Haley, like only siblings did. She was the same. But they were surprisingly productive that way.

It was settled. The girls went off to give our studio an upgrade, and Jake and I headed to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. We were the only ones here, which was kinda rare. If Seth wasn’t in the office, a couple of the editors tended to stop by and work with Jake. Or Haley and Mai worked on social.

“Being alone makes me wanna play hooky,” I admitted.

He laughed softly and hauled shit out of the fridge while I grabbed the bagels I’d bought on the way here earlier. “But we don’t have too much on our plate today, do we? We have the FaceTime meeting with Martina at three, and we gotta start editing the interviews from Philadelphia and New York.”

Yeah, the latter would be the hardest part. As it turned out, interviewing veterans and first responders from New York last fall hadn’t been as difficult as I’d feared. But when we had uncut footage with everything out of order, it was easy to let the work brain take the lead, and the personal aspects concerning the terror attacks had remained locked up in the back of my mind. Putting it all together later, however…? Fuck, I was not looking forward to that, because that was when we had to add in scenes from the day that had ripped my parents away from me.

At least Boston was in the bag. Those interviews had struck me in a way I hadn’t anticipated, which, in retrospect, was dumb. I should’ve realized sooner that the marathon bombing would hit close to home. We’d heard similar stories from people who had lost someone, first responders who still had nightmares, men and women who had enlisted in anger, survivors with PTSD and opioid addiction.

That was the whole point of Currahee, to shine a light on how lonely we often were after a traumatic event—and how we sucked at catching these souls before they turned to quick escapes that harmed them.

I shook those thoughts for now and spread some cream cheese on my bagel. The meeting with Martina—I should focus on that. She and her film crew were currently shooting in Chicago, and she’d spent the past three weeks riding alongside cops, paramedics, and firefighters.

Jake slid the cutting board with sliced red onion my way, and I finished up with lox. Nobody else touched that in the fridge. Jake went further, wanting all kinds of shit on his bagel. Cheese, lettuce, mayo, pastrami, leftover turkey—okay, more cheese. Christ.

“Don’t look at me like that, you fuckin’ purist,” he said.

“You’re no longer welcome in New York,” I told him.

Goddamn heathen.

“Fuck you, Elsie loves me.”

I grinned. It was true; my aunt was a big fan of Jake.

After we’d stowed away all the fixings, I took a photo of his monstrosity of a bagel and sent it to a friend from high school back home. He ran a traditional Jewish bagel shop with his old man and two sisters. They would not be fans of Jake’s.

Then we got sodas and headed out on the patio, and I snatched up a blanket on the way. Sixty-five degrees wasn’t quite warm enough for a T-shirt and cargo shorts, which I pretty much lived in.

We sat down on our couch, and Jake asked if I had any other birthday plans today. I just shook my head and took a bite of my bagel. I’d been celebrated plenty this weekend, and I was expecting calls from New York tonight. That was enough for me.

I didn’t tell Sandra that Jake had hit the jackpot with his birthday gift for me, ’cause my wife…bless her, as Jake would say…was under the impression that I loved to receive clothes and colognes. Oh, and she’d given me freaking golf clubs because she wanted me to go golfing with her dad.

Not happening.

Jake knew what was up. He’d given me a new backpack for hiking adventures, and he’d stuffed it with shit I loved. An old Brooklyn Dodgers tee, some CDs, saltwater taffy straight from Jersey, new headphones, concert tickets for this Saturday, and a book about Frankie Valli.

My folks had loved The Four Seasons. So much that Mom had sort of named my brother after Frankie. Well, it’d been a combination. Frankie Valli’s full name was Francesco, and my brother was Francis—’cause that was the name of the childhood friend who’d introduced my parents to each other.

Jake just knew these things. He paid attention. He listened to the crazy stories my aunt and uncle shared.

So yeah, that was my plan for the night. I was gonna read, eat taffy, listen to music, and rake in birthday greetings from the other side of the country.

“What about you?” I asked. “When’s your dinner with Nikki and the new boyfriend?”

It’d taken fucking forever, but Nikki was now walking around with stars in her eyes.

“Tomorrow. Haley’s watching the kids.” Jake swallowed what was in his mouth and popped open his soda. “Russell suggested a sports bar with good burgers, so he can’t be all bad.”

I chuckled.

I looked forward to meeting the man myself. Nikki loved to talk about him. He was older, by quite a lot too—he was like forty-five or forty-six, thereabouts. A successful investor and entrepreneur, but apparently one who’d come from nothing, so there had to be some rough edges under the shine. Otherwise, I wasn’t sure Nikki would’ve fallen for him.

We joked about being below-the-line people, all of us. Jake, Nikki, Haley, and I came from modest backgrounds with blue-collar parents. Too much polish made us reel back. We didn’t go to fancy restaurants or shop on Rodeo Drive.

I could admit, I liked to splurge sometimes. Especially on presents for others and technology. Jake felt the same about cameras and whatnot. That was where we let ourselves go nuts.

“Maybe it’s time for me to get out there too,” Jake said. “Meet someone. I don’t know.”

Oh.

That made sense, I guessed…

“It’s been a minute, huh?” I didn’t want details—at the same time as I was a fucking masochist and wanted to know who’d been lucky enough to get fucked by him.

“How many minutes in two years?” he retorted.

Oh, damn. So he hadn’t been with anyone since Nikki?

I’d unfortunately fished out enough information to gather that they’d…uh, scratched each other’s itches throughout the pregnancy, despite Jake’s supposed awkwardness.

Having experienced Sandra pregnant, I could certainly make a guess or two about Nikki’s needs. But anyway, I didn’t wanna go down that road. Baseball stats were a better topic.

Fucking hell.

I was a douchebag for getting jealous. I had a wonderful wife. Why couldn’t I be satisfied with that?

The thought of witnessing Jake falling in love with someone was enough for me to lose my hunger. I set down the remains of my bagel on the table and took a swig of my Coke.

It was bound to happen at some point. He’d meet someone. I was sure of it. One day, I would be his best man, and I would wanna kill myself just a bit.

Our drunken night in Vegas was the threadbare T-shirt I couldn’t bear to part with. We all had a tee like that, didn’t we? The one we couldn’t wear in public because it had too many holes, the seams were dissolved in some places, but it felt so fucking good, you wore it at home, maybe slept in it, maybe used it on laundry days.

It’d been the single hottest experience of my life.

“Do you think Joel is gay?” Jake asked.

I lifted my brows and looked at him. “Who, the Coast Guard guy?”

He nodded. “He gave me his number last time and told me to call if I wanted to meet up.”

What the fuck?

I let out a chuckle. “Then I’d say it’s a fair assumption, unless there’s context. If you geeked out about deployments or rifles or, I don’t know, whatever you soldier types bond over, maybe he just wants to meet up for a beer.”

He turned pensive and took another bite of his food.

What was going on here?

What did it matter if Joel was gay?

Or perhaps it didn’t. Jake could just be curious because of the possible interest expressed. I had no reason to overreact and overanalyze.

His journal came to mind, not for the first or hundredth time… I’d done a good job of reasoning myself to pieces over that fucking notebook, and as intrigued as I was to gain more insight into what the hell was going on inside my buddy’s head, I hadn’t opened that journal again. I hadn’t even entered his bedroom—wait, except for the time I went in to grab Sam’s security blanket last winter.

I did wonder if Jake went to therapy now, though. He’d never said a word about it. Not the tiniest hint. But it would be weird if he’d attended therapy for a year or so and still kept his journal lying around on his nightstand.

“I’m sure it was nothin’,” he decided eventually. “But it’s a nice thought.”

Pardon? What, exactly, was a nice thought?

For chrissakes, I had to ask. “What’s nice about it?”

“You know.” He shrugged and chewed. “Bein’ flirted with, I guess. I’m not sure I’m interested in anything with anyone, but every now and then, shit gets lonely. I don’t get out much, so I’m just a dad these days.” He crammed the last of his bagel into his mouth and grabbed his Coke. “Being noticed for somethin’ else is a good feeling, is all.”

I felt my forehead crease as my mind began spinning. I hadn’t considered he might feel lonely. Our job constantly brought us to new places, to meet new people, learn new things, that when we got home, Jake was quick to isolate himself. Rather, stick to his family here. Sometimes he invited people over for a barbecue or just chilling out and drinking beer, but I knew those guys. They were industry folk like us, and we could never resist talking about work.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. Whenever he had one of those after-work barbecues, I got jealous because I never fucking joined anymore. Sandra wanted me at home. So, while I sat there at the table and had dinner with my wife, I was the one who felt lonely because I knew what Jake was up to. I knew the banter, the joking around, the sharing of spectacular filming disasters, all the things that could go wrong on location.

I missed hanging out with friends.

Being married could be isolating too.

Screw it. I didn’t wanna feel so stuck in my own home anymore. Sandra met up with her friends all the time, but because she preferred brunches and early spa appointments, she thought that was different. Besides, she should be more relaxed by now. She was on friendly terms with Jake, she was clearly getting along well with Haley, and she came over from time to time for lunch and just being a part of our group.

“We’ll go out soon,” I said firmly. “Hey—we have that concert on Saturday.” Jake was gonna introduce me to fucking country music. “I can be your wingman—and if you don’t find anyone who gets your motor going, I’ll spend the night stroking your ego.”

Now, that was a nice thought.

Unfortunately, Jake was hotter than hell, not to mention the best guy I knew, and his growing popularity the past few years had lured out women—and men—in droves. He was just blind to their attention most of the time. When people looked at him, he looked the other way.

He smirked lazily and leaned back against the cushions. Damn him. He was just so damn masculine and sexy without trying. Knees parted a bit, arms draped along the back of the sofa, T-shirt snug enough to show his perfect physique underneath, and jeans…that fit just right.

“Those were the good old days.” Amusement sparked in his blue eyes. “You used to be fantastic at makin’ me feel ten feet tall.”

He was cute when he put on a cocky front. He was the least cocky man I knew. Not to say he didn’t have it in him. I’d been there with him in Vegas. I’d seen glimpses of an assertive beast who wasn’t afraid to get rough.

Fuck.

Humor. We’d go with humor. “Used to?” I lifted a brow. “I’ve only gotten better, baby. I just don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

Solid bullshit.

“Do I look uncomfortable now, darlin’?”

No, and that was fucking unnerving. Sober Jake wasn’t bold. Sober Jake didn’t up the ante when I joked around with my innocent flirting.

“Get the fuck out, you can’t fool me,” I chuckled. “Let’s get back to work before this turns into a pissing contest.”

I was competitive and stupid enough.

Jake grinned triumphantly, the fucking prick.

* * *

The day after was a good one. After we’d wrapped the morning’s Off Topic, I buried myself in notes for our project’s structure. Jake and Jason sat on the other side of the office and went through footage of the interviews, and I jotted down the lengths of each final cut and let my creativity flow for potential lines for the narration. Jake and I were both narrating this series, and that would be our summer. We had a studio booked with Ortiz for two months, all of July and August.

Seth showed up around lunch, and we confirmed our meeting with the musicians next week. Yasmin arrived too, once again proving that we needed all the desks we could fit into the office. Jake and I had initially thought too small. Seth had entered the room and been all, “And where are the rest of us gonna sit?”

Talk about a wake-up call. Condor Chicks wasn’t just us anymore. But we’d made it work with the living room space too. And most of the guys liked to work from home, then come here to touch base and work as a team.

But it was time to set the next steps of our plan in motion. We were turning the garage into another office soon, because Haley needed her own space.

In the afternoon, when we started slowing down and most of the others headed home, Sandra dropped off our boy so she could sit in on a meeting at her dad’s agency, and I didn’t mind that one bit. Cas was calm for being a Finlay. He loved to sit with me while I worked, and at this point, I was only searching for future Off Topic topics on the patio.

I was half sprawled out on the sofa with my laptop next to me, the afternoon sun shining through the grapevines and the… The fuck was it called? Pergola ceiling? The wooden beams that held the pergola together. Jake was weirdly picky about garden furniture and structures. I had to use the correct words. Garden snob. God forbid I called it a canopy. That was apparently a whole other thing.

“Dada, eat!” Casper stuck a mushy piece of banana in my face.

Sure thing. I opened my mouth and pretended to munch on his hand too.

He laughed and tugged himself free.

“So yummy,” I said. “Do you think Uncle Jake wants some too?”

Cas eyed the little fruit bowl I’d set on the table, and he picked up an apple wedge. “This?”

I nodded. “Good choice. I think he’s in the office.”

He grabbed his stuffed animal, a sea otter Jake had bought him, and darted inside.

I smiled to myself and returned to my laptop. Topics, topics, topics. Running without a script didn’t mean we didn’t need to prepare. We had to keep the talkin’ goin’. I sent Jake a couple articles about white-water rafting, something we were gonna try for a Nomads episode eventually. After Currahee, we wanted to go back to nature documentaries for a while; we were itching to explore again. Maybe Alaska or… Eh, the list was long.

We kinda missed the comedy factor too. We’d briefly discussed that it would’ve been fun to do a series on surviving in the wild. Alaska was a perfect location for that. Like, send us out into the wilderness and see what happens. Maybe we had to stay there for a while, a month or two.

If we flashed our puppy-dog eyes, perhaps Sandra and Nikki could fly up with the kids, just so we didn’t go stir-crazy from missing them. A week on location was okay. Two was…not fun. We couldn’t concentrate as well if we went too long without seeing the kids.

Casper’s squealed laughter brought me back from Alaska musings, and I looked over toward the patio doors as Jake stepped out with my boy thrown over his shoulder.

“I’m reenergized after a delicious snack,” he said.

I grinned and sat up straighter.

“I’m-wa-down!” Cas laughed. “Dada, help!”

“Nah, you let the tickle monster get you, baby,” I chuckled. “Daddy’s gonna run and hide.”

Jake snorted a laugh and plopped down to my right with a thud, and he pulled Cas to his front.

“Oh-whoa!” My boy giggled and swayed, probably feeling a little dizzy. His chubby cheeks were flushed, and I couldn’t help but lean over and give them smooches.

“Next time, we tickle Daddy instead,” Jake said.

“I’d throw myself in the pool and bring you both with me,” I laughed.

“Go pool!” Casper’s eyes lit up, and he reached for me.

I chuckled and gathered him in my arms. “Not today, buddy.” He’d turn into a popsicle.

He didn’t seem to care about the pool anyway; Jake’s watch had his attention now. Casper loved gadgets. If something was shiny and had buttons, he was all over it.

Jake got comfortable, planting an arm behind me and—all right, he rested his chin on my shoulder, and he let Cas fidget with the watch around his wrist. A certain birthday present from when he’d turned thirty…in Vegas…

“Tired?” I asked.

Jake nodded minutely, not lifting his chin, and I received a firm answer from Cas too.

“No, Dada. No sweepy.”

I smiled and brushed back his messy hair.

Jake yawned. “I gotta go get ready for dinner with Nikki and Russell.”

So soon? I eyed his watch. “At five?”

“Six thirty. It’s over in Silver Lake.”

Dude. Traffic was gonna suck. “You might wanna avoid the 101.”

“No shit.” He wriggled his hand in Casper’s lap, earning himself a stern look from my boy. Too fucking cute. Cas was inspecting the bezel and trying to twist the crown. “Are you gonna turn back time for me, small fry?”

I let out a silent chuckle.

“Thirty seconds. Then I’m outta here.” Jake sounded tired, no doubt. “Is it weird I’m relieved Russell’s much older than Nikki?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t know. I guess if he were younger, I’d be more worried about him becoming Colin and Sam’s stepdad,” he elaborated. At the same time, he scratched my neck lightly, which was highly fucking distracting.

Stepdad—right. Yeah, no, I understood him.

“I’d probably be the same way,” I murmured.

If I wasn’t mistaken, Russell had gotten married very early—at like nineteen or something. Two kids had followed shortly after, so they were in college or had recently graduated. I wanted to say one had graduated, and the other had a year or two to go.

“Do you know what their plans look like?” I wondered. “You think they’re gonna move in together?”

“I assume so at some point, but Nikki’s not interested in anything too heavy,” he answered. “I think they’ll do the every-other-week thing for a while. He’s busy starting a new company, and Nikki’s finally got a foot in the door on movie sets.”

We were happy for her. She’d dreamed of working as a stylist in movies since she was a kid. Jake and I had paid it forward; I’d once had a connection with a network, which we’d taken advantage of. And last fall, we’d interviewed a well-known producer, Asher Wright, and we’d asked him afterward about what we could do for Nikki. Turned out, he had all the answers.

“Being the selfish bastard I am, that works out for me,” he said, then promptly yawned again. “They’ll meet up and stay at each other’s places when they don’t have the kids, and I don’t have to worry about someone corrupting my babies.”

I shook my head in amusement, unsure of where to start. His endearing possessiveness about his kids or the notion of him being selfish. He was anything but.

“I think you can rest easy,” I said. Colin was already a mini-Jake, with a slightly shorter fuse, and Sam was a total daddy’s girl. “Not actually rest, of course. Your thirty seconds were up a while ago.”

He cursed and dragged himself up, much to Casper’s dismay. “You can play with my watch next time, sugar.” He leaned over and smooched Casper’s cheek. Then he gave my knee a squeeze and rose to his feet. “All right—I’m awake. Damn.” He groaned under his breath and stretched his arms. “Here we go. All the excitement. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I nodded once and smiled as I watched him leave. “Nice ass, Denver.”

He slowed down and looked back at me with a furrowed brow. “Just nice? I remember when I was too hot to be mad at. Up your game, Finlay.”

I sucked my teeth, admittedly impressed. And a tad stunned. Jake disappeared into the house, and I had no comeback. Where the hell was the uncomfortable Southerner who squirmed at the thought of working in a gay nightclub?

Okay, okay, he’d been gone a long time. But still.

Up your game, Finlay.

Not wise.

* * *

The only problem with our Friday interviews was that we had to arrive earlier to set up breakfast. At six AM, I dragged myself out of my car and balanced a bunch of food containers in my hands. Some were leftovers from food-truck Thursday that we’d have for lunch; the rest was stuff I’d picked up on the way.

Nobody wanted to hear a podcast host crunch on nachos or anything crispy, so the shopping list was specific. Croissants, yogurt, softer fruits, granola, and donuts.

It was still completely dark outside, and I was the first to show up. I flicked on the lights and came face-to-face with the mess in the living room. Paint, stacked picture frames, cushy leather chairs, and a giant table had magically appeared yesterday. Haley was gonna be busy this weekend.

I was looking forward to the upgrade, though. She’d even ordered new coffee mugs and other merch with our Off Topic logo on them. It was clear she wanted the black and burnt-orange colors to highlight our podcast’s brand.

After a quick stop to the bathroom, I washed my hands and splashed water on my face to look alive, and then I returned to the kitchen.

I put on music too, because I had to mentally prepare myself for tomorrow’s concert. That Jake listened to country and country rock from time to time was nothing new, and I could even appreciate hearing it in the background when he gardened, but that was more about the atmosphere. Country music fit the scene, Jake working up a sweat in the sunshine, kids running around, and so on.

To actively seek out country to listen to it, however…?

I was skeptical. But “different” was the keyword, and Jake had delivered. It was sort of an unwritten rule that’d become our thing lately; when we gave each other presents, we included something new, be it an activity, an experience, or a material item.

So there I stood and diced bananas while a Southern dude sang about being drunk on a plane. It was so Jake, though. This music transported me to a summer day in the backyard, with Cas and Colin goofing around, Jake bobbing his head and mouthing the lyrics as he trimmed rosebushes and plucked weeds.

Country music usually meant Jake was in a good mood.

I took a breath and inhaled the smell of coffee flooding the kitchen, and I gathered as much as I could on a tray before carrying it down the hall and into the studio. Haley had been on our asses about presentation, so I’d gotten decent at making breakfast look good. We had serving bowls and dishes for everything. Even a pitcher for the yogurt, though that was more about not showcasing brands unless we had sponsorship deals.

By the time I returned to the kitchen, Jake walked in and cocked his head.

“I’ll be damned. You’re listenin’ to Dierks Bentley.”

“I gotta prepare myself for tomorrow,” I defended.

“Hey, I wasn’t complaining.” He smirked and pushed up the sleeves of his Henley to help out. He took care of the dishes while I got the rest into the studio.

It’d been a good week for him. He was still riding a wave of relief after meeting Russell, whom he already liked. According to Jake, Nikki’s man was down-to-earth, heavily into football, and completely hooked on Nikki.

Five minutes before Joel Hayward was due, I opened my laptop in the studio and got everything ready. We had precisely three sound effects for our podcast, and I only used one of them daily—our short intro. It was a medley of voices saying, “It’s Off Topic,” “Off Topic, Off Topic,” and “Good morning, it’s time for Off Topic.” After that, I took over.

Jake joined me with coffee for everyone, and he told me he’d received a text from Seth, confirming Joel’s travel itinerary. We obviously covered travel expenses and a hotel night for out-of-towners. And Joel was heading back to San Diego a little past lunch.

I scratched my forehead and flipped open my notebook. For interview days, I needed more reminders. Today included making sure Jake and Joel didn’t lose themselves—and our followers—in military jargon.

Some reminders had been scratched over the years. Previously, we never mentioned our children by name, but whoever had created our personal Wikipedia page had added them anyway. So we’d let that go.

I kinda liked we only had one Wikipedia page. Jake and I weren’t well-known as individuals; we were Roe Finlay and Jake Denver. We were a duo. We did everything together—every documentary project, every podcast episode, every interview and promo appearance.

When the doorbell rang, Jake went to greet Joel.

I pulled up the tabs on my browser I wanted to use as my cheat sheet. Information about the Coast Guard base in San Diego, HITRON in Jacksonville, the TACLET team we would also shadow after our helicopter ride-along, and last but not least, a document with questions.

Okay, we were good to go—and just in time for Jake’s and Joel’s voices to come closer.

“…no, I’m just glad Roe sent me that email with the instructions,” I heard Joel say. “I’ve never been interviewed before.”

I had all the forethought. Being interviewed and streamed to millions of people could probably sound intimidating, but we were so casual around here that guests relaxed pretty fast. And “instructions” was a stretch. I sent an email to all our guests about what to expect, along with some helpful tips and tricks.

“You got nothin’ to worry about,” Jake replied. “If Roe can make me comfortable enough to host a podcast, you appearing on one will be a walk in the park.”

I smiled and turned to the door just as they entered, and I extended a hand to Joel. “Good to see you again, Joel.”

He smiled back and shook my hand. “You too, man. I like your office. It was nothing like what I expected.”

I chuckled. That’s what everyone said. When you mentioned office and headquarters, people immediately assumed skyscrapers, bullpens, and corporate.

Joel was very easy on the eyes—tall, hella fit, and with a charming smile—and since Jake had told me about Joel’s text message, I couldn’t help but wonder if our Coastie was…not straight, too. And if he was interested in Jake.

We covered the chitchat part while Jake got the camera ready, and I reassured Joel this was very relaxed. It was breakfast and coffee and conversation. People just happened to be listening or watching somewhere.

“You can count on Roe,” Jake said. “If you get off track or forget what you were gonna say, he’ll pick things up.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice with that one.” I nodded at Jake.

Joel grinned and got seated. The table was turned so everyone was visible on camera, with him sitting closer to Jake on one side, and I was across from them.

A screen popped up on my laptop, indicating the camera was on. Then Jake made his way to his seat, and…yeah, I mean, sure, if you were into tall, hot military dudes, they looked good next to each other. Joel with his dark-blue USCG T-shirt, Jake with one that read Two Condor Chicks Production.

I’d grown up in the wrong family, and I had the wrong friends. Because it was only in my circle I could possibly feel short at 5’11”. I was fucking taller than average. But then I’d grown up with 6’5” monsters, and now I shared my career with a 6’3” jarhead. Joel was up there too, and add biceps and ink, and maybe I should hit the gym more.

Fuck.

No donut for me this morning.

Instead, I poured some yogurt into my bowl and added boring granola, some bananas, and dried cranberries.

“Sixty seconds till seven AM,” Jake said. “Headphones on.”

“So you do this every morning?” Joel wondered.

“Monday to Friday, unless we’re off filming,” I answered.

“Dig in.” Jake nodded at the food and grabbed some for himself—or a lot of it. Yogurt, croissant, two donuts… Because certain people could eat anything and it didn’t affect their physique.

I took a swig of my coffee and watched the clock on my laptop. At seven AM sharp, I pushed record and turned on the intro. I adjusted my headphones and counted down.

“Good morning, everyone. You’re Off Topic with Roe Finlay and Jake Denver,” I said. “I’m Roe, Jake’s stuffing his face with a donut, and we have Joel Hayward with the Coast Guard here today. Welcome to LA, Joel.”

“Thanks. It’s good to be here,” he answered.

“It’s a good fuckin’ donut too,” Jake added with his mouth full.

I grinned. “Can I start a military fight by saying this is perfect meme material? We have the Marine who’s got powdered sugar all over his face, and we have the Coast Guard sniper eating plain yogurt.”

Jake coughed around a chuckle. “Uh, oorah?”

Joel found that funny too.

Ice: broken.

I shook my head. “I remember back in the day when we read focus-group results for Nomads and how viewers seemed to enjoy watching Jake eat. I’m not sure that would be true anymore.”

“Leave me the fuck alone,” he laughed. “Today’s about Joel.”

Fair enough, that was plenty of razzing for a minute. I smiled and shifted my focus to Joel. “He’s got a point. We’re shining a bright light on the Coast Guard today, partly because Jake and I are in the middle of filming a new series, and that’s where Joel and his team come in. Last fall, we spent a week with you guys aboard one of your cutters—and correct me if I’m wrong here, you use the term cutter for any ship or vessel you have permanent crews on?”

Joel set down his coffee mug and cleared his throat. “Basically, they’re our home on the water. They do have assigned crews on board, and depending on the size of the vessel, they stay out for weeks or months at a time.”

I signaled to Jake to take over for a moment while I ate some yogurt and went to the tab about the cutter we’d return to. Legend-class cutter, to be accurate, 418 feet long. Roughly one hundred people on board. Important information.

“What does an average day at sea look like for y’all?” Jake asked.

That was good. That one should keep Joel talking for a moment.

* * *

Washe gay?

I stayed in the background and pretended to work in the office, but Joel had my attention even though I couldn’t see him. He and Jake had moved toward the hallway, and they were discussing April, when we’d be back in San Diego.

I didn’t fucking know Joel’s orientation, but it was clear he was more interested in talking to Jake than me. Soon as the podcast had ended, they had forgotten their surroundings and shared anecdotes about past deployments. Jake had soaked it up. All grins and passion.

I wasn’t jealous.

When their voices faded, I left my desk and hurried over to the door. From there, I could hear better.

“…and maybe after?” Joel asked quietly.

Fuck, I wished I could see them. But if I went down the hall, Jake would spot me as soon as Joel had walked out the door.

“I’ll let you think about it,” Joel chuckled. “Text me when you get to San Diego.”

I narrowed my eyes and stiffened. His tone was…I didn’t know, indicating something personal. He sounded more than friendly. He was flirting.

“Yeah, sure. Will do.” That was Jake. My clueless Jake. Or maybe he was catching on.

I heard the door open and saw the stream of light appear across the floorboards.

“See you in a few weeks, Jake.”

Yeah, get out. Go.

“Definitely. Safe journey back to base.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek as a swirl of unease rushed through me. Despite that Jake wasn’t into men sexually, it bothered me that he might find Joel a more interesting friend. Which was completely fucked up on my part. I knew that. But having gone all in on the married life, I was afraid of being replaced. Not entirely, obviously; I wasn’t that insecure. But someone would, logically, fill the void I’d left behind when I had taken a step back.

Nobody needed to tell me I was the douchebag in this scenario. I just…wanted Jake to myself.

Fuck me, I was his Sandra. What was wrong with me?

I swallowed hard, and Jake closed the door.

So I positioned myself in the doorway and waited for him to appear, because I had to get some answers. At least one or two. I wanted to see his face, read his expression.

He eventually left the hallway, and he slowed to a stop and rubbed the back of his neck. Definitely deep in thought. Had something happened? Had I missed a sign? Had Joel done something?

Turn this way.

Jake eyed the new desk for the studio, crowding the round table in the old living room. Then he glanced left, toward the kitchen, before he finally veered right, and he came to a stop once more when he noticed me watching him.

Caught you.

The discomfort and confusion were written across his face, soon joined by a humorless little smirk. “Yeah, he’s gay.”

Okay. So I’d missed an obvious tell.

“Did he do anything?” I asked, folding my arms over my chest. I remained in the doorway and leaned against the frame.

Christ, he was uncomfortable. But there was more to his posture. His eyebrows were drawn together, as if he was trying to solve a math problem that annoyed him.

“Kind of?” he asked rather than stated. “He kissed me. On the cheek, I mean. Or the corner of my mouth.”

My own mouth ran dry, and I pictured it. Them. Joel leaning in. Fucking hell. This was my future. The gender didn’t fucking matter. I’d made my choices, so the only seat available for me was right there in the front row. Screw Jake’s amazing looks; he was a genuine guy with a good heart. He was funny and creative and generous and just a bit wounded. This was only the first person—scratch that. I’d witnessed dozens of women try to line up for their shot at Jake. A few men too. There would be others. Many others. Until one day, Jake loved someone back.

“Are you okay?” I asked carefully. Because I wasn’t only selfish. I had a couple good qualities too, and I worried about him sometimes. I wished he’d open up more. Maybe I could help him beat the ghosts of his past to death. I’d certainly try my hardest.

“Yeah.” He nodded slowly, then once firmly. “Yeah, I’m okay. I guess I can feel flattered now.”

He tested a smile, and I did the same.

“I, uh… I gotta drive over to Ortiz for our meeting.”

“Right.” I knew he wasn’t due till ten, but this was Jake. He needed a moment alone now.

“I’ll be back by one.” He gave me a two-finger wave and walked out.

A breath gusted out of me, and I peered up at the ceiling. Frustration built up within me—and a bit of sadness. For as well as I knew him, I hadn’t gained access to the trouble that brewed in his head. And if it’d been any other friend, I wouldn’t have cared as much. I respected people’s privacy and bit my tongue until they asked for help. At which point, I was happy to be there. But I had enough bullshit on my own plate to go chase others’ crap.

Of course, Jake was an exception to every rule. Not only had I already violated his privacy, I was desperate to know every single thought that ran through his mind.

I hung my head and knew very well what I could do.

God-fucking-dammit.

I didn’t wanna be that asshole, though. Instead of sneaking around and reading his personal thoughts, I should confront him. I should be honest and say I was worried. And ask what was going on. What he’d been going through.

That was it. That was the honorable thing to do.

Tomorrow after the concert, I’d suggest we come back here for another beer or two, and I’d try to get him to talk.

Yeah.

* * *

What the fuck did you wear to a country concert?

I grabbed a pair of jeans and boxer briefs from the closet, then walked back into the bedroom and picked up my phone from my nightstand. I sent Jake a message.

I’m fresh out of chaps and cowboy hats. What should I wear, hoss?

While I waited for his response, I removed the towel around my hips and put on the boxers and jeans.

“Dada, I’m-wa no baff!”

I glanced over at the door as my boy ran in, with Sandra hot on his tail.

I grinned faintly and swooped him up. “Look out, we got a runner ova’ hea’.” I peppered his face with smooches, and he giggled up a storm. “You can’t escape bath time, baby boy. But you know what comes after, don’t you? Mommy’s gonna read you a story.”

“Nooo,” he complained.

“Yeees,” I mimicked.

Sandra sighed and smiled ruefully. “Let’s go, sweetie. We’ll get extra bubbles and everything.”

“Hear that? We love those bubbles.” I handed over the clinging monkey to her and pressed a kiss to the side of his head.

“I don’t wannaaa,” he whined.

Sandra carried him out, only to stop in the doorway and turn back to me. “You sure you don’t wanna cancel?”

Positive—and I wasn’t fighting with her about it again.

“I won’t be late,” was all I said.

The teasing glint in her eyes faded, and she walked out.

I released a breath.

We had a problem, and I didn’t know how to solve it. I kept telling her to relax and stop thinking about a second baby; I’d read so many articles on how that mental stress, that pressure, could affect her ability to get pregnant again. And I couldn’t remember a time we’d had sex for the sake of it. She was doing it all, special vitamins, special diet, ovulation tests, keeping track of her temperature for some reason. Then when she was ovulating, she jumped my bones to get shit done, and I was over it.

Regardless of my emotional baggage concerning Jake, I cared for my wife. I wanted to get to a place where she and I were just us. Not Mommy and Daddy, not screwing to make Casper a sibling, just us. But I didn’t know if that was possible. I couldn’t force myself to care enough, and she was undeterred. She’d rather try every bullshit hack she found online than listen to experts. Hell, her own doctor had essentially parroted the advice I’d given her, which, in turn, had been parroted from news articles, my aunt, my brothers’ wives, and even Nikki.

My phone dinged on the nightstand, and I walked over and read Jake’s text.

I’ll tell you you’re pretty no matter what you wear, sugar.

I laughed silently and shook my head.

Helpful.

Whatever. I returned to the closet and dug out a long-sleeved tee that made my biceps look good. We were going to an outdoor place up in Griffith Park, so it was bound to get chilly. But I liked that it wasn’t a huge concert. Only some five thousand people. It beat going to the Staples Center.

Jake picked me up downstairs fifteen minutes later, and the most country thing about him continued to be his truck. It made no sense to drive a truck in LA. But he loved it, and I really had no room to argue choices of vehicles. I was still a laughingstock after buying a sports car before Casper was born. Worst deal ever. I’d probably lost twenty grand when I’d traded it in for a family-friendly SUV.

“Hey, pretty.” Jake pulled out from the curb. “I see you found clothes.”

“No thanks to you.” I smiled and buckled my seat belt. “Will I see a lot of chaps tonight?”

“If I drop you off in West Hollywood instead, I’m sure there’s a club for you.”

I laughed. Funny.

“Oh, this is a good one.” He cranked up the volume on the stereo. “He’ll probably play this tonight.”

I side-eyed him, more interested in studying Jake than hearing a song. There was something inherently sexy about how he drove. He made life look easy when he was on the road. One arm along the edge of the window, the sleeves of his open flannel shirt rolled up—some serious forearm porn going on—two fingers gripping the wheel loosely at the bottom. He tapped his foot to the rocky beat, and his lips moved subtly to the singer’s voice.

Ratty USMC ball cap on the dash. Since he always wore it backward, he took it off when a headrest was in the way.

Fitting lyrics, about holding on to things you believed in.

Of course, it being a country rock song, the topic was the singer’s truck.

It was the miles that made a man, huh?

How many miles till I fell out of love with him?

“I’d be nothing without you, so I’m holding on.”

Surprisingly, a line not about the truck.

“I’m not the openin’ act,” he chuckled. “Quit starin’.”

That was the fucking problem, wasn’t it? He was the headliner.

I shrugged. “Then stop giving me a show.”

He smirked and drove past another car. “Nice.”

The song morphed into another, and we spent the next half hour cruising between comfortable silence and mindless chatter. I told him about my Alaska idea—how we could turn it into a survival show with a comedy twist, and Jake liked it. A heavy project like Currahee was making him want something lighter too.

“We should talk to Ortiz,” he said.

Oh yeah. He didn’t have to elaborate. Before season two of Travel Back, Ortiz had told us to come to him when we were ready for Netflix. He used to say you could shoot for the IDAs and Oscars, more serious genres—which was where he placed Currahee—or nature and history documentaries for National Geographic, Discovery, and the History Channel that might get you an Emmy and some other awards. In other words, Nomads, our contribution to the miniseries about the Nordic countries, and Travel Back. Those series had put us on the map and gained us recognition. But Netflix was an ever-growing player these days, so Ortiz was changing his categories. Either you shot for prestige, or you shot for mainstream. Awards and big money didn’t always go hand in hand.

Jake and I had no complaints in the finance department, but nailing a series with Netflix would make us more independent for future projects. Get the big bucks first, then go after the prestigious awards.

The Alaska thing could definitely be up Netflix’s alley.

“I’d sure as fuck watch you tryna survive in the Alaskan wilderness,” he said, turning into one of the parking lots. “Comedy gold.”

I scowled. I’d fucking gotten better. “I’m not as bad as I was, fuckface.”

“No, but you’re still shit,” he laughed. “My li’l Bambi on ice.”

He was exaggerating!

The fuck did he know, anyway? We hadn’t gone camping yet this year, and I’d learned a crapload over Christmas. I’d visited Greer on his farm, I’d hunted small game with Cullen and Kyle, and I’d had my nails painted by my niece. I was ready for anything.

I’d show him. Next time Jake and I headed out, I was gonna blow his mind with my survival skills.

We started our trek to the outdoor amphitheater, and I was a little disappointed by the lack of cowboys. Thousands of people were here, and only one…two, three… Hell, maybe a dozen cowboy hats?

“Look!” I jerked my chin toward a couple walking hand in hand toward the venue. “The guy’s wearing a bolo tie.”

Jake looked over there, then hitched a brow at me. “We’ve been all over the South for Nomads—how do you still come off as someone who’s never left Brooklyn?”

I grinned and lifted a shoulder. I was fascinated by the South. Sue me. Two of my cousins slash brothers had come home after their USMC careers with new accents. Not a lot, but some South Carolina drawl.

Also, Jake was no fucking better. “This from someone who thought every New Yorker had mobster connections. Get the fuck outta here.”

He rumbled a laugh and draped an arm around my shoulders. “Every person from Brooklyn, not every New Yorker.”

I rolled my eyes. Go to Park Slope and Bed-Stuy, and the only connections they had were for BabyBjörn retailers and froyo.

“Roe! Jake!”

We turned around as two women hurried toward us.

Jake stiffened a little but put on a brave, brave face.

“Are you gonna watch Dierks Bentley too?” one of them asked.

“Absolutely.” I smirked. There was nothing else to do up here. We were surrounded by green hills and hiking trails.

“Cool.” The other girl held up her phone. “Can we get a selfie?”

“Sure thing.” I gave Jake’s arm a quick squeeze, knowing he hadn’t gotten used to this attention. But he relaxed his stance, and we huddled close for a selfie with the women.

“Thank you so much!” The blonde beamed at us and dragged her friend away. “Have a great time tonight.”

“You too.” I smiled.

Jake exhaled, and I linked my arm with his.

“You almost made that look natural,” I noted.

At that, he deflated and let out a chuckle.

He was so weird. Sure, yeah, go get shot in Afghanistan, no problem. Get a selfie with two followers? The horror.

We made our way through the gates, and we bought beers before we went to find our seats. He’d splurged for the good tickets, so we were somewhere in the middle, with the stage right in front of us.

We sat down in our seats, and I glanced around us. It’d been a long time since I’d gone to a concert. Jake and I had seen Social Distortion in freaking Toledo after we’d done a Nomads episode nearby.

Maybe I should’ve brought a sweater. “It’s chilly, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t call it warm.” He took a swig of his beer and held out his arm. “C’mere. You’re my date tonight. It’s my job to keep you from freezin’.”

I grinned and had no problems playing along, just to take advantage. Nobody was in the seat in front of mine, so I planted my feet up there and leaned against Jake’s side. Fucking perfect. I drank from my beer and felt really good. I needed this night.

I brought out my phone. “Hey, famous person, can I get a selfie with you?”

He groaned through a chuckle. “Fine. For Haley?”

Sure, that too.

We smirked for the camera and held up our beers as I took a couple quick shots.

“One just for me,” I added, lowering my beer. “Smile like you love attention.”

I snapped off another few with a couple seconds in between, and then the opening act went onstage. The people around us stood up to cheer, and the area flooded with blue spotlights. But Jake and I remained seated. He’d told me this guy wasn’t good, and if he thought an artist put too much twang in the music, I sure as hell wouldn’t enjoy it either.

He still paid attention, though. The singer began his set, and Jake listened and peered between two guys standing up. In the meantime, I checked the photos real quick—and I came to a stop at the last selfie.

Damn. It went without saying we were hot together, but this one was next level. It had nothing to do with hotness. It was how he looked at me. A smile playing on his lips, affection in his eyes. This was how he kept reeling me in. He loved me so much that it was too easy for me to confuse his feelings for something deeper.

That part fucking sucked.

I just had to remind myself that I was the brother he’d always wanted. He’d told me once that sisters were for adulthood—in terms of how great of a relationship he had with Haley today, when they were grown. As a kid, he’d found Haley completely useless—obviously said with a glint in his eye, and with Haley within earshot.

I pocketed my phone and took another swig of my beer.

* * *

Oh, it was that fucking song again. Halfway into the main act, the singer was getting drunk on a plane after having his wedding canceled. It was just so country, with songs about alcohol, trucks, dirt roads, broken hearts, and, of course, new love and vows. But it was a good feeling too. Nobody was sitting anymore; people were enjoying themselves, and I’d even call the music all right. It continued to represent Jake’s gardening days for me, and I could never get enough of those. Few things brought me as much contentment as watching Jake in his element. That applied to both a busy day of filming and summer chill in the backyard.

I took a swig of my second beer as the song drew to its close, and Jake set his cup down on the ground to applaud with the other four or five thousand fans.

I followed suit, wanting my hands free for a bit. I’d just have to remember not to knock my beer over.

The singer began tinkering on a much calmer song and introduced “Riser,” and an overwhelming cheer traveled through the crowd. Jake applauded and let out a sharp whistle. I guessed he loved this one too.

He put an arm around my shoulders—something he often did these days—and sent me a smirky smile. He pulled me with him to sway to the beat, maybe as a “come on, don’t just stand there,” and a “Relax and have fun, buddy.”

It hadn’t been my intention to look stiff as a board; I was just soaking things up.

I took a deep breath and let the music work its way through me. I could admit, the song was beautiful. Hundreds of people around us held up their phones with their flashlights on, a sight that gave me goose bumps. Or maybe it was Jake again. Jesus Christ. He was living in the moment, eyes closed here and there, singing along. He knew every word. I wished I could hear him, but the music was louder.

Perhaps the song was personal to him. The singer sang of stepping up, of being there, of being a riser. A get-off-the-ground-don’t-be-a-hider, a survivor, a get-out-aliver, and, when push came to shove, a fighter.

They said falling in love was effortless, but to me, it’d been several years of desperately trying to cushion the blow, to climb a foot or two back up toward sanity, because the love I felt for Jake was fucking insane. But it just wasn’t working. I couldn’t get a grip. I couldn’t slow down the descent.

Completely seduced by the beat, I noticed the second Jake went still, and I frowned and glanced at him.

He’d pulled out his phone, and I happened to see the moment it stopped ringing, which revealed notifications of three missed calls and a couple texts. Had he ignored the first alerts and then wondered what was going on? Because that was usually what I did when I was in the middle of something.

The missed calls were from Seth, and the texts were from “USCG Joel.”

The fuck did he want? Were they texting each other? Why?

A new text popped up, and Jake opened it.

Work emergency. Call when you can.

It was from Seth. Jake looked at me, and I nodded. Emergencies were almost always related to filming, and we only had Martina in the field right now. Jake and I hurried out of our row and jogged up the stairs toward the exit.

On the way, I got out my phone too, and sure enough, Seth had tried to reach me. Fucking hell. I hadn’t felt it vibrating.

As soon as we reached a spot where the music didn’t drown out our voices, Jake called Seth back, and I moved close to listen in.

“Sorry to interrupt your concert, but I think you wanna know this,” Seth said, skipping past greetings. “Hayward’s XO with the Coast Guard called and said they’ve received an anonymous tip about something happening tomorrow—and given it’s a standard operation, you and Roe are approved to join. Basically, you don’t have to spend a month on board in April and wait for possible action to go down. Now we know something is happening. But you have to be at the air station in San Diego by five AM tomorrow morning.”

I met Jake’s gaze and dove straight into work mode. It was a no-brainer, wasn’t it? The look of concentration in Jake’s eyes was all the answer I needed. He was already working out logistics in his head. Lord knew Sandra would be happy. She’d complained about me being gone for a whole month.

“We ride,” Jake said firmly.

I nodded once and put together a quick mental to-do list. Call Sandra on the way to the office, pack up the truck, drive south. Easy, yeah? Fuck me, the equipment—we’d be up all night. We had to sort through memory cards, which cameras to bring—because the Coast Guard had a long list of restrictions. Add grips, mounts, mics, chargers, batteries, and the fact that we had to take up minimal space.

I was fairly sure I had enough clothes at the Condor Chicks house to get me through a week on the road.

“I figured,” Seth replied. “It’s a two-hour drive to San Diego. Buy Red Bulls. I’ll confirm your arrival and call you back with further information.”

“Copy that, we’ll head to the office,” Jake answered, then ended the call.

We stared at each other, and I bet he felt the exact same excitement pouring in. This was what we did. What we loved. Sometimes, I didn’t mind throwing away a carefully planned schedule, because taking off on short notice was fun.

When I grinned, so did he.

“I’ll call Sandra. You call Nikki,” I said.

He nodded. “Let’s go.”

* * *

We got approximately two hours of sleep that night, and we crashed at his place where I took the couch in the living room.

By two-thirty, we were on the road with two to-go mugs filled with strong coffee.

I sat in the passenger’s seat and dug through Jake’s camera bag, just double-checking we’d gotten everything. I guessed the problem with the Coast Guard’s restrictions wasn’t so much the items we couldn’t bring, but the lack of space. That was why we couldn’t use the setups we preferred.

We were sharing the helicopter with a TACLET team, basically the guys who were trained to board smuggling boats and get the situation under control. Both the TACLET team and Joel’s HITRON team were essential during these operations. Joel was the first to arrive on scene—by air. As the sniper, he halted the chase by killing the engines—literally—if the smugglers didn’t stop on command. Then they lingered in the air until TACLET arrived on two fast-going, smaller boats.

Jake and I had a choice to make. Last time, we’d gotten plenty of footage from the air, so I believed we should go with TACLET this time. It would bring us closer to what might happen. Jake was on the fence, mostly because he had experience and knew how many things could go wrong. But we’d been approved. We’d signed the paperwork. No, we wouldn’t sue the Coast Guard if we got injured or worse.

I yawned and set his bag on the floor.

Two larger backpacks, one smaller camera bag, and two protective hardcases. Yeah, we were set.

“Stop brooding,” I said.

He huffed and grabbed his coffee. “It’s fuckin’ dumb. In the helicopter, we’re out of harm’s way and their way.”

I turned to him. “Do you honestly think they would clear us to ride with the TACLET team if they thought we’d be in the fucking way?”

“Shit can still go wrong.” He got irritated. “You haven’t thought this through, Roe.”

Excuse me?

“First of all, fuck you,” I responded casually. “Second of all, we’ve studied the same damn material. I’ve read the risks. I know how much fuel the drug smugglers carry, I know the statistics on how often they comply with orders from law enforcement, I know how fast they go, how many there tend to be—I listened to all the warnings, Jake. The difference is that I wanna take the risk anyway. We’ll be in the background, for chrissakes. If something happens to you and me, it means the TACLET guys are already fucked.”

“Yeah, a stray bullet doesn’t always go into the first guy in line,” he told me. “Background or not, we’re targets if the smugglers decide not to go willingly.”

I knew that.

It didn’t matter.

“Did you avoid all risks in Afghanistan?” I pressed.

“Dude. We’re not at war. We’re filmmakers. If I wanted to face those kinds of risks, I’d still be in the Marines.”

“Filmmakers have put their lives on the line too,” I argued. “I’m not comparing the two—I’m just saying. Journalists, combat photographers, Doctors Without Borders, I can go on forever. A lot of people take risks, especially when they work in conflict zones.”

“And you wanna do that,” he stated. “That’s what this boils down to. You wanna put yourself at risk for footage.”

I scowled to myself and looked out the window instead, hating the implication that I was somehow valuing my work higher than…I didn’t know, my life, watching my son grow up, whatever. That wasn’t the case at all. I just…

I didn’t wanna be a coward. I wanted to create something that showed how much effort I’d put into it. Blood, sweat, tears, all of that. I wanted to tell stories few others would. I wanted to make voices heard.

Jake sighed and switched lanes. “I don’t mean to act like your parent or security guard, Roe. I’m just concerned. You know—your brother told me once that you dreamed of solving cold cases as a kid, and I think about that sometimes. I mean, no wonder you became an investigative journalist.”

I scratched my arm absently and side-eyed him.

“My issue is that you love to throw yourself into something unprepared,” he went on. “Not your research or anything—I know how much time you spend on reading and studying and…you know. But the physical aspects? You talk about me facing dangers in Afghanistan, and…” He blew out a breath. “I had training, Roe. Training that never fucking stopped. We were always learning. Always honing our skills.”

Goddammit.

I hated to admit he had a point.

I watched documentaries where filmmakers traveled with pirates, drug smugglers, fucking warlords, and I wanted to do that. But they obviously hadn’t started out that way, and they’d had to train just like anybody else.

“Listen.” Jake cleared his throat. “I don’t genuinely believe something will go wrong tomorrow. We can go with TACLET if you want—but when we get home, I want you to think long and hard about what it is you wanna do. And then you make sure you have the right skill sets to follow through. I’ll be happy to help. It’s been a while for me too, so you’re not the only one who needs training. We can take classes together.”

Just like that, curiosity took over. “What kinds of classes?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Survival training, self-defense, maybe target practice. Stuff like that. If we wanna get into more dangerous shit, we gotta be sharp.”

I couldn’t help but smile and grab his hand. “You said we.”

He offered an eye roll and a wry smirk. “We’re in this together, dipshit.” When he threaded our fingers together, he could call me any name in the book. He was literally holding my hand. Not letting go. “Besides, we’re gonna need those skills anyway if we wanna fulfill my dream of filming the Congo.”

We were gonna do that one day. We were gonna do everything. Our bucket list was miles long. From the rainforests in the Congo to the untamed wilderness in Patagonia. From unsolved murder cases to food festivals. From modern technology to ancient history. From Alaskan winters to Spanish summers.

“Are you ready for me to make you squirm again?” I asked.

He chuckled and got more comfortable in his seat. “Shoot.”

“I love you, Jake.”

He smiled, though his gaze never left the highway. “I love you too.”

Jesus fuck, he actually said the words? Was he drunk? A surge of happiness, wistfulness, and pain flowed through me, and I sort of lost my words. The moment was as perfect as it was going to get. It was enough for me to pretend for a minute. That we were much more. Holding hands, fingers locked, his thumb brushing over my own, smiles on our faces, and those three words lingering in the air.

“I should check to see if you have a fever, but I’m just gonna close my eyes and remember this milestone.”

He grinned faintly and gave my hand a squeeze. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you when we get closer and it’s time to hit up a drive-thru for breakfast.”

Excellent plan.

* * *

Was it weird to feel badass when you flew in on a helicopter and landed on a ship out in the middle of the ocean?

Jake and I hurriedly carried our gear off the flight deck and followed Joel inside. He and his team were heading straight for a briefing. We couldn’t attend, but we did get ten minutes with everyone to fit them with bodycams. Three TACLET guys, Joel, one of his fellow team members, and two other crew who would be in the pursuit vessel.

After that, we were shown to our sleeping quarters. Despite that we’d spent a week on this ship mere months ago, it was too easy to get lost in the narrow passageways.

It was also easy to almost drop a camera case on Jake’s head in one of the steep stairwells, which were more like ladders if anyone asked me.

I couldn’t imagine living like this—and so many men and women did. One hundred and eighty days of the freaking year, they were away from their families.

Jake and I didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until we stood in the middle of our tiny quarters and the door closed behind us.

Holy fucking shit, what a morning. What a night.

Twelve hours ago, I’d been getting ready for a country concert. Now I was somewhere off the California coast, and the sun hadn’t come up yet.

With almost no room to move, we slumped down on the bottom bed of our bunk, and I kinda took over. Jake was so tired, but I’d gotten a bit of rest. I dug out the clothes we’d wear today, cargo pants with multiple pockets, tees, and tactical vests. The latter weren’t for anything cool, just to attach gear easier.

We had to be ready at a moment’s notice once the teams were good to go, so it was best to get everything in order before we considered relaxing.

Jake scrubbed his hands over his face and yawned. “I didn’t catch what Joel said about the drones earlier. Did you?”

“They’re deploying them at six fifty-five,” I said. It would be a waiting game after that—though, considering they’d received anonymous information, the search area wasn’t as big as usual. The drones could cover a large sector much quicker than helicopters and ships could. Even better, they were almost impossible to detect.

I got to my feet again, wanting to stow away our personal belongings. We had a small closet to share, where I stuffed our clothes. The narrow strip of a desk next to it became our unloading zone for toiletries and Jake’s smaller camera bag.

In the meantime, Jake stripped down to boxer briefs.

The close proximity did not help.

I placed his cargo pants and hoodie on the bed.

Fuck me, his body was a work of art. Every inch of it, from his fairly defined muscles to the birthmarks and scars. I’d only asked about the gunshot wound near his shoulder, but I was guessing the fainter marks were from…well, life. Kids fell off their bikes, and Marines trained in rough environments.

I could stare at him forever. Instead, I busied myself sorting through our equipment. We’d have bodycams today too, strapped to our shoulders with stabilizers that kept the camera from shaking. They were small, thankfully. We’d nicknamed them “the birds.” It was like having a parakeet on your shoulder.

“Did you pack the Ziploc baggies?” he asked.

“Yeah, right here.” I opened a side pocket in my backpack and handed him a bunch. After I’d fallen into a stream during a Nomads episode, he’d made sure all extra batteries and memory cards were protected.

He should thank my recklessness, if anything.

Once I’d changed clothes too, we were almost ready. I’d repacked Jake’s gear to fit inside a smaller backpack we usually stored laundry in, and we’d just grab our shoulder equipment on the way out.

I sat down next to him again and reattached the Velcro straps of my vest to give me some breathing room.

Outside the little window, the sky was changing colors to welcome a new day.

The two drones should be out searching by now.

Last couple of things on my list. I tied my boots, and I patted my pockets. First aid kit, gum, my set of batteries and memory cards, folding knife, microfiber cloths, lens cleaner—oh, right. I jumped to my feet once more and reached for my toiletry kit.

“It’s gonna be sunny today, buddy.” I poured some sunscreen in my hand and made quick work of rubbing it into my face and arms. And my neck. Man, had we learned from a mistake or two. The redneck tan was painful.

“Gimme five minutes,” he yawned.

Hell no. He was already lying down, eyes closed, and I knew how quickly he could fall asleep. He was just like my brothers. I swore they did something to people in the Marines. I’d never met one who couldn’t fall asleep in under two minutes.

“Dude, just—” I stepped over the camera cases and didn’t give a flying fuck. I poured more sunscreen in my hand, then bent down and started with his arm.

He chuckled drowsily. “Wonderful service.”

“Don’t get used to it.” I might be nervous, come to think of it. But what he’d said earlier had left a mark. About us not being in the way or causing any problems. Like delays. The second they knocked on our door, I wanted us to be able to just grab our shit and go.

After his arms, I slipped my hands to the back of his neck and wiped the residue of the sunscreen into his skin.

He opened his eyes slowly, as if his eyelids were too heavy, and looked up at me.

I swallowed dryly. Yeah, I was too close to him. Just a few inches. Fuck. I didn’t think sometimes.

“That feels good,” he murmured.

Double fuck.

Was there possibly, maybe, the slightest chance he could…

Motherfucker. No. How many times had I gone down that road?

His dumbass journal entry from almost three years ago tripped me up sometimes. Those three words—attraction, possessiveness, embarrassment—lay in wait in the back of my mind every goddamn day. Striking as soon as Jake didn’t appear uncomfortable when I got close. And how fucked up was that? How desperate did that make me, if I interpreted his lack of discomfort as possible attraction?

No. I’d been more reasonable when I’d deduced that 2013 had simply been a rough year on him. First Vegas, that must’ve overwhelmed him to pieces, and then me getting married and moving out.

Besides, what did it fucking matter? Jake could be out and proud; I’d still made a vow to Sandra. It was bad enough I couldn’t be a man of my word emotionally.

I eased back and returned the sunscreen to my toiletry kit, and then the waiting game began. I climbed up to the top bunk, and before I could even get comfortable, I heard Jake’s light snores. Typical. It amazed me how fast he could fall asleep. He only snored when he lay on his back, which…was most of the time. That was how he normally went down anyway. Then he’d roll to his side at some point later in the night.

I knew too much about how my buddy slept.

An hour went by, and I dozed on and off. I didn’t know if I was dreaming or thinking when I somehow decided I should surprise Cas and Sandra with a trip. April wouldn’t be as busy as planned if we got all the Coast Guard footage in the next few days, and I wanted to get away for a moment with my boy.

Two sharp knocks on the metal door woke me up, and I looked around me, wondering what the fuck… Right. Okay, shit. It was go-time. I sucked in a breath and scrambled off the bed, and Jake opened the door.

A crew member stood there. “TACLET deploys in three minutes, Mr. Denver. Follow me.”

“Yes, sir.” Jake nodded once and grabbed his backpack, and I snatched up our shoulder gear.

This was it. Adrenaline coursed through me, and I felt how my surroundings just faded from my focus. Through the narrow passageways, up one floor, toward the back of the ship, I listened to the guy’s instructions.

“You’ll remain in your seats in the back of the follow-up boat until PO2 Juarez gives you permission to move around,” he said. “You are permitted to film while you are underway, just be prepared to shut down if you are instructed to. Keep in mind you’ll be going thirty-five knots per hour, and it’s windy today.”

Yeah, last time we’d been here, I hadn’t been impressed by those boats, or the speed. But I knew better now. Once you were in a small pursuit vessel, thirty-five knots bouncing across the waves was like the wildest amusement park ride one could imagine.

Once we reached the back of the ship, we quickly made our way over to the ramp. We helped the guys secure their bodycams, a fifty-fifty split between shoulder cams and helmet cams. The TACLET guys looked exactly like the soldiers in desert war zones. The other crew members wore Coast Guard blue, with orange life vests.

Two boats with zero fuck-me factor. They might as well have been rubber boats, ’cause they had that kind of design. The smallest one went first, with one TACLET operator and four regular Coast Guardsmen.

We were next. This boat was a bit larger, and Jake and I dutifully took our seats in the back. What a fucking rush. I couldn’t stop to process anything. Orders were being shouted, we put on life vests and fastened our shoulder cams, the latest update from the drone arrived, and then we were sliding backward down the ramp and into the ocean.

My stomach did a somersault, and I couldn’t hide my grin.

Among the five men and women on board our vessel, we had Juarez’s second-in-command, Mark Dunn, keeping us up to speed, which we appreciated a fuckload. But it was sort of a win-win situation. Documentaries about the armed forces were a way to recruit new people.

The woman driving our boat glanced back at Dunn. “Second TOI abandoned! Just a go-fast left!”

A spray of ocean water washed over us, and I checked the lens. No worries. They could handle water fine, but the footage would be useless with a dirty lens.

Dunn was getting information through his radio too, so it was a lot of confusing updates. I did remember TOI meaning target of interest. Like a boat. And I knew how many of these smuggling operations went down. A longer, slower vessel came up from South America, often Colombia, with one engine and a multimillion-dollar cargo. They were ironically nicknamed go-slows even though they were pretty fast too. Somewhere in the vast ocean, they met up with smaller, double-engine go-fasts, with one task. Evade law enforcement and deliver the goods to shore.

Not many minutes later, we spotted the helicopter in the distance, and the wind was just right for us to hear the warning shots Joel fired. He dropped two or three rounds, and Dunn signaled to the others in our boat.

Holy fuck, I was gonna get seasick at this rate. We smashed against the waves, and I hadn’t felt so small since Jake and I had seen the Northern Lights in Sweden.

The more I thought about it, the more determined I became. I was definitely gonna go through whatever training Jake recommended after this project, because he made shit look so easy. I was holding on for dear life, and he was filming with his regular camera as if he were standing in a quiet national park at sunrise.

I heard one more shot. Then another and a final third.

Dunn signaled again. “Both engines down! DPB approaching!”

We closed in on Juarez’s boat as the chase was over for the smugglers, so I pulled Jake’s second camera out of his backpack to do my own job.

Dunn was clearly high on adrenaline, and he faced my camera with a grin. “Welcome to the arrival zone!”

I grinned back and could already think of dozens of ways to use that line. Then I rose to my feet but stayed in my spot, and I zoomed in on Juarez. He was the first to board the smuggle boat, gun raised, quickly followed by another crew member. They were yelling orders in Spanish, ushering five men toward the bow of the smuggle boat. What was he—oh my God, he was literally stepping on jerrycans and plastic fuel containers.

As we sidled up alongside the smuggle boat, right in front of the pursuit vessel, Dunn told us we could move around a bit—just…stay in the back of the boat. Then he jumped over to the smuggle boat too.

I was fucking bewildered. That boat had no business out here. It looked like a larger skiff, completely open. Two simple benches, two shot-up engines that Jake got close-ups of, and a plain bottom packed with fuel and what we could only assume was cocaine.

I moved to Jake’s side so I could get a better look.

A fast-going, double-engine boat like this one was a fuel guzzler. The smugglers obviously couldn’t make stops to fill up the tank along the way.

“US Army jerrycans,” Jake muttered to himself. “That’s a project for another day, man. You don’t wanna know how many stolen military goods we’d find in South America.”

I’d heard about that. Greer and Kyle had told me stories about illegal auctions and large-scale raids. Russian and American guns were everywhere. Aircraft and boats too.

Juarez and Dunn decided to move the five smugglers to this boat, and they were searched and zip-tied before crew members dragged the men over to us. Or rather, the front. With the smugglers boat secured, Jake and I were allowed to board. He removed his backpack, and we stowed away the cameras, because he only wanted his smallest camcorder for this bit. It had the best stabilizer since it was designed to be handheld at all times.

I jumped over to the smuggle boat first and could barely believe what I was seeing. Juarez and Dunn were opening taped-up bales to test them, and they were fucking everywhere. We were standing on millions of dollars’ worth of coke.

I gestured for Jake to come over to me. I had a good shot of Dunn testing the powder.

Jake squatted down next to me and filmed the testing. In the meantime, I turned around and hoped my shoulder cam got some good footage too. I let the voices around me fade into the background, and my research brain took over. In the bow of the boat, I filmed empty food containers and a half-eaten loaf of bread.

The contrasts one came across in the drug trade revealed the richest of the rich and the poorest of the poor. Cartels invested billions in technology on narco-subs and weaponry, then used poor people without a choice to take all the risks. They were easily replaced and discarded.

I bent down and eyed a homemade fishing pole, and I spotted a candy bar someone had stepped on. I brushed a hand over a crack in the fiberglass wall of the boat.

“Watch out—fire! Fire!”

What? I shot up, confused, not hearing any shots—

“Roe!”

“Abandon ship!”

“Get out of there! Jump overboard! Dunn!”

Everyone shouted at once. I spun around at the sudden, overwhelming commotion, only to be met by Jake darting toward me. My eyes widened, and in my periphery, I caught a flame that instantly grew larger. Holy fuck, holy fuck. Jake rammed into me, and then we were falling backward. Shock tore through me, and I just barely managed to suck in a breath before we crashed into the water.

Fire.

Chaos erupted within me—and around me. Cold water, heat, the white wash of the waves, we weren’t fucking sinking—the life jackets pulled us to the surface—I coughed and spluttered, then inhaled nothing but smoke, and something burned me. Jake coughed and fisted my life jacket.

“Get it off and swim!” he growled.

I fucking couldn’t! The currents pushed us closer to the boat!

The vests had to go; we had to go under. Oh my God, the whole fucking boat was in flames, and I didn’t hear my own scream when the deafening roar of a blast went off. I screwed my eyes shut as we got smacked with a pressure wave that punched the air out of my lungs. I got hit by something sharp that cut into my cheek. Get the life jackets off, get the fucking life jackets off! I wrestled with mine and managed to lose both the life jacket and the tactical vest, and then I coughed around a shallow breath and grabbed at Jake to find the straps to his vests. He wasn’t moving—why wasn’t he moving?! My legs burned from the exertion; we had to put distance between us and the boat.

“Men overboard on starboard side! Juarez, Denver, Finlay, Dunn!”

Finally.

I pushed his life jacket off and mustered all my strength to throw myself backward and below the surface with a dolphin kick. In a fraction of a second when I opened my eyes, I saw nothing but burning orange above us. The heat from the fire penetrated the water, and I fucking felt it. We were only a foot or two below the surface.

Pain shot up through my fingers, and I almost lost my grip on Jake. By some miracle, I managed to get us away from the carnage, just far enough for us to resurface again. I coughed and gagged. The salt water, the smoke, and the heat rendered me useless. I convulsed and went under again, because I had to pull Jake higher.

A second later, someone grabbed at me.

I resurfaced with a gasp just as two men hauled Jake out of the water and into the smallest boat.

“He’s not moving,” I croaked.

I was next. They pulled me up too, and I collapsed on my back. Breathe, breathe, breathe. The sun shone down on me, and the waves rocked us back and forth, up and down. Fuck, everyone was speaking over one another. Rescue on the way, everyone was out of the water, Denver wasn’t breathing—wait!

“Wait,” I rasped. I scrambled to my feet and rushed over to the back of the little vessel where they were working on Jake. “Oh my God.”

“You need to back off,” Dunn told me.

I couldn’t do that. But I positioned myself where no one else was leaning over Jake, near his head on the right side, and I touched his forehead. Wake up, Jake. Fucking wake up. Tears welled up, sending me in two different directions. I felt a weird relief from the tears, and I remembered how the smoke had stung just a minute ago.

“Starting CPR!”

I choked on a sob and covered my mouth with a hand.

No, no, no, no!

Open your eyes, asshole!

He wasn’t gonna die, was he? He couldn’t. He was fine. He was fine! I couldn’t picture my life without him. Without his country humming in the backyard, without our food-truck Thursdays, without our dreams and plans. He had to be okay. He had to. He couldn’t fucking die.

I carefully pushed his hair back, slick and dark from the water, and…that was blood. I widened my eyes at the sight of my pale fingertips. Blood.

“He’s bleeding!” I shouted. “He’s got a head wound!”

Juarez and one of the women, Greenberg, shoved me aside and took over.

As much as I wanted to crawl back, I knew I would cause more harm than—actually, just harm. So I sat there, fucking useless, and watched them do what they were trained to do.

Wake up, baby. Please wake up.

The medical jargon went in one ear and out the other. I didn’t understand squat, which made me feel beyond helpless.

“Come on, Denver.”

Come on, come on.

I couldn’t see for the tears that welled up—and even less when someone blocked my view further. Another crew member squatted down in front of me and said something. He was speaking. What was he saying?

“…hear me, Finlay? Are you hurt? Can you take a deep breath and flex your fingers and toes?”

What the fuck?

I…yeah, sure. “Ow.” I winced as pain flared up in my hand.

Another dude came over and touched my head, maybe looking for injuries. “He might need stitches here.”

Where? Oh, my cheek. I’d felt something earlier. I touched the spot, and it was still bleeding a little.

“There we go. Get him on his side.”

I sucked in a breath and leaned sideways, and it was the best motherfucking sight ever. Jake coughing and throwing up water. No point in holding back my emotions now. Tears streamed down my face, and I squeezed through to be there for him. But I felt a brake clamping down on the flow of relief. Like, I couldn’t allow myself to breathe out just yet.

They’d stopped the bleeding and bandaged his head.

“Medevac twenty minutes out,” Dunn said.

Jake groaned and tried to push himself up, but he was ordered to lie still. I stayed quiet and just brushed my fingers over his hair while Greenberg performed a more thorough exam. They checked for more injuries and possible fractures, but Jake responded groggily that he was okay.

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” I said. “Keep checking him, please.”

Greenberg’s mouth twitched with a pinch of amusement, and I needed to see that. It brought some relief. Because that meant she wasn’t too worried, right?

She shifted higher up and pointed one of those flashlight pens in Jake’s eyes. “You were likely hit by debris when the vessel exploded. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Jake flinched and squinted, clearly bothered by the light. His eyes were bloodshot, which I was sure mine were too. I’d never encountered such thick black smoke before.

“I, uh…I think I remember everythin’.” His voice was full of gravel, yet it was music to my ears. “Juarez and I saw one of the smugglers throw a lighter on board.”

Holy fuck. They hadn’t been searched well enough, then. But Christ, everything transpired so quickly, and a Zippo lighter could be hidden anywhere.

I caught Juarez nodding in the background.

“I pushed Roe into the water,” Jake continued. He coughed. “The fuckin’ currents—we couldn’t swim away from the boat, and the life jackets pulled us up. Then…” He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow. “Yeah, okay, I think that’s it.”

I let out a breath and sniffled.

“Finlay,” I heard Dunn say.

He jerked his chin, silently telling me to come over to him. As reluctant as I was to leave Jake’s side, Dunn might have information I wanted. I had no idea what that would be, but…

I got to my feet and bit back a groan. Fucking every part of me ached, and my wet clothes were heavy from my delightful swim in the Pacific.

I coughed on the way over to Dunn. My throat was seriously hurting. It seemed for every second that ticked by, a new pain made itself known. I guessed the shock was settling.

Dunn extended his shoulder cam to me. “I don’t know if it’s ruined.”

Oh. That was the least of my concerns, though it should be okay. They all should. Well, not the two resting on the bottom of the sea with our tactical vests.

“Thanks.” I crammed the camera into a side pocket in my pants.

“Your ride back to the mainland will be here in ten minutes,” he went on. “We don’t wanna fuck around with head injuries on the cutter.”

Yeah, no, of course. I winced as a headache settled in.

“We’ll make sure your equipment comes back with the next transport, though,” he said. “Unless you wanna come back with us and meet up with Denver later.”

I shook my head. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go with him.” Fuck, I couldn’t even imagine letting him out of my sight now.

“No problem.”

* * *

I could stop the tears from flowing whenever I wanted.

I sniffled and wiped at my cheeks.

Right now, everything looked worse than it was, I reminded myself. Being in a hospital room could turn a paper cut into a bloodbath. At least he was asleep, and he’d been examined by doctors. In the end, we’d been pretty lucky. Jake had a mild concussion, and the wound in the back of his head hadn’t been as deep as I’d feared. It’d just knocked him unconscious for a moment.

I kept repeating all this to myself. Mild concussion, small lacerations, light sprain in his shoulder. Minor bruises and scrapes. Mild, small, light, minor. Mild, small, light, minor.

I’d sustained two tiny fractures in my fingers that would heal in a week or two. Plus cuts and bruises. Nothing that required stitches, but the wound on my cheek might leave a scar. I didn’t care. We were okay. Jake was okay. He was only asleep. Only asleep.

I wiped at my cheeks again, wondering if I would have to change the bandage anytime soon if I soaked it in tears. God. I felt dumb. Damn crybaby. He was all right. He’d made it. He’d saved my life too.

I should go call Seth. I should call Nikki. Sandra. Somebody. But I couldn’t. I wasn’t ready to face questions and worries. All that would have to wait. We’d have to face law enforcement too. It was Coast Guard jurisdiction, so I wasn’t too bothered. We weren’t gonna say anything we shouldn’t, obviously. They would conduct their investigation, and Jake and I were a call away if they needed anything.

Someone had already stopped by. Aside from get-well wishes, he’d handed over clothes. Sweats, underwear, socks, and hoodies.

I exhaled unsteadily and shifted in my seat. They should have queen beds in hospitals. Sitting at his bedside wasn’t enough, goddammit. I wanted to be right next to him and…

Fuck. Always by his side. I sniffled and pulled out my phone.

The fact that I hadn’t contacted anyone yet was actually a relief, because my phone wasn’t ringing off the hook. I had one new email, the confirmation from the hotel I’d booked for tonight.

It was a wonder my phone worked at all, to be honest. My screen was cracked, but it’d been protected from the water in my pocket. Jake’s phone, however, was dead. I’d gone through our pockets and gathered everything in a plastic bag, with our wet clothes in another.

I’d checked the distance between the hotel and the nearest shoe store as well. Comfort was my priority. I had to make sure Jake was comfortable. I knew his shoe size, so maybe I could run over there later. Not that I wasn’t looking forward to sticking my new Coast Guard socks into a pair of wet boots. Sarcasm.

What else did we need? We’d get room service. I was getting hungry.

They were letting Jake go as soon as he woke up and had talked to a doctor again. Only if he felt nauseated or too woozy would they recommend he stay the night.

I moved my chair closer when he stirred a little. Hope lodged itself in my throat. I wasn’t gonna wake him up or anything, but God, I wanted to hear his voice.

He shifted some more, and pain flitted across his face.

Unable to help myself, I reached out and covered his hand with my own.

I’m here.

Turned out, incidents like this one weren’t all about the bigger wounds. Being from a family of so many service members, I was used to stories of gunshots, IEDs, and shrapnel. Even though this couldn’t quite compare, I’d experienced firsthand that there were pains that didn’t make it into the tales of guts and glory. The headaches, the soreness, just getting banged up and bruised—that shit hurt too. I had one bruise on my thigh that hurt like a son of a bitch the second I moved. I didn’t even know what’d caused it.

Jake let out a quiet groan and squeezed his eyes shut harder.

I was on my feet before I knew it. “I’m here, Jake. Do you need painkillers? I’ll call the doctor—”

“Wait,” he grunted. He gripped my hand. “Wait. Fuck.” He released a breath and tried to relax. A moment after, he cracked his eyes open and blinked drowsily.

I smiled, and my vision became blurry all over again. “Hey.” I cupped his scruffy cheek. It felt so good to see him awake. “We’re at the hospital. Do you remember?”

He nodded minutely. The tightness around his eyes faded, as did the furrow between his brows. “I also remember you goin’ holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck all the way up to the helicopter.”

I spluttered a laugh, instantly flooded with more relief. Freaking excuse me if I wasn’t used to being hoisted up in a fucking basket.

Jake’s gaze softened, and he brushed his fingers over the bendy little finger brace I’d received earlier. It was easy to slip on and off, and it covered my ring and middle fingers. I was only supposed to wear it for a few days.

“Are you okay?” he murmured. “I kinda checked out after the doc told me to get some rest.”

As he should have. “I’m fine,” I promised. “Two small fractures in my fingers, this one right here—” I pointed to my cheek “—and bruises. Nothin’a worry about.”

He took a deep breath and winced, reaching for the remote to elevate the back of his bed. I swooped in and pushed the button instead.

“Thanks.” He nodded when he was good, almost in a seated position, and then he shifted carefully to get comfortable. And evidently to make room. “Sit.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I sat down on the edge of the bed and gathered one of his hands in both of mine.

“We’re goin’ with HITRON next time,” he said.

I grinned. My Jake was back.

“You saved my life.” I lifted his hand carefully to my lap.

He grunted. “I wanna say you saved mine. Fuckin’ hell, my head hurts.”

So we’d saved each other, then.

“We’ll make sure they give you the good painkillers before we get outta here,” I answered.

“And when is that?” He grimaced and seemingly couldn’t get comfortable. “I’m not a fan of hospitals.”

I knew he wasn’t. “As soon as the doctor clears you. A Coast Guardsman dropped off some clothes.”

“I can see that.” He eyed my dark blue hoodie. “You make a fine Coastie.”

I chuckled quietly.

I couldn’t stop staring at him. He was gonna be okay. We were alive. He’d made it.

* * *

We said fuck it.

Two hours later, we dragged ourselves slowly out of a cab and limped barefoot into the hotel. We’d also politely declined the offer from the Coast Guard to take us to said hotel, and we’d agreed to meet with them tomorrow.

We got some looks from the businessmen in the lobby’s seating area…

It was possible we stuck out like sore thumbs in this extravagant fish tank of a lobby, and we gave no fucks.

Jake leaned against a pillar while I handled the check-in process.

“Hi,” I said. “I have a reservation under Monroe Finlay. And you have laundry service, right?” I dropped two pairs of boots and the plastic bag with the wet clothes on the counter.

The lady jumped, startled, and tapped away on the keys on her computer. “Uh, yes—yes, of course, sir. Monroe Finlay, you said? Let’s get you checked in.”

I fished out my credit card and driver’s license from my slightly damp wallet.

The guy working alongside—I looked closer at her name tag—Charlotte…snuck me a couple furtive glances before he approached.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he said quietly. “I just have to say my husband and I love your podcast. We listen to it every morning together.”

I kinda lit up. “Thank you. That means a lot. That’s Jake over there.” I jerked my thumb his way and glanced back.

Jake grinned faintly and offered a two-finger wave.

“Oh, of course it is,” the man replied. “I’m such a fan. Are—” He cleared his throat and hesitated. “Are you okay? Is there anything we can do?”

Were we okay?

Country concert, a rushed road trip to San Diego, arriving on a Coast Guard cutter, almost getting blown up by drug smugglers, ending up in a nice hotel with a bunch of bruises and no shoes.

I was feeling the humor now. It was nice.

“We’re fine, thanks,” I chuckled. “It’ll be an Off Topic episode at some point.”

My husband. Must be nice to be able to say that too.

Soon enough, we were checked in, and I received two keycards and figured while I was at it, let’s order food.

“Can we order room service here with you?” I asked. “We’re kinda starving.”

“Absolutely.” Charlotte produced a menu for me, and I gave it a quick glance.

“We’d like a couple burgers with fries, one pepperoni pizza, a garden salad, and, uh…that strawberry cake thing looks good. Two servings.”

“No problem, we’ll have it delivered to your room in approximately twenty minutes,” she replied. “And your clothes and shoes will be outside your room tomorrow morning.”

“Perfect. Thanks.”

Jake and I made our way to the elevators, and I tried not to limp like I’d just been pushed off a torched smuggling boat.

“It’s been less than twenty-four hours.” I just had to put that out there.

“Don’t get me started.” He pushed the button for the fourteenth floor. “If somethin’ else happens today, I will lose my fuckin’ mind.”

I laughed.

Thank fuck we’d agreed to keep everything to ourselves for the rest of the day. We didn’t know the Coast Guard’s protocol on press conferences, but we were ready to gamble. If they made some sort of statement today, we hoped our families weren’t watching the news. If they did, everyone had my number.

We were simply too fucked in the head, too exhausted, too hungry, too sleepy, and in too much pain to involve the others right now. This goddamn ache…was already getting on my last nerve.

The first thing we did when we entered our suite was to close the curtains. The sun hadn’t set yet, and our headaches demanded darkness.

I dropped the plastic bag with our pocket belongings on the floor.

“Food, shower, painkillers, sleep?” I proposed.

“Perfect order.” He nodded once and sat down on the couch.

It was so tempting to take one of the queen beds, but if I lay down now, I’d never get up again. Instead, I peered into the bathroom and decided right then and there to switch my shower for a bath. Best part of upgrading hotel rooms was the occasional surprise of seeing a hot tub in the bathroom.

On the way back, I grabbed us Cokes from the minibar and opened them before I sat down next to Jake on the couch.

He turned on the TV. “I don’t think we lost too much footage, to be honest.”

I didn’t either.

I yawned and extended one of the sodas. “If we get our gear back tomorrow, we could book an extra night or two here, go through all the footage, and then decide if we need more time on the cutter.”

“That’s a good idea.”

We wasted a few minutes on an old rerun of some ’90s sitcom, which suited my overworked brain just fine. I wasn’t sure I could think anymore today. Well, there was one thing bothering me. I might as well get that out of the way.

“Can you tell me what exactly happened before the fire?” I asked. “What did you and Juarez see?”

Jake yawned. “When they apprehended the smugglers and brought them to the follow-up boat, I wondered idly if two of the men sat too close to each other. So one guy couldn’t grab anything on his own person, but he could potentially reach for something on the guy sitting right behind him.”

And that was what had happened?

“Right as they announced three positive tests for cocaine, I saw something in the corner of my eye that registered a second too late,” he went on. “He grabbed a lighter from his friend’s boot and lit it. That’s when I caught up, and I turned to Juarez right after and noticed he’d seen it too. And then—” He shrugged.

Yeah. And then.

It hit me that the Coast Guard might need more from us than our statements. Maybe they’d want access to everything we’d caught on film. It seemed likely. Jake—and my brother Francis, for that matter—had been right. Shit could always go wrong. These were high-risk operations, and you sort of learned by doing. Constantly improving and making changes as they went along.

We’d known from the get that fire was one of those risks, because destroying evidence was the top priority once the smugglers realized they couldn’t get away. They threw crap overboard more often than not, like phones and GPS and whatnot. And every now and then, if the opportunity presented itself, they blew up the boat.

They were called non-compliant boardings for a reason.

Juarez and Joel had told us about some of the evidence they’d found on smuggle boats in the past, like rags drenched in fuel, one or two fuel cans without a cap on, stuff like that.

They didn’t mess around.

Two knocks on the door brought me out of my thoughts, and I got up from the couch with a wince. My lower back was hurting too. A hot bath was sounding better by the second. I felt all stiff.

I opened the door, and my stomach tightened with hunger. “Hey. Over by the coffee table, please.”

We fucking filled that table. The pizza looked amazing, and the fries were perfectly crunchy. I thanked the delivery guy, and then Jake and I were alone with all this food.

He didn’t waste a second.

I popped a cherry tomato into my mouth.

We hadn’t eaten since breakfast, not counting shitty coffee and a candy bar at the hospital, so there’d be no leftovers.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” he groaned around his burger.

I wasn’t in a smiling mood for some reason. I bit into a slice of pizza and couldn’t shake the what-ifs piling up within me. Because what if Jake hadn’t made it? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I’d been the one who had pushed for riding with the TACLET operators. Hell, what if Jake and Juarez hadn’t seen the smuggler throwing the lighter? We all could’ve died. But the guilt was worse. Knowing that Jake had wanted the safer option and I hadn’t.

I would never forget the dread when I’d seen Jake’s blood coating my fingertips. Starting CPR! Come on, Denver. How badly the black smoke had stung, seeing a wave of fire welling up above the surface while I’d been under, feeling Jake’s motionless body, realizing he wasn’t conscious, the taste of the salt water, the gagging and coughing, the fucking currents pulling us toward the boat.

In the moment, not half of the impressions had registered properly. I remembered now I had hit something when Jake had pushed us into the water. Yeah, the edge of the fucking boat. I’d hit my lower back against it before we’d tumbled over.

Juarez and Dunn had escaped with cuts and bruises, but I had a vague memory of hearing them shouting that the currents were too strong. Maybe. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me.

I’d felt a moment of panic near the end too. The life jackets that’d once kept us too close to the surface—we’d needed them afterward when I couldn’t push Jake above the water without sinking myself. My lungs had burned; my eyes had stung.

I ate on autopilot, my body screaming for food while the rest of me had zero appetite. It was weird. The food tasted really good, but I couldn’t see it past the memories of what’d happened today. The absolute determination and terror in Jake’s eyes when he’d come at me to shove us into the water; I’d seen the Marine in him right then and there. The man who would run into a burning building to save his loved ones. The one who’d put his life on the line to serve his country. Those men and women were still scared shitless, and they did it anyway.

Of course, my dumb work brain had to take notes too. For Currahee. We had to highlight this. How every moment of danger left its marks—and left the soldiers and jarheads to process things on their own time.

The image of Jake lying on the floor of the pursuit boat—that was the worst one. We hadn’t been in the water that long, so when I remembered him pale and lifeless, I was sure my mind generated pictures that were more gruesome than reality. Nevertheless, real enough to me.

One thing was clear after today. If Jake died, my life would be over too.

“Do you mind if I take a bath first?” I asked, throwing a pizza crust on my plate.

“’Course not. I can hang our belongings to dry. My wallet was makin’ squishing sounds last I checked.”

I mustered a tired chuckle and stood up. Ouch. I propped a hand at my hip and suddenly knew what it would feel like to be eighty.

Just how much debris had knocked into us without my even realizing it?

I went into the bathroom and turned on the water, making sure it was real hot. Then I emptied the little body wash bottle in there, ’cause I was that guy. I took a bath maybe once a year, and it’d gotten much easier since my boy had joined us. Now I just used his extra sudsy soap. I needed my bubbles. They smelled good.

While I waited for the tub to fill up, I tugged off my socks, my hoodie, and my sweats. Then I walked out of the bathroom again and dumped all the things in the bag on one of the beds.

“Buddy, can you call the front desk and ask them to bring up toothbrushes?” I searched through all the items, some of which could probably be thrown out. Cords, batteries—thank goodness the memory cards were protected. Jake’s dead phone, our wallets, and who wouldn’t want a damp Band-Aid. There. I found the roll of surgical tape so I could get rid of this weird finger brace. The doctor told me I could just tape my fingers instead. “I think I saw one of those mini-marts next to the lobby.”

“Sure thing.”

“And toothpaste.” I grimaced and held up my pack of gum. Still wet. But that was how saltwater taffy had been born, so who knew, maybe we were sitting on a million-dollar idea here. “I could just go down there later. I wouldn’t mind raiding the shelves for deodorant and chips too.”

“Hey, you go take your bath. I’ll head downstairs and shop.”

He was sweet. I thanked him and returned to the bathroom—

“Jesus. Roe, wait.”

I paused in the doorway and glanced back at him. “What?”

He strode toward me hurriedly and had his eyes glued to my back. “Ain’t nothin’ minor about that bruise.” He touched my lower back gently, and I twisted my body in an attempt to see what he was seeing.

It wasn’t the best angle for me, so I went over to the large mirror in front of the sink and—holy shit. It had not been that dark earlier. You could clearly see where I’d hit the edge of the boat. Practically a straight line, right over my ass and right below where my vests had ended. About three inches wide. Throughout the day, the mark had turned an angry purplish-red color. Or reddish-purple?

The rest of my back was free of bruises, thanks to the life jacket and tactical vest. But my arms, my legs, and my thighs were blotchy with faint bruises and scrapes. And my cheek… I leaned closer to the mirror and carefully pulled off the dressing. I didn’t need it anymore. A weirdly small wound, yet deep. Definitely a sharp point of some debris that’d punctured my skin. Some bruising around it too.

I jerked my chin at Jake in the mirror. “Time for show-and-tell.”

He didn’t find my joke funny. He took off his hoodie and frowned to himself.

He wore similar marks. The blotchy little bruises, the scrapes.

I turned off the water in the tub before I inspected his back. It was his neck. The back of his neck. Maybe the same debris that’d struck the back of his head had caused the bruising on his neck as well.

I reached up and carefully shifted his hair to reveal the spot the doctors had examined closer. They’d shaved the area, just a couple inches in total, so it was easily concealed.

I exhaled and lowered my gaze to his neck, his shoulders, his back…

I brushed my hand over a bruise on his arm, and he turned around to face me.

We really had been lucky.

If only I could get rid of the memory of his lifeless form.

I leaned back against the sink and scrubbed a hand over my face, and of-fucking-course I hurt my fingers and my cheek in the process.

“Careful.” He stepped closer and grabbed the surgical tape. “Which fingers?”

I held up my left hand. “Ring finger and middle.”

He took another step toward me and tore off a strip of tape. “Where’s, uh…where’s your wedding ring?”

“In my wallet.” I’d taken it off at the hospital before the X-ray.

He concentrated on wrapping my fingers in tape, probably working slower than he could have. He seemed to be miles away in his mind.

It gave me time to stare at him. To soak up another moment of him standing so close to me. Color had returned to his face. His eyes were open. He was breathing again. I hadn’t lost him.

“You’ll be in charge of risk assessment from now on,” I said quietly. “If I’d lost you today, I…” Fuck. I swallowed hard as a wrecking ball of sorrow crashed into me.

“Don’t—don’t do that.” He set the tape somewhere behind me and nudged up my chin. “I could’ve convinced you in the car, Roe. I knew I had you. You were about to cave in when I said we could go with TACLET, as long as you let me put you through training afterward.”

That didn’t comfort me much. I’d still been careless.

“I wanted to go with TACLET too,” he admitted. “I was just overprotective. And the thing is, we did everything we could today. Sometimes, shit still hits the fan. That’s life.”

Maybe he was right. I knew he was. I just—I kept seeing him unconscious.

“I hear them in my head—when Greenberg and the others worked on you.” I had to swallow against my emotions again. “They pushed me back, and I couldn’t see you.”

“Hey,” he whispered. Then he closed the distance between us and hugged me, and I almost fucking broke. I locked my arms loosely around his neck, avoiding his bruises, and I sniffled. “I have one of those images goin’ on a fuckin’ loop too.” He stroked my back gently and kissed my shoulder. “Right when that fucker threw the lighter, I just saw how the whole boat exploded with you still on it. It tore me up.”

I tightened my hold on him, and so did he.

We were okay, but…were we, really?

I knew I wasn’t. Everything hurt, and I wasn’t even talking about today’s clusterfuck. I didn’t know how long I could pretend Jake wasn’t the love of my pathetic fucking life.

“We’re not goin’ anywhere, darlin’.” His low tone shook something deep within me, igniting a heat that made me wanna overanalyze the moment.

Then he pressed his lips to my shoulder again, and it felt different. The air around us grew thick and heavy, and I couldn’t be imagining that shift. Could I?

I exhaled shakily and felt a strong current buzz through me. I wanted and needed and craved. I tilted my head just a bit, enough to rest my forehead against his temple, and his hands roamed my sides more…seductively?

The faint rasping sound of his scruff brushing against mine was enough to silence my doubts, kill all the voices, and press pause on the outside world. We met halfway, shallow breaths mingling, before we kissed.

I became un-fucking-glued right then and there.

He held me tighter and deepened the kiss, and I all but threw myself at him. I mean, I would have, if I weren’t already fused to his body. For the first time since his thirtieth birthday party in Vegas, I felt his tongue against my own, and it sort of catapulted me back to that night. Only, we weren’t falling-down drunk now.

I poured myself into the kiss, and goose bumps spread across my skin as he ghosted his fingers along my back. He swept his tongue around mine, and I angled my head and pushed back. He groaned under his breath, a sound so hot that my blood left my upper body. We made out passionately, hungrily, speeding up, slowing down, sucking in unsteady breaths, going harder, going softer.

I felt his lips tug up in a soft grin, and I could’ve fucking cried. He wasn’t freaking out or backing off. He was right here with me, knowing exactly what he was doing.

We slowed down a little.

My heart hammered.

I shivered violently and kissed him again.

He gripped my hips and pressed himself against me.

Breathe. Don’t think about later.

I let a river of relief, desire, and happiness run through me, and I cupped his face in my hands and pressed my lips to his over and over.

He smiled and trapped my bottom lip between his teeth. “You gonna invite me into the tub or not?”

Well, okay.

I exhaled a laugh, wondering what kind of alternate universe I’d stepped into. Scratch that—I didn’t wanna know. I just wanted to be.

In lieu of answering, I dragged him with me to the corner where the triangular hot tub waited for us. Then I tugged down his sweats—and happened to spot the light switch in the corner of my eye. It had a dimmer. Fucking perfect. I reached around him and dimmed the lighting, which earned me a sexy smirk from Jake.

Whatever. I was a romantic.

And Jake was suddenly not subtle. As I dropped my boxer briefs, his blatant staring at my ass made me fucking giddy. It unlocked fantasies I only indulged in when I was alone at home and felt confident enough to dig out some toys nobody else knew existed.

I got in first, and the water felt so fucking good. I sat down in one corner and submerged myself fully for a quick second. My God, I needed this. My view didn’t hurt either. Jake fully dressed was sexy as hell—but Jake naked? No words. His long and thick cock had been at the forefront of my mind more times than I could count, and somehow, I’d gotten the chance to see him again. To feel him.

He sat down in the other corner and hissed. “Do you want us to melt?”

Oh, I could say something cheesy here…

I do that every time I look at you.

I didn’t say that. I just made my way over to him and got comfortable between his legs, my back to his chest. He hummed and pressed a kiss to my neck.

I let out a long breath and closed my eyes.

Utter bliss. I rubbed his legs and felt his tongue against my skin. I gave him all the access he needed, and the heat kept thawing me out, loosening the stiffness in my shoulders, easing the pain and the soreness.

Good job, man. You’re in a hot tub with your best friend while your wife’s at home.

Goddammit.

Goddammit.

I turned around and straddled him instead, and I kissed him hard. He got with the program and palmed my ass, and I bucked against his cock and slipped a hand between us. Finally. I wrapped my fingers around him and stroked the soft skin that stretched around his cock.

Good thing I hadn’t injured the fingers on my right hand.

Even better that Jake hadn’t injured his fingers at all. Oh my God. I moaned as he pressed his middle finger inside me. He’d been the same way last time. The man could deny it all he wanted, but he had a serious ass fetish.

How many times had I gotten off in the shower to the thought of him fucking me brutally?

I didn’t know what we’d thought would happen in the tub. Part of me had hoped and sort of assumed we’d just hold each other and make out, but now he went and fingered me like a god, so what the fuck? We revved each other up instead. We kissed harder, deeper, more desperately. The soft touches were replaced by greedy grabs, and we sent water splashing over the edge.

To reach me better, he slipped a hand underneath me instead, between my legs, and he scraped his teeth along my neck as I let my head fall back.

“Ride my fingers.”

“Fuck.” I sucked in a breath, and he used his free hand to stroke my cock.

As soon as he gave me two fingers, I wanted a third.

“One more,” I moaned.

A voice in the back of my mind told me we were going too fast, but I couldn’t fucking help it. I wanted to lose myself completely in him. If all this was ripped away from me tomorrow, I didn’t wanna waste a millisecond. I wouldn’t settle for fingers like I had in Vegas either. I wanted his cock. I needed him balls deep in my ass.

“There we go. I’ll stretch you out.”

For your big cock?

The burn was fucking delicious. I fell forward again and cupped his face, and we locked eyes. My lips parted. Three fingers buried deep. He stroked my cock firmly but slowly. Teasingly. It was torture.

Our lips touched.

I couldn’t look away to save my damn life. I saw darkness lurking in the background of his gaze. Predatory hunger. All the things he never spoke of. He’d clearly been on a journey the past couple of years, and he hadn’t said a word of it to me.

“You can’t hide behind alcohol this time, Jake.”

He forced his fingers a little deeper and nipped at my bottom lip. “I wanna fuck your tight little ass till you can’t walk. How’s that for hidin’?”

Jesus Christ. I flushed all over and shuddered.

We were gonna fuck. That was happening. I’d never been fucked before. I’d dreamed about it, fantasized, jerked off to the thought…and now it was gonna happen.

What the hell were we doing in the tub? We should be in bed.

“Stand up.” I kissed him quickly and eased away from his hand. “I wanna taste your cock before we take this to the bed.”

The look in his eyes told me all I needed to know about what he thought of my plan.

I was fairly certain I’d read hair conditioner could be used as lube. Probably not recommended by any professionals, but… Wait. Fuck that! The salad we’d ordered had come with a packet of olive oil. I was a goddamn genius.

Once I was off Jake’s lap, he stood up and reached for the showerhead. I didn’t wait. I didn’t give a fuck about the suds sliding down his body. I kneeled in front of him and gripped his cock—

“Hold on, darlin’.” Okay, he cared. He turned on the water and washed off.

Whatever. I was on a mission. I sucked him into my mouth and got a shower in the process. He cursed and combed his fingers through my hair, so I looked up at him as he shifted the showerhead away from me.

“Fucking hell, you’re beautiful with my cock in your mouth.”

Keep talking. His voice when he was turned on was so goddamn hot. All low and whiskey-like.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured.

I obeyed.

He moved the showerhead over me and rinsed me of suds.

I swirled my tongue around him and sucked a little harder at the slit. I just wanted a taste. It’d been too long.

“Jesus fuck,” he breathed. “I gotta last—Roe.” He slipped a hand under my jaw and nudged me away.

Fucker!

I wasn’t ready. I wanted to fucking worship him. Something messed-up was happening with my mind-set, but I just wanted to give him everything. Bend over for him, suck him till he came down my throat, make him come so hard he’d never forget it.

He pulled me to my feet and kissed me deeply.

“Let me do this,” he said quietly.

Do what?

He handed me the showerhead, then picked up the packaged soap bar from the edge.

Really? Right now?

“You did it in Vegas,” he said.

I remembered.

I stood there, needy as fuck, and tried to summon some patience. Apparently he was gonna wash me like I’d done to him in Vegas. To be fair, we’d been sweaty as fuck after a night in a club back then. We’d been sticky with salt, lime, and spilled tequila.

Today, we’d only had a leisurely dip in the Pacific.

I looked up at him as he began sliding the soap over my torso and shoulders.

He watched what he was doing with an expression that…made me realize this was even more to him. I had no fucking clue what he’d been through since Vegas, and it would do me good to pay attention. He had his own way of processing and coming to grips with things.

A wave of empathy washed over me, and I reached up and kissed him softly.

He gave me a quick little smile and pulled me to him, and then he glided two soaped-up fingers between my ass cheeks.

“I think you have a thing for my ass.”

He smiled again. “I’m mildly obsessed.”

That was honest.

I touched his cheek. “You know I’m here for you, right? If you wanna talk about something.”

He nodded once and returned his attention to my body. “I’m workin’ on it.”

With so many uncertainties about later swirling in my head, I was satisfied with that answer. Jake and I balanced precariously on an edge we couldn’t fall off. If we tipped one way, I would go back to emotional misery. If we tipped the other way, we’d face decisions I guessed neither of us was ready to make.

Moments later, when we were both showered and sufficiently riled up from all the rubbing and massaging, we carefully left the tub. I bet there was more water on the floor than in the tub, and a sad little towel was swimming on the tiles.

Jake wrapped a dry towel around me and held me close to him.

I slipped my hands up his back, and we met in a kiss.

“No falling on our asses now.”

He grinned and shook his head. “We’ve hurt ourselves enough for one day.”

Definitely.

We left the bathroom, and I dragged the towel carefully over my body, avoiding the worst bruises. The tape around my fingers had survived the bath, and at least they didn’t hurt as much now. Tape worked better than the dumb brace thing.

As I dried my junk, I peered over the coffee table and spotted the olive oil. No flavor added, thank fuck. I didn’t need my asshole smelling like oregano or garlic.

Fuck, garlic had to hurt.

Jake cleared his throat. “Uh, should I go downstairs and buy somethin’?”

The implication was clear. Condoms or lube, maybe both.

I shook my head and held up the packet of oil. “Extra virgin and everythin’.”

He snorted softly, amused. But there was something more too. Was he nervous?

After leaving the oil on the nightstand, I yanked back the duvet and told him to get in with me. The urgency from the tub had simmered down a bit, and I didn’t want him to feel pressured or rushed.

I flicked off most of the lights too, leaving only the lamp in the corner by the windows on.

Cozy was good, as long as I could still see him properly.

We met in the middle, and I propped myself on my elbow and kissed him chastely.

“How’s your head?”

“Not too bad.” He touched my jaw, right below the wound on my cheek. “Does it hurt?”

I smiled. “Only when I smile.”

He chuckled and pulled me half on top of him. “I think I know how to distract you.”

I bet he did. We kissed again, and it was a prelude full of promise. He took charge and changed his mind about our positions. Before I knew it, I was lying flat on my back on the mattress, and he covered my body with his.

It was almost embarrassing how fast he got me back to a state of desperation. But it’d been three years since I’d felt his weight on me. The weight of a man. This particular man. He couldn’t know how freeing that was for me.

Or maybe he did.

I slid my feet up the backs of his calves and locked them around his sexy ass, and he deepened the kiss and grabbed me in a loose choke hold. Fuck me, that was hot. I moaned and arched my back, to which he pressed our cocks together and swept his tongue around mine.

I let my hands roam his back, and I— Ouch. Careful with my fingertips, I traced the lines of muscles around his shoulder blades and shivered. This was the fucking sweet spot right here. His toned muscles, his flesh, the fine hairs on his arms, his chest hair, the cut of his jaw, his scruff.

“Enough foreplay,” I muttered into the kiss. “We’ve had three years of it.”

He hummed and pushed his tongue against mine so fucking seductively that my toes almost curled. Then he broke away and reached for the oil.

I scrubbed a hand over my mouth.

Another pillow—yeah. I grabbed one more and pushed it behind my back.

“Eyes on me.”

Yes, sir.

I wanted to eternalize the image of him between my legs, knees parted, those thighs of his—fuck me sideways—as he drizzled oil onto his hard cock.

I gripped my own and stroked it unhurriedly.

He watched my every move while he rubbed in the oil, and then he lifted his gaze to mine, and the sheer heat in his eyes made me clench.

Satisfied with the amount of slickness, he returned the oil packet to the nightstand and rested it against the base of the lamp. There was enough left for a second round, my brain immediately deduced.

Jake stole my focus again when he slipped a hand between my ass cheeks to rub off the oil residue. And to tease me. I bit down on my lip and parted my knees more. I pulled them up more too.

“Jesus…” I dug my head into the pillow and groaned as he pushed two fingers inside me.

This was his show. For now. He stared at what he was doing, and I was just…getting ridiculously turned on by everything I wasn’t used to. I was all about passion in the sack, but I preferred to follow someone’s lead. Not everyone responded well to that, including my own…

“Roe.”

I met his stare and got stuck. How the fuck could he exude both possessive hunger and gentle comfort? He lowered himself over me, and I didn’t break eye contact even once. I exhaled as he withdrew his fingers. I knew what came next. I remembered how we’d looked at each other in Vegas. He wanted that now too. He wanted me to look him in the eye when he pushed his cock into me.

He teased me first, the bastard. He rubbed the head of his cock against my ass and made me squirm underneath him. Then he gathered my legs around his hips and rested our foreheads together.

“Breathe out,” he whispered.

A breath gusted out of me. Fuck, I hadn’t even known I’d been holding it.

I made an effort to relax, and I cupped his face in my hands, wanting to feel that rasp from his scruff. It was addictive. And to feel his jaw tense. I nodded to him, and he applied pressure and brushed his lips against mine.

Bear down.

I pushed back, and a stuttered sound escaped me once the head of his cock was in. Christ, okay, breathe. The sting wasn’t too bad yet, but sharp.

“Keep going, baby,” I exhaled. “Fuck me.”

He kissed me hard and groaned under his breath, and he pushed. He pushed all the way in and squeezed one of my ass cheeks so roughly that I didn’t know what hurt more. At the same time, pleasure poured in like lava, and it was mostly just the fact that Jake was inside me. Years of wanting, doubting, pining, despairing, and falling were over.

I didn’t let go of his face, needing him to stay close to me. With our lips brushing, labored breaths mingling.

He pulled out slowly, and I moaned at the fiery sensations, before he pushed in once more.

“I can’t describe…” He drew in a breath. “How fucking good you feel.”

Those words did it for me. I melted against him and got all needy. Needy for his cock, needy to give him all the pleasure in the world.

I spurred him on when the worst of the burn had faded, and he picked up the pace and let me hear him. His groans came from deep within. His filthy whispers from Vegas were unforgettable too. I wanted to lure out the man he’d been that night, the one who was so different from my usually reserved and introspective buddy.

I flicked the tip of my tongue against his upper lip. “Gimme somethin’ unfiltered.”

He huffed a chuckle and raised a brow, at the same time as he withdrew from me. “Unfiltered?”

I nodded and braced myself internally for— “Fuck.” That. When he slammed into me again. Holy fuck. Oh my God. “Yeah. Something dirty.”

One of the corners of his mouth twisted up. “What do you wanna know? That I’ve been jerkin’ off to the thought of fucking you stupid? I have.”

Oooh, good start.

“Yeah, more of that. Tell me everything.”

But first, he was apparently gonna give me the opposite of what I wanted. He pulled out from me completely and loosened my legs from him. Then he sat back on his heels and twirled a finger in a silent “Turn around, darlin’.”

I added the darlin’. I liked being called that. I wanted to be his darlin’. Spoken with that low, not-always-subtle Southern drawl.

Eager to see what he had in mind, I scrambled onto all fours and was careful not to press my injured fingers against the mattress. I looked at him over my shoulder.

My ass definitely had his attention.

It was a fucking high to be eyed that way by him. I was losing track of the shivers he caused.

“Sometimes I stay quiet because my thoughts aren’t suitable for public consumption,” he said quietly. “I mean, we all feel that way, but when it comes to you? It’s every fuckin’ day.”

Damn.

He guided his cock back inside me slowly, and I almost lost it. This position was so much better. Fucking hell, God, right there. He reached deeper and gripped my hips tightly.

“I wanna come right here.” He slid one hand to the top of my ass. “Watch my come trickle down between your ass cheeks when I tongue-fuck you.”

Fuck. Me.

I hung my head and couldn’t help but widen my eyes a bit. He was giving it to me unfiltered—like, fucking seriously. For six years, I’d known this man. Always kind, funny, mellow, generous, and thoughtful. But I’d had a feeling. Always. There was more to Jake. He held back on a day-to-day basis. He left a lot unsaid.

He fucked me a little harder.

I moaned a little louder.

“I’ve thought about Vegas a lot,” he murmured huskily. “I should’ve fucked you in the bathroom in the nightclub. Seen if I could make you scream louder than the music blarin’ outside.”

“Christ,” I hissed. “More, baby. Please.”

“See, in my fantasies, I’m the one callin’ you baby.” He grunted as he slammed in, and I groaned as much in pleasure as in pain. “When you’re chokin’ on my cock, I’ll tell you you’re doing a good job, baby. You make me feel so goddamn good, baby. Your ass is so fucking tight, baby.”

I gasped and slapped a hand to the headboard as his cock rubbed against a sensitive spot within me. Combined with his dirty talk, I might keel the fuck over. I started pushing back with every thrust.

An embarrassingly loud moan escaped me when he reached around me and fisted my cock.

“Is that honest enough for you, Roe? I fought my attraction to you for years. I can’t do it anymore. I gave up the day you…” He sucked in a breath and rammed in punishingly hard. “A long time ago.”

He… Fuck. He was gonna say something else at first, but I couldn’t focus. I flushed with heat and couldn’t help myself. I pushed back harder and faster, fueling him, letting him know exactly what his admissions did to me. Just in case how hard my cock was wasn’t already making that clear. Jesus, I was leaking pre-come.

“You’re gonna make me come too fast,” I panted.

“That’s the good thing about encores. You get more.” He leaned forward and wove his fingers into my hair, and then he grabbed a fistful, sending sparks of sharp little bolts of pain down my spine. He yanked me back, causing me to almost lose my balance, until I landed back on his lap. He stroked my cock faster and did something that made me cry out. He pressed his thumb down against the base of my cock, all while he brushed his fingertips over the sensitive head, my slit, gliding through the wetness. And a beat after, he reached down and rolled my balls in his hand and stroked his middle finger along my perineum.

Where the fuck did he get this shit? How did he know that would feel so damn good?

Ihadn’t known. I’d like to say I knew my cock fairly well.

He was making my mind swim.

My breathing got out of control.

He fucked me brutally, just like I’d fantasized about. I heard the sounds each thrust made, that muted slap of skin on skin that came from real fucking passion, when you couldn’t hold back, when you just needed and had to have, when the pain couldn’t possibly outweigh the pleasure.

In the end, I was fucking myself on his cock. Up and down, up and down, while he stroked my cock and sucked on my neck. He encouraged me too. He whispered in my ear. That’s it. Fuck yourself on me, baby. Realize your ass is mine.

Much more than my ass was his. That was the kicker, wasn’t it?

“You’re gonna kill me,” I groaned. “Fuck, Jake. I’m getting close.”

“Not good enough.” He nipped at my earlobe and flicked his tongue over it. “Tell me you need this from me, Roe. Tell me you need me to empty my balls deep inside your ass.”

“I need it!” I gasped. I didn’t even hesitate. I’d tell him over and over—however many times he demanded. Too many emotions and sensations washed over me, crashed into me, drowned me, that maybe I got a little too honest. “I need it. I need it, Jake. My ass is yours. Whatever you want. It’s you. You got me this way. It’s all fucking you.”

I heard his sharp intake of air but had no time to wonder if I’d said too much before he snaked his free hand around my throat and exhaled near my ear.

“That goes both ways,” he said, his voice a little shaky. “I was okay before I met you. I’m not saying good—I’m saying fine. I was all right. Then you made me question every little thing. And I hope you’re fucking happy.”

I whimpered. Loud and clear. Desperate. Fucking lost. Or at home. Right at home in our confessions. We weren’t drunk, and yet…we were? On each other. He’d fucked with my head. I’d somehow fucked with his. Weren’t we a pair?

He nudged me forward again, and I automatically braced myself against the headboard. Pains from earlier today barely registered anymore. A slight twinge in my fingertips, that was all. He fucked me against said headboard, each thrust shifting me an inch up the bed, until I was almost pressed against it.

A rush, or a swell, of need filled me to the point where my balls nearly hurt. They felt full and tight when he cupped them firmly in his hand. Only for the sensations to set off a hundred little explosions inside me when he moved his hand up to my cock again.

I was gonna come.

“Close,” I choked out. “I’m gonna blow.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. There was no thought of surrendering a battle I’d already lost.

I went down the proverbial rabbit hole and rolled around in the euphoria. In the filth.

I lost the last semblance of control, and then I was coming. I felt his chest against my back. I heard his groan. He was coming too. Wasn’t he? He was.

Fuck, I’d give anything to see us. Him holding me so tightly, stroking me off, the muscles in his ass clenched as he buried himself as deep as possible… I trembled against him, the pleasure fading slowly, my skin becoming more sensitive. I had to ease his hand away from my cock when I’d stopped coming. Jesus. I could barely breathe.

I collapsed next to the mess I’d made, and I brought Jake with me.

Holy fuck, was my ass sore.

I could feel his heart beating erratically against my upper back.

“I’m not sure I can move,” he said, out of breath.

I shook my head against the pillow and swallowed dryly. “Fuck moving. We’re gonna chase down painkillers and pass out in the other bed.” Preferably with me in his arms.

“That…that sounds like movin’.”

I smiled into the pillow.

* * *

San Diego wasn’t bad to look at in the middle of the night. The view from our hotel room was kinda spectacular, revealing skyscrapers filled with people who were still up—or had forgotten to turn off the lights.

I let out a breath.

I would probably not get any more sleep tonight. My brain wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

Greer was on my mind, and he was shaking his head at me. I wouldn’t say he was the brother of mine I was closest to, but we had a great relationship. When he talked, I listened. And he was always so interested in what was going on in my life. He was genuine and blunt. He cared a lot and took the time to get invested. He and Francis had come out to visit when Cas was born.

Uncle Greer was never too busy for his nieces and nephews, which spoke volumes, considering I’d lost count of them all.

He’d be incredibly disappointed in me now, though.

Last Christmas, he’d opened up a little about something that’d happened to him recently. He’d met a guy who hadn’t divulged the fact that he was with someone. And Greer had been cheated on in the past. The last thing he wanted was to take part in another man’s affair.

I ran a hand through my hair, then stared at it, at the tape Jake had applied. No wedding band underneath.

Cheater.

I drew a deep breath and slumped my shoulders.

The San Diego skyline judged me too.

Ijudged me. But maybe more because I couldn’t regret anything. I judged myself for being a selfish dick. A horrible husband. Sandra deserved better.

I remembered our fight over the phone—how I’d been right there. On the verge of breaking up with her. I’d held back because I’d wanted us to be in the same room. I didn’t wanna be the asshole who broke up over the phone, except…now I was the married asshole who did her dirty instead. Jesus Christ.

Jake had told me stories of how it’d been growing up with parents who didn’t fight. He and Haley had sensed the tension in the air, resulting in two young kids who’d tiptoed around their folks. And I couldn’t help but wonder if Sandra sensed something. If her insecurities weren’t so unfounded after all. We picked up energies all the time. We walked into a room and could often feel if it had a bad vibe.

So even though I had shown her I was putting her and Casper first… Even though I was there for every date, bought her flowers, suggested romantic getaways, and texted her in the middle of the day… What if she sensed my heart wasn’t in it? What if she knew I functioned on autopilot most of the time?

I’d really fucking tried to fall for her. I knew I loved her; I hated upsetting her, and she was a good mother. When she cried—like, when she was honestly distraught, not just weeping at a sad movie or when a purse she wanted was sold out—it hurt me too. But we lacked that deep connection I felt with Jake. He and I could be stuck in a crowded room, and I would still feel like we were the only ones there. I was so aware of him. Every move he made. The tone of his voice, the shifts in his posture, his expressions.

Now too. He wasn’t asleep anymore. His light snores had faded, and he’d turned and twisted twice in the past minute. That meant he was awake.

I heard him exhale.

In the reflection of the window, I saw him fold an arm under his head, then promptly remove it again. Yeah, I knew what it was like to be reminded of bruises and cuts. He shouldn’t even be sleeping on his back.

He turned on his side instead, toward me, but it was too dark to see his face.

I looked at him over my shoulder, and our gazes met.

Neither of us said anything. We knew we had reached the “What now?” part of the night, and I guessed he was as ready for it as I was. As in, not at fucking all.

It was poetic in a tragic way. Between us, we had the bed we’d fucked in earlier. But we couldn’t be on the same side of anything for what came next, could we?

Not that it stopped me from stealing the last moments we might have. I flicked on the light by the window and then walked over to him—my sweats stayed on—and he lifted the duvet for me.

A second later, I was in his arms and enveloped in warmth.

He squeezed me to him and pressed his lips to my forehead.

This sucked. This hurt.

I let out a breath and resigned myself to break the silence.

I knew where to begin. What to fess up.

“I saw your therapy journal last year,” I said quietly.

He inched back, and I glanced up at him, not surprised to find a guarded expression on his face.

“I don’t remember what I was doing in your bedroom—I think I went to grab something,” I continued. “And it was right there on your nightstand.” I broke eye contact and sat up instead, needing some distance. Or rather, his arms around me now felt…forced. I could sense he wanted to pull away, so I did it for him. “I was so shocked that I didn’t think. I opened it—” I caught how his jaw tensed. “I’m sorry, Jake. I read the first two entries before I shut the journal—I swear that’s all.”

I tensed up too, but mostly because I had a feeling what was running through his mind. It wasn’t anger or annoyance; it was embarrassment and unease. He didn’t like being exposed and vulnerable.

In case he’d forgotten, I reminded him what those two entries were about. The first one, which was more of a funny remark about his having zero desire to write a journal. Then the second…where he’d listed three words he couldn’t say out loud. Three words he felt when he was near me. Attraction, possessiveness, and embarrassment.

He nodded with a dip of his chin and sat up against the headboard. “You didn’t read more than that?”

I shook my head. “I promise. Not a word.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “I was supposed to tell you. Patricia, the therapist, told me to talk to you about my goin’ there, and I just couldn’t. I was already on the fence about returnin’ for another session.”

So he’d stopped?

“You stopped going?” I guessed.

He inclined his head and stared at his lap. “I went for…maybe six months. But it turned me into a head case. Then with Nikki’s pregnancy and Sam being born, I just…” He scratched his jaw absently and looked toward the bathroom. “I went back last winter, though. I go every week now.”

Oh. That was good, wasn’t it? It gave me some hope. I didn’t know for what—no, I did. I wanted Jake to sort out whatever he needed sorted. Given his childhood, it had to be a lot. Possibly more than I could ever guess.

“How did it turn you into a head case before?” I asked carefully.

He let out a tired chuckle. “It still does, for the record. But I don’t know. Sometimes, I wonder if childhoods should be left alone. Digging shit up years later hasn’t done me any good, that’s for sure.” He cleared his throat. “What’s worse is the reevaluatin’. She got me talkin’, to her credit. But then she was picking all these memories apart and started pointin’ out what we identify as abuse today. I had to stop her a few times, ’cause not everythin’ is malicious behavior—regardless of her claims. Life was just different twenty-five years ago.”

I nodded in understanding. I could get behind that. Lord knew my siblings and I had been raised using methods that weren’t “correct” today. We’d turned out fine anyway. Despite Dad smoking in the car when we were in the back seat, despite Nana dipping my sister’s pacifier in whiskey when she was sick and couldn’t sleep. Shit like that had fallen through the generational gaps; that was how our grandmother had been brought up and so on. And my folks had heard enough stories about honey- and whiskey-dipped pacifiers to just shrug and be like, well, okay, yeah, that worked in the past, so why not now. Meanwhile, I’d joked about it to Sandra when Casper got sick, and she’d been horrified.

My older brothers had even more stories. Angus, the eldest of us, had been allowed to ride without a seat belt as a reward for good behavior. Cullen and Greer had babysat younger siblings way before they should’ve been left alone.

That said, of course there were instances we looked back on today that made us cringe. My grandparents on Ma’s side had used halfhearted threats to make us fall in line. If you do that, the devil will get you. If you don’t finish your food, you’ll get the belt. Threats they’d never carried through, but still. I’d been twelve years old when my grandpa had died, and I’d thrown all his belts out the window of their little rowhouse in Bensonhurst.

Jake’s silence stole my attention again—or the look on his face. He was lost in his thoughts.

I gave his knee a gentle squeeze through the duvet.

He flicked me a brief glance before he averted his gaze once more. “When I had my panic attack in Norway, I didn’t give you the full story. I had all these memories rushin’ back at me, and I freaked out.”

I’d figured he hadn’t told me everything that night.

I would never forget the look in his eyes when I lost my patience and set out to find him. He hadn’t wandered far, just out of sight of our camp. He’d been so fucking scared.

“What did you remember?”

“That my grandfather was probably gay.”

What the fuck?

“They usually visited over Easter and stayed with us a week,” he went on. “I was only eight, so Haley was just a crying toddler to me. Ma was preparin’ dinner downstairs, and I had nothin’ to do.” He hesitated and glanced at me. “I told you about my grandma on Ma’s side, right?”

Oh yeah. The wretched hag who didn’t believe women should vote. “The suffragettes’ worst enemy—and the root of your mother’s religious evil.”

“Pretty much.” He nodded once. “I liked my grandpa a whole lot, though. He was nice. We used to play cards with quarters and Jolly Ranchers.”

I smiled. Those were the good memories. I had similar ones with my grandmother on Dad’s side. Only, she and I would play cards with rock candy and taffy.

“I went into the guest room to find Grandpa’s cards,” Jake continued quietly. “Privacy wasn’t really a thing in my world yet, so I was just rummaging through his suitcase. And I found a picture of him kissing another man.”

Oh damn.

“It was an older photo,” he said. “But it couldn’t have been too old, ’cause I recognized him right away. Maybe from the ’70s or somethin’.” He grew visibly uncomfortable and shifted against the headboard. “I’ve been tryin’ to analyze my own reaction to that picture the past few years. I remember feeling…some sort of warmth, like a happy feeling. It wasn’t a lewd picture or anythin’—they were fully dressed and just givin’ each other a kiss. I have no idea who took the photo, only that they were standing on a beach. Grandpa was happy. So…I don’t know if that’s why I…” He blew out a breath and rubbed at his forehead. He appeared frustrated. “Anyway, I called out to my mother. Which… I can’t even imagine the shitstorm I created that day, ’cause I never noticed anything different. Or maybe Ma didn’t bring it up with her folks. I don’t know. I don’t remember much after how Ma reacted to the photo.”

That was where the fear had come from, wasn’t it?

“What did she do, Jake?”

Keep your cool, I told myself. It would do me no good to get angry.

“She was livid,” he replied bluntly. Like a flip of a switch, he shut down. I sensed it. “Thing is—fuck. I’m not supposed to make excuses for her, but anyway. She was in the middle of cooking, you know? So when she ran upstairs, she was holding a knife. So that made everything worse. She ripped the picture from me and squeezed me to her—way too tightly. And all I saw was that knife right in my face. With the photo cutting into my cheek—and she kept saying we were never gonna mention this to anyone. We were gonna keep quiet. Over and over—we’ll stay quiet, my darling. He’s a sick man, and he’s gonna burn in hell. You don’t wanna burn in hell like him, do you?”

Holy fuck. Rage flooded me—poured into me like a lava stream—and I couldn’t help but picture an eight-year-old Jake hearing those words. I’d seen photos of him from that age. And he’d always been the mediator, the one who tried to keep the peace and make people happy.

Jake’s mother must’ve known, right? This had to have been behind-closed-doors drama at one occasion or another.

“Your mom knew about her dad, didn’t she?” I asked. “Like, before seeing that photo.”

“I believe so. Yeah.” He nodded. “And the thing is, I think my grandparents separated at some point. I have this vague memory of my mom and her brother talking when I was a kid—something about the year their dad wasn’t around. Grandma wouldn’t let him into the house or whatever.”

Jesus Christ. I was at a loss for words—and I felt bad too. I’d brought that up in Norway. Greer had given me a book about indoctrination of all sorts, covering everything from military doctrine to reprogramming former gang members. Religious indoctrination had its own chapter, of course. And yeah, I’d been curious about Jake’s past. He’d reacted so fiercely to homosexuality when we’d met. LA had reprogrammed him a bit. He’d relaxed pretty fast. He’d accepted a job at a gay club. We had friends who were gay and bi. I was bi, and he hadn’t reacted poorly to that. Whenever we were in New York, he got a little disappointed if Greer wasn’t around.

Scars had a way of making themselves known, though. Jake having no problems with other people’s sexuality was one thing. This was about him, personally. A whole other ball game. Now it was personal—and Jake couldn’t claim he was straight anymore.

“You really never brought that up again?” I wondered.

He shook his head. “Not once. I blocked out that whole day altogether.”

Made sense, I guessed. We suppressed memories as a way to cope.

“I think I developed a defense mechanism for when we touched on a topic just a bit too close to what’d happened,” he admitted. “Whatever Ma preached, I agreed to. It was better than getting a lecture. Haley had a friend who was too progressive for Ma’s likin’, so I escaped to my room whenever she was at our house. Some city girl from Seattle who wore too much makeup and had two moms. All that made me so fucking uncomfortable—but now I know it wasn’t because of them.”

I nodded. His discomfort had stemmed from suppressed memories rattling around somewhere in the back of his mind. Fucking hell, I wanted to punch Jake’s mom in the face.

If hell existed, the only one burning in it would be her.

Then it was my turn to hesitate, ’cause I didn’t know if it was too soon to ask…

“Do you think you’re gay?”

He exhaled a chuckle and rolled his eyes, and I caught how they glistened in the faint glow of the lamp.

My heart fucking broke for him. He’d battled all this on his own.

“I…I might be?” He cleared his throat, and the fake humor faded. “I don’t know. I think…maybe. Because—I don’t know. I’ve always struggled with a sense of indifference toward girlfriends. I’ve cared—sometimes deeply—but I’ve never been able to relate when buddies have spoken about their spouses. Especially in Afghanistan—and hell, Cullen and Angus with their wives? How they fuckin’ light up when Peyton and Genevieve walk into a room?”

I smiled slightly.

He sighed and lolled his head along the headboard, tilting his face away from me just a bit. “Then there was Vegas.”

Oh.

My stomach tightened.

You told me you acted out of fear of losing me.

He glanced my way, his expression somber and apprehensive. “I had no idea, Roe. I didn’t know that’s what sex is supposed to be like. So completely fuckin’ consuming and—”

I closed the distance between us before he could finish the sentence, and I kissed him hard. I couldn’t fucking help myself. A rush of relief and love swept through me, to the point where I almost got mushy.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

I had lost hope of ever hearing something like that coming from Jake’s mouth.

It was fucking unreal.

The years of guessing, wondering, doubting, hoping, denying, wishing…

He gave me a smile and deepened the kiss. He pulled me onto his lap too, and I wasn’t sure that was wise. I had no willpower around Jake. I wanted him too much. All the goddamn time.

The joy was going to be short-lived, though. I knew that.

Our time wasn’t merely borrowed. It was stolen.

“This is gonna hurt, isn’t it?” I cupped his face and spoke against his perfect lips.

He inhaled deeply and nodded once. “Probably. I mean…” He kissed me once more, then put a couple inches between us and searched my eyes. “I’ve been hurting since the day you got married, darlin’.”

Fuck.

I screwed my eyes shut and rested my forehead to his.

No, no, no, don’t tell me that.

“It’s not all you,” he murmured. “I’m still a shitshow. I’ve just barely accepted that I might be…gay.” That wasn’t easy for him to admit, even now. I heard it in his voice. “The thought of…you know, coming out? Or whatever. Instant panic. I struggle with a lot of anger and shame. I don’t know what to do about my folks—if I have to do anything. I’ve been told I should confront them, but I’d rather just shove them out of my life. And…then, will I always wonder what would’ve happened if I’d confronted them? I’m not certain about a single fuckin’ thing, Roe.”

I opened my eyes again.

His gaze softened a little. “Well, one thing. I can’t get enough of you.”

A breath gusted out of me. Fuck me, I hadn’t seen that coming. That level of honesty. It changed everything, didn’t it? Or did it? Did it change anything? Fuck! Fucking fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I feel the same.” The pain didn’t fucking wait. It was catapulted into me, and my vision became blurry. Because we were stuck, weren’t we?

He shivered and kissed me chastely. “It’s almost a shame you’re a good man.”

What? I furrowed my brow, confused.

He smirked faintly, a bit wryly. “Don’t worry, it’s not an actual suggestion. But since I know you won’t divorce Sandra, and I know you’re not a cheater—”

“I think that ship has sailed.”

“Maybe. Sometimes, good people do bad things. We can chalk this up to a one-time mistake.”

A mistake. Right. Yeah, no. Neither of us felt that way.

“Maybe I should divorce her.” I had to say the words. Test them out. Fuck the maybe. I should divorce her. For one hot second, my whole future looked brighter. “You and I could lie low till you’re ready—”

He winced. “I pray that day will come, Roe, but it’s not on the horizon. And it doesn’t matter. Are you willing to only have Casper every other week?”

Oh God.

My stomach dropped.

“I know you’re not,” he whispered. “It would kill you.”

Kill was a strong word. People did this every day. The divorce stats in our country were depressing. But…yeah, I just…I couldn’t imagine. What I could imagine was how many couples stayed together for that reason. To be with their kids. For better or for worse. No matter what direction I turned, I only saw short-term solutions. Staying with Sandra was gonna make me miserable in the end, something I knew my son would eventually pick up on. Children weren’t blind to their parents’ well-being. Or lack thereof.

“So that’s it,” I muttered. “I go back and play happy family with Sandra, and you…”

“I try to figure out who the fuck I am.”

I swallowed hard and eased back, feeling an internal guard slam up.

He would eventually get there—with someone else. At some point, he had to…explore.

“And you and I,” I said, gesturing between us, “we pretend we don’t want each other.”

“That ship has sailed.” He quoted me. “I’m done pretending. But I’ll keep my hands to myself if that’s what you want.”

I didn’t know if that was worse.

Even if he wasn’t outright suggesting an affair, it sure felt like it would be up to me to keep the lines uncrossed. If that’s what you want. Hmpf. Motherfucker.

I stared at him and wondered if I was seeing a new edge to him.

“If that’s what I want?” I cocked a brow.

He offered a one-shouldered shrug and scratched his bicep. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Roe. I’ve tried my best to be who you want me to be around your wife, but every goddamn second is a ruse. She’s not right for you. You’re definitely not right for her.”

Whoa. Yeah, definitely a new edge. I wasn’t a fan—though, that might have something to do with the fact that he was telling me shit I didn’t wanna hear. Regardless of how true it was.

“I’m not sayin’ I’m right for you,” he admitted. “I know right from wrong—I know this right here is wrong because you’re married, and I don’t give a fuck. Because I don’t care about Sandra. I never did. So…I don’t know. Maybe I’m not a good guy. I never actually thought I was.”

That…didn’t sit well with me either. Jake was a wonderful man. An amazing dad, the best friend I could ever ask for. He was generous and caring…to…everyone but my wife? Christ. I scrubbed a hand over my forehead, frustrated and fucked in the head.

In the end, it was my moral dilemma, not his. And I knew right from wrong too.

Feeling too unsettled, I slipped off his lap and sat on the edge of the bed instead.

“I’m sorry, Roe. I genuinely am. I wish I could…I don’t know, take care of all our problems.”

I knew he did. Because he was a good man—who might be interested in doing a bad thing.

That couldn’t happen. Right? No. No, it would be too much. We had a full year ahead of us. We were wrapping up Currahee. We’d be in LA most of the time, with our families around us, which was kind of rare. In between edits and narrating the series, we only had a couple travel dates for Nomads and some promo shit. Now we obviously had a clusterfuck with the Coast Guard too. Who knew when we’d see our footage again?

“Our friendship and business have to come first,” I said quietly. “I can’t lose you. But I gotta think. I made a promise to Sandra, and I don’t know that I would like the man I’d be if I broke it.” Repeatedly. I was already feeling like shit.

Jake scooted toward me and pressed a kiss to my shoulder. “Unfortunately, that’s one of the reasons I can’t get you out of my head. It’s the right call.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head.

If only right didn’t feel completely wrong.

* * *

I can’t do this anymore.

Shut up, get through the day.

I’ll tell her tonight.

The fuck you will. You made your bed.

I flushed the toilet and washed my hands, then walked out. Jesus, my stomach was seriously cramping. Thank fuck it was our last day. We had a reshoot of the one scene Jake and I appeared in and approximately one hour left in Ortiz’s studio. Then we’d be done. Well, we’d be done filming and recording. We were balls deep in postproduction too, the stage where a project’s credits grew to be miles long.

Ortiz had made it big in Culver City. I remembered when his studio was a rented lot in Reseda. Now he had his own three-story building with his company logo on the side. The second floor was all recording studios, and we were in studio number four.

Just as I was about to open the door, Jake and Ortiz came out.

“Change of plans,” Jake said. “Nikki got here early, so we’re gonna do the reshoot downstairs now.”

Oh. Oh, okay. That was good. It was always better to do sound last, but sometimes we had to be creative with timing. Sort of like we’d had to be all fucking summer until we’d gotten our footage back from the Coast Guard. In the meantime, we’d locked the footage from Chicago, Boston, and Philly.

On the first floor, Jake went to meet up with Nikki in the lobby, and Ortiz and I continued to his smallest stage, nicknamed the black room. Our equipment was already set up, including the lighting.

Two simple chairs in front of the black background.

It was the same setup we’d used in the other cities when we’d interviewed first responders and their family members.

“Did you and Jake settle the release yet?” Ortiz asked. “I want you nominated for every fuckin’ award for this one.”

I grinned and hauled our duffel up onto one of the chairs. We had to change into plain tees. “We’re shooting for March,” I replied. Negotiations with networks tended to take time, but we had good people on both sides these days. We knew the right suits, the right producers, and we had a solid reputation.

I shrugged out of my Off Topic tee and put on a plain gray one. That was the extent of our care for wardrobe as documentary filmmakers.

Fuck. Maybe I should go to the bathroom again. My stomach refused to settle down.

I would’ve loved for it to be something I’d eaten, but I knew that wasn’t the case. It’d started with occasional tension headaches and difficulties falling asleep at night shortly after we’d left San Diego. In July, I’d begun popping melatonin before going to bed. End of August—that was when things got worse. For about a month now, I’d had issues with my stomach.

I mean, I was happy. I was gonna be a dad again. But at the same time, I was miserable. I was a horrible liar and awful at pretending. Which I had to do every day. Every time I saw Jake, every time I saw Sandra, I put up a front.

Jake, meanwhile, was a professional. He had a lifetime of suppressing his own identity to fall back on. And good for him. Maybe it was even easy for him to return to normal. As if nothing had happened. I didn’t know. Because we didn’t fucking talk, and it was stressing me out.

When Jake rejoined us with Nikki in tow, Ortiz excused himself to take a call outside, and I stopped fidgeting with my car key. This was work. Business as usual. Nikki was gonna be part of one of our projects for the first time, and that was fun. Good. Yeah. Work, work. I could do this. Smile, for chrissakes.

I smiled. “Hey, if it isn’t the stylist to the stars, Nikki Tate.”

She beamed at me and wheeled in her giant makeup case. “Please add makeup artist to that.”

Right. Hence why she was joining us. We’d had very little use for a stylist specializing in hair and fashion for cinema, but she’d become a makeup artist now too. The woman had advanced since she’d started working for Brooklyn Wright, a big name in the industry.

“Can you make Roe pretty first?” Jake asked. “I’m gonna grab us coffee and check in with Haley. She left a message.”

“No problem.” Nikki got cracking and instructed me to take a seat where we’d film. “You’re just going for a touch-up, right?”

“Right.” I didn’t wanna look like I was wearing makeup or anything. But as we’d discovered over the years, shooting in a studio required at least something. It wasn’t like filming outside.

“Okay, let’s see what we can do.” She gathered a few bottles of what I could only guess were foundations, and she came over to me. With a sponge of some sort, she tested two of them and settled for the paler one. Jake’s complexion was a bit darker than mine. He got a nice tan in the summer. I definitely did not. “That’s the one. You need a primer first too.”

Okay. I didn’t know what that was.

She went back and forth before she’d gathered everything she needed, and then she started applying some cream to my face. “So I have a question,” she said.

“Shoot.” I closed my eyes.

“Is Sandra pregnant?”

Fuck.

I tensed up a little, unable to help it. We hadn’t told anyone yet…

“She’s done a 180 on Insta,” Nikki mentioned. “It’s a lot about resting, taking long walks, staying hydrated, and quotes on motherhood.”

I sighed. I’d really hoped to postpone this a while longer. But considering Sandra usually posted photos of mimosa brunches and shopping bags, I could see why Nikki was wondering.

“It’s still early, so please keep it to yourself,” I said.

“Aw, but that’s wonderful. Congratulations, honey. How far along is she?”

I opened my eyes, needing to see for myself. She did seem happy for me. I didn’t know why she wouldn’t be, except…well, she wasn’t Sandra’s biggest fan.

I relaxed a little. “Thank you. Um, nine weeks, I think. We were gonna announce it after the first ultrasound.”

We’d had to reschedule twice, but we were going next week.

“I’ll act surprised.” She winked. “Close your eyes again.”

Yes, ma’am.

All right, so one person knew. Not that it changed much. The one who mattered was Jake. He’d been thrilled to find out about Casper, and I could only hope he felt the same way now. I just couldn’t bank on it. We were different. We’d been through a lot more. We meant more to each other.

I was emotionally stuck in San Diego.

In LA, I was the husband to a wife who had been on a mission every time she ovulated.

It was also a recent source of my inner anxiety.

I felt trapped. Every kiss was a lie. Having her cuddle up with me on the couch made me wanna run away. The sex… To be fair, it hadn’t been decent since before we got married. It was all about baby-making. Nothing screamed of passionate romance like Sandra slamming on the brakes and going, “Get a pillow under my butt so your swimmers stay inside” right before I came.

Post-fuck cuddles were just me holding her legs up.

Well, not anymore. I’d knocked her up again, and she was puking at all hours of the day. She’d tested positive a month ago, and I could already tell the pregnancy was going to consume her. She had Facebook groups, online experts, and gurus to talk to before we could decide what to have for dinner.

By the time Jake came back into the studio, Nikki was done, and I didn’t look like I hadn’t slept for three months.

“What did Haley want?” Nikki wondered.

“Sam’s got a fever,” Jake replied. “Looks like she’s caught the bug goin’ around.”

That sucked. They’d sent everyone home from Sam’s day care yesterday because of seven kiddos falling ill.

I nodded in thanks as he gave me a cup of coffee.

“I was waiting for that,” Nikki sighed. “Poor girl. Let me know if you want me to take her tonight. Russell’s out of town anyway.”

“Nah, I got it.” Jake sat down next to me for his turn with Nikki’s makeup sponges. “I’ll stop by Panera after I’ve picked up Bear. We can do a movie marathon in jammies.”

Nikki laughed softly. “Well, call me if you need assistance.”

Fuck. Envy festered within me, for several reasons. Jake and Nikki’s relationship—did they even realize how lucky they were? And I knew it wasn’t actually luck. They’d worked hard to get where they were today. Colin and Sam were the lucky ones to have a mom and dad who had found common ground in being the best parents they could be. Parents who cared for each other, who were friends.

That wouldn’t be Sandra and me if we got divorced. I knew that much.

I was also envious of Jake’s evening plans, weird as it may sound. Because I used to be there. He and I would go all in with the movie marathons when Colin was little and got sick. He’d be in and out of naps on the couch, with Jake and me on either side. Pixar movies, cartoons, video games, junk food, chicken soup, ice cream…

Part of me wanted to suggest I bring Cas over to Jake’s tonight, but kids got sick often as it was. My boy had recently survived a wretched man cold, to boot.

“I guess we’ll cancel food-truck Thursday tomorrow,” Jake said.

Of course. I nodded once, hating it. Thursdays were fucking sacred.

“All done,” Nikki declared. “Do you need me to stay, or…?”

“Thanks, hon. No, I think we’re good. It shouldn’t be long.” Jake stood up again and went over to his cameras. We were shooting from two angles because that was what he preferred.

Within five minutes, Nikki had left, and I had finished my coffee. Ortiz hadn’t returned, so Jake and I were alone in the black room.

I tended to avoid that nowadays, which wasn’t easy.

“I think we’re all set.” Jake peered through the viewfinder. “Can you move my chair a couple inches closer to yours?”

“Yeah.” I did as told, then set my coffee cup out of the shot.

Focus on work. I knew what I was gonna say. What we were gonna say. We’d do a few takes and mix up the wording a bit; we’d done this before.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

No, I wasn’t fucking okay, but as I kept repeating to myself, I’d made my bed.

Some days were harder than others. Today was one of them, and I had no particular reason for it. The melancholy built up and eventually fucked up a whole day.

“Everything’s good,” I lied. “Let’s begin.”

“All right. Recording.” He stayed out of the shot while he quickly removed his tee and put on another one. The former had been fine, no graphics on it, but it was too dark. He put on a khaki green instead, then sat down next to me and turned his ball cap backward.

I took a couple deep breaths and rolled my shoulders. “Okay, you go first.” I’d gone first last time, which was why I wanted the reshoot. I wasn’t happy with it. With Jake’s history in the Marines, his opening was stronger, while my little tale worked better as a transition to our main focus on first responders coming home from trauma. And some not coming home at all.

Jake cleared his throat and got comfortable in his seat; he leaned back and folded his arms over his chest.

“I did four tours in Afghanistan,” he said. “I served alongside some of the best men and women I’ve ever met. A few of them are no longer with us today.”

I took another breath and shifted my gaze to the camera. “I come from a long line of firefighters and police officers in New York. My dad and youngest uncle were in the North Tower when it collapsed on 9/11. We lost my mom that day too.”

Jake waited a beat before he spoke again. “Throughout history, we have shared tales of guts and glory. Of famous battles and wars.”

“Currahee is about what happens when a soldier or first responder comes home,” I continued. “After the battles, after the calls of mayday.”

“After the stories packed with action and adrenaline end, a new one begins, where the first responder all too often stands on their own,” Jake said.

We took a couple seconds before I nodded for him to continue. We didn’t know exactly what would make it in the final cut of the intro, but we did know this next part was going to be shared in promo footage.

“We’ve visited VA clinics, hospitals, police stations, firehouses, military installations, and rehab centers,” Jake said.

“We’ve been invited into the homes of family members who no longer have their first-responder loved ones around,” I added. Yeah, I was definitely gonna do that one again later. I didn’t like the wording. “We’ve spoken to wives, fathers, siblings, and grandparents who’ve lost a family member to opioid addiction and suicide.”

“These are the wars they fight alone,” Jake finished.

We glanced at each other and nodded. A few more takes, and then we’d have our intro in the bag.

* * *

After the following weekend, I was glad to return to work on Monday morning. Evidently, I was gonna miss the first ultrasound because Sandra had gotten an earlier appointment for right when I was on air with Off Topic, and she just couldn’t wait two extra days all of a sudden.

I was disappointed, but I was done fighting about it. Her mom was gonna take her instead.

By the sound of things, someone else was disappointed too. Before I even opened the door, I could hear Sam crying.

I gathered the breakfast I’d brought in one hand and headed inside. The house should be fairly empty; I hadn’t seen Seth’s car outside, and it was usually just Jake and me in the house during Off Topic. Not counting Haley, who came and went at all hours.

What a sight. Sam sat on the floor where the living room met the hallway and the kitchen, and she was screaming at the top of her lungs. No clothes, just a diaper.

“Ucka Woe,” she wailed.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong, sweetheart?” I was almost there when Jake appeared from the kitchen. “Morning.”

“Hey.” He looked tired. “Haley’s on her way. Did you get pancakes?”

“Of course I did.” If Sam wanted pancakes, she was getting pancakes.

“Thank fuck.” He picked up his girl from the floor and smooched her tearstained cheek. “Did you hear that, baby girl? Uncle Roe got pancakes.”

She nodded and hiccupped around a sob. That poor little thing. Not only had she contracted that flu last week, but she’d gotten an ear infection too, and it was just now starting to pass.

We brought our party to the kitchen, where I spotted Colin pouring milk over his cereal. He was already wearing his backpack. The boy loved kindergarten.

“Morning, buddy.” I ruffled his hair and kissed the top of his head. “No flu for you, I take it?”

“No, Daddy says I’m healthy as a horse.” He flashed a toothy grin. “And I eat like one also!”

I grinned back and sat down next to him at the island. We had at least twenty minutes before we had to haul ass to the studio, so I wouldn’t mind breakfast with the kids.

Jake got Sam to calm down some when he sat her on his lap and brought out the pancakes I’d brought. Just the way she liked them—the thin pancakes with extra strawberry jam.

I unpacked the rest. Coffee, bagels, breakfast taquitos, and scrambled eggs that I reheated in the microwave.

“Can I have a taquito, please?” Colin asked.

“Absolutely.” I slid the container closer to him and grabbed a bagel for myself.

Casper was missing. Whenever Jake brought his kids to work, even if it was just for the first half hour before Haley whisked them off, I wanted my son here too. The meals we shared continued to be the highlight of my day. My condor family.

Jake yawned and was more interested in coffee than anything else.

“Rough weekend?” I asked.

I hated that I had to. Not talking to him for a whole weekend felt so wrong.

“That’s one way of puttin’ it,” he replied tiredly. “I might take a nap after the podcast.”

I nodded in understanding. “What’s Sam up to today?” I knew Nikki was picking them up later, but I doubted Sam was well enough to go to day care.

“She’ll be with Haley,” Jake said. “Ain’t that right, sugar? You’re going with Auntie Haley today.”

Sam nodded and shoveled more pancakes into her mouth. Half her face was covered in jam, which meant picture time. I brought out my phone and took a couple photos.

They grew up too fucking fast. Bad enough that Sam had recently turned two, but that Colin was starting first grade a year from now? And Casper turning three later this fall? Fucked up was what it was.

Maybe we could take a family picture soon. It’d been a while. Last one was from a food-truck Thursday. We’d run into a friend there, who’d taken a picture of us all stuffing our faces.

Those photos were glimpses of a dead fantasy, but they were all I had.

* * *

“You’re Off Topic with Roe Finlay and Jake Denver. I’m Roe, and Jake’s about to fall asleep in his chair. How you doin’ there, bud?” I grinned faintly and took a swig of my coffee.

Look alive, man.We had a big announcement to make. Rather, we’d confirm some rumors that’d circulated since this past spring. Followers had read a certain press release—some had watched local news—and heard about two filmmakers being involved in an incident.

“Ugh.” Jake yawned and sat up a little straighter. “Children may be a blessing, but fuck ear infections.”

“Amen. Jake’s daughter’s had a crappy weekend,” I said. “I remember the first time I had to give Casper penicillin. I think that’s when a parent really shows their creativity, especially if the kid won’t take the liquid variety. Even I won’t touch that. It’s fucking foul. We had to blend it with ice cream and caramel sauce.”

Jake chuckled tiredly and nodded. “Bear was all right, but with the princess, we gotta crush pills with banana or mix it with macaroni and a shit-ton of ketchup.”

Damn, now I wanted mac and cheese for lunch. “I’m Team Ketchup all the way. There’s this dumb, snobby grown-up rule about ketchup being for kids, and I’m like, gimme that fuckin’ ketchup on my mac and cheese and don’t you dare hold back. By the way, we’re having mac and cheese for lunch. I have a craving.”

Jake rumbled a laugh at my rant. “Mac and cheese, it is. But there won’t be any ketchup in Alaska.”

Oh, fucking excellent transition.

“Annnd that brings us to our next topic,” I said with a grin. “We can’t divulge the hows and the whens just yet, partly because we don’t know them ourselves, but this week marks the beginning of our preparation for a future project. Jake has signed us up for survival training, self-defense classes, and target practice. We’re gonna get fit.”

“Because I don’t trust Roe to last a minute in the state called the Last Frontier,” he deadpanned.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha.” I let him have his moment, but dammit, he was gonna see. “Whatever. Stay tuned for Insta photos of my abs becoming more pronounced—than they already are, I wanna add.”

He shook his head in amusement. “But before Roe starts hashtagging his bulging biceps and awesome abs all over social media, we’re gonna share a little story about the day we discovered we don’t necessarily have what it takes for action-packed documentary adventures.”

It was the perfect moment for one of our only three sound effects. I hit the button on my laptop, and a recording of an audience going “Oh no!” blared out.

“Dork,” Jake chuckled.

“It’s actually the theme of this week’s episodes,” I went on. “Not me being a dork but…well, let’s call it risk assessment and shit that can go wrong. On Friday, we’ll have Joel Hayward back for another interview. You might remember him from this spring—he’s a sniper in the Coast Guard. And he’s bringing with him the highly trained TACLET operator, Mark Dunn, whom we were fortunate to meet somewhere off the coast of San Diego in March.”

“When shit went sideways,” Jake filled in.

“Royally. Consider this our confirmation of your questions about whether we were involved in the smuggle operation the Coast Guard intercepted a few months ago.”

“Roe was helping the Colombians bring in coke to—”

“Oh, fuck you!” I laughed. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Then why did you say it?” Jake was having too much fun. “What Roe means is, we were there to film the Coast Guard intercept a drug smuggle operation—with successful results after a couple mishaps.”

“A couple mishaps?” I chuckled incredulously. “A boat caught on fire, and we almost died. If you call that a mishap, I don’t wanna know what you’d call a disaster.”

He shrugged and leaned back in his seat, still amused. It was a good look on him.

Anyway. I brought us back. I told the followers an abbreviated, Coast Guard-approved version of what’d happened that day, which was close to the truth but made no mention of how the boat had been set ablaze.

Jake followed that up with our plans for improving our physical strength and knowledge so we could take on more high-risk projects in the future. Starting with a harmless survival documentary taking place in Alaska at some point.

It was gonna be fun.

“Maybe I’ll wrestle a bear,” I mused. “How hard can it be?”

“This is what I put up with, folks,” Jake said. “If you hear a news story next year about a New Yorker being airlifted from Alaska, don’t ask for confirmation. Just assume it’s Roe.”

“Oh, I can see it. Alaska Survival with Roe Finlay and Jake Denver, sponsored by Johnson & Johnson’s Band-Aid.”

Jake snorted. “You’re gonna need a lot more than Band-Aids.”

We’ll see.

* * *

At lunch, we were alone in the house again after Seth had stopped by briefly. We’d gotten the early numbers for today’s episode, which was a solid indication of how it would perform as a whole. Most of our followers binged episodes or tuned in later in the day, but if we had a lot of people listening or watching when we aired, we knew it was gonna do well.

Today had been a good one.

We had some new sponsorship deals and paid partnerships to go through as well. We were hella picky about those, much to Seth’s chagrin, but Jake and I had been around a while now. We’d seen too many podcasts sell out and then tank because listeners got sick of all the pimping of products.

We had food delivered at one, and I brought it to the patio with sodas and ketchup.

I was getting my mac and cheese. Specifically, mac and cheese with bacon. Jake had ordered his with chicken.

“Fuck me, this is good shit.” I swallowed a mouthful and poured more ketchup over my food.

“I think you’re supposed to cut the sugar outta your diet now that we’re—”

“Dude. Don’t. I gave up my Friday morning donut. That’s enough.”

He grinned and shook his head, refocusing on his own food. Sans ketchup.

I checked my phone, wondering what Sandra was up to. She must be home by now. I’d texted her right after we’d finished our episode, ’cause I couldn’t remember an ultrasound ever lasting longer than half an hour, maybe forty minutes. Then I’d sent another message an hour ago.

I hoped nothing was wrong. Shit. Okay, I’d finish my lunch, and then I’d call her. If she didn’t pick up, I’d try her mom.

Jake chuckled at something, and I side-eyed him. He was on his phone.

“What’s funny?” I asked.

“Joel. He sent me a dumbass joke about Marines.”

Oh. Fucking Joel. Were they still in touch? I’d been the one who’d reached out to ask for another interview.

I wasn’t gonna ask, because frankly, I didn’t wanna know. They were evidently texting jokes to each other, so…whatever. Good for them. Maybe Joel was helping Jake figure out who he was.

I needed help.

“What the fuck?” Jake was still staring at his phone, though with an upset expression now. No more jokes from Joel the Jokester? “Sandra’s pregnant with twins, and you didn’t care to tell me?”

She was pregnant with what?!

Jake showed me the screen of his phone, revealing an update from Sandra’s Instagram. I almost dropped my food container. Holy fuck. What? Without thinking, I ripped the phone from his hand to look closer. It was a selfie, and she was holding up two pairs of baby socks.

Oh my God.

Was this for real?

I swallowed dryly and scanned the caption.

Roe and I are excited to announce that our son will have two little siblings next year. We’re expecting twins!

Oh my God.

“Oh my God.”

“You didn’t know,” I heard Jake say.

“I…” Oh my God. Twins. I set down my food on the table when I noticed my hands were shaking a bit. Why the fuck hadn’t she told me first? Was it too much to ask that she share the news with me before the rest of the world? Judging by the likes on the photo, I was number 268 to find out. Christ, twins. It was incredible. Wonderful. Amazing. Fucking terrifying. Two babies at once! Oh my God.

“Roe, are you all right?”

“I—yeah. I don’t know. I mean, yeah.” I was still figuring that out, but yeah. A tad overwhelmed, maybe. My heart was pounding. My brain was a mess. “We, uh… I knew she was pregnant. We were gonna tell everyone after the first ultrasound this week, but…” Fuck, I couldn’t think. “She got an earlier appointment. And now we’re apparently having twins. Jesus Christ.”

I couldn’t reach out and grab on to any of the million emotions swirling inside me. Elation, fear, annoyance, wonder, relief, sadness, I could go on and on. I’d made my bed, and I was lying in it, but for every right thing I did by my wife, that bed shifted further away from Jake.

When push came to shove, I didn’t know how to be a whole person unless I had Jake by my side.

“Congratulations,” Jake murmured.

I nodded jerkily and swallowed back a bunch of emotions that threatened to surface. “Thank you.”