One thing he did know. He hated the unanswered questions rattling around in his head. And as sure as he was lying here, he had no idea what to do next with Chas. Hell, he barely had any idea what came next in his own life. How was he supposed to know what kind of life he could offer Chas… if any?
Chas hated danger. Hated the unknown. No way would he want to sit at home waiting for Gunner to come home from dangerous assignments. Especially not now that he’d had a taste of what Gunner’s life in the field was like.
Dammit. The very mission that had brought them together would be the thing that would push them apart. It figured. He never could catch a break when it came to his personal life. Never had. Never would.
Chapter Seventeen
FOR CHAS, the next few days passed in a blur of being sick of sitting in a car, staring at thousands of miles of pavement, and overall general exhaustion. After their romantic interlude at Yellowstone, Gunner had inexplicably shut down. He wasn’t laughing, wasn’t joking around and shooting the breeze. Hell, he was barely speaking to him.
What had gone wrong? Chas had plenty of time to replay the evening while they drove across the country back toward the East Coast. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what he’d said or done to make Gunner withdraw so completely into his own personal emotional cave.
One thing he did know: now was not the moment to spring his demand on Gunner that he find a safer job if they were going to have a long-term relationship with each other. That left him feeling grumpy and frustrated too, not in any mood to break through Gunner’s sullen silence.
By the time they hit Virginia, he finally resolved that whatever was going on in Gunner’s head was the guy’s problem to solve—not his. He washed his hands of trying to show Gunner Vance how to be a normal human being and have a normal human relationship. The SEAL in him had won, apparently. Which sucked rocks.
If a faction of the Oshiro gang was following them back across America, they saw no sign of the black SUVs nor of any armed men. Chas wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one. Gunner was tense, always watching everything and everyone around them. But Chas didn’t know if that was real concern or just habit. Either way, Gunner’s tension was contagious, and Chas was a nervous wreck by the time they finally pulled into the driveway of the old farmhouse late that night and were greeted by Spencer and Drago.
Chas and Gunner fell into bed without talking much to their hosts. They’d been driving nearly around the clock, taking turns napping and only stopping for fuel, food, or pit stops.
God, it felt good to stretch out on a comfortable bed that wasn’t vibrating or rumbling, without cranking his neck and back into unnatural angles not meant for human beings.
Gunner groaned under his breath beside him. Chas felt Gunner move, pressing a hand against his right rib cage. He’d been doing that a lot recently.
Chas murmured, “Any chance you cracked a rib in your parachuting accident?”
“I’m thinking I cracked about four of them.”
“Four?” Chas exclaimed, sitting up. “Why on earth didn’t you stop and get those checked out?”
“Nothing to do for cracked ribs but let them heal.”
“Can’t you bandage them or something?”
“Elastic strapping helps make the pain bearable, but I still have to breathe, and every breath flexes them.”
“Simple breathing hurts you? How long has that been going on?”
“The docs gave me some sort of epidural painkillers in the hospital and said it would last a couple of weeks. It has been starting to wearing off for the past few days.”
“And you never said anything before now?” Chas exclaimed, indignant.
“It’s just a little pain. No big deal.”
“Four broken ribs is no big deal?”
“They’re only cracked. Actually my spine is the worst of it. I messed up some disks, apparently.”
Chas flopped back down to the mattress, aghast. “And all that sex we had. Did that hurt you?”
“Some. Although I was a little bit distracted from my pain.”
Chas swore heartily. Enough to make Gunner chuckle, in fact, and to make him swear some more.
“Language, Mr. Reed. Language.”
He turned his back on Gunner in a huff.
“Sleep while you can, Chas. Things could get exciting around here for the next few days.”
“I have no desire to find out what constitutes ‘exciting’ in your world. Not after spending the past week with you.”
“Aww, c’mon. The road trip was fun.”
“Except for the part where we were chased, a guy died, and you took a freaking prisoner.”
“You ain’t seen nuthin’ yet, kid.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“How about tomorrow we go visit Poppy? Would that make you feel better?”
“You’re bribing me. And it’s totally working, you giant jerk.”
“Sweet dreams, Chasten.”
Chas huffed. “Same to you.” God, he hated it when Gunner managed him like this. But the guy had always known how to handle him like nobody else. In bed and out of it.
GUNNER WOKE up a whole lot sorer than he was willing to admit. As for Chas, he was asleep on his stomach, his face mashed against the mattress, his jaw slack. The guy looked wiped out. The past week had been hard on both of them, but Chas wasn’t used to the fast pace and high stress of working in hostile environments.
Moving stealthily, Gunner rolled out of the bed and padded barefoot across the room. He slipped out into the hall and eased the door shut so Chas could sleep a little more.
Spencer and Drago were either still asleep or not in the house. Maybe they were taking care of their prisoner. Gunner fiddled around with the coffeepot on the kitchen counter until he got it to start brewing, and then he went into the living room to work his way through a yoga stretching routine. The athletic trainers who worked with the SEAL teams swore by flexibility for injury prevention and longevity as an operator.
He took it slow, gradually working out the kinks and creaks. By the time he heard Spencer and Dray moving around in the kitchen, he felt like a normal human being again and not a stiff stick-figure imitation.
He strolled to the back of the house, following the smell of bacon frying, and found Spencer, who obviously noticed how gingerly he was moving. “How are you feeling, Gun?”
He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. “Creaky. I’m forced to admit—reluctantly—that the admiral may have been right to sign my termination papers.”
Spencer swore under his breath. “You really should come to work for us. The vast majority of what we do isn’t strenuous. It takes more brains than brawn to be a good security consultant.”
“I’m seriously considering it.”
Drago clapped him on the shoulder as he plunked down a plate heaped with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. “Glad to hear it. Look forward to having you on the team.”
Something warm spread through his gut. Apparently he needed to feel like part of something larger than himself, some sort of brotherhood of like-minded souls, more than he’d realized.
“How soon do you think someone will be coming for your prisoner?” he asked.