Live for the Day (5 page)

“No, I get it. I’m the same way.”
And that’s an understatement. I miss you more than you realize. Your face, your smile, your laugh. Everything about you.

Michael appeared to be in deep thought, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. “Maybe think of it this way. Once you go back, you’re closer to coming home again.”

That was a good way of looking at it. If Steven counted each passing day as a step nearer to being with Michael again, he could get through it. Before, he’d always looked at the months of being apart in a negative way, stretching on for too long, a never ending road. If he switched it so that he viewed the time spent out there as the road behind him growing longer, meaning the one ahead was shorter… Yeah, he could get down with that.

Steven nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

He hugged Michael then, all tightness and closeness, resting his chin on the top of Michael’s head. If they could stay this way forever, Steven wouldn’t complain. If time could stand still, it could stand still right at this moment. This memory—of them standing there clutching each other, hearts beating too fast, breaths coming out too fast—would be what got him through future missions.

He was suddenly tired—weary at the thought of what was to come in the future and also of what had gone before. Settling down with Michael was his goal now, not the military or flying planes. Just living with his best friend was all he needed. All he’d ever needed had he but realized.

Michael raised his head and frowned. “You need your bed, I think. Looks like you’re dead on your feet.”

“Yeah, I could do with resting. It was a long journey home.”

Michael pulled away, out of Steven’s arms. Steven felt vulnerable and lost, wanting Michael back with him again.

“Come with me?” Steven asked.

“I think we already did that.” Michael winked.

“You know damn well what I meant. Stay with me. Come to bed with me. I just want to…” He shook his head.

“Go on, tell me what you want.” Michael took Steven’s hand and led him out into the hallway.

“I just want to hold you.” For Steven it was that simple.

“You’ll need a leg massage somewhere in there too, right?” Michael stepped into the bedroom, releasing Steven’s hand.

“Yeah, if you really don’t mind.” Steven made for the bed, landing on his back, too tired to bother getting undressed.

“Nope, I don’t mind.” Michael came to stand beside the bed. “Get yourself comfortable, then.”

Steven’s body seemed to sink into the mattress. He let his eyelids drift downward, his body jostled a bit as Michael took off Steven’s pants. His dick leaped up ready for action again, and he kept his eyes closed, a little embarrassed.

“Your dick will have to wait,” Michael said.

“Yeah, I know it.”

“But not for long, okay? Unless you need sleep more.”

Michael’s hands working magic on his leg was sublime, the ache teetering on disappearing immediately. He had the knack, Steven would give him that.

“I’d love another round,” Steven said, “but I swear, I’m halfway asleep already.” His mind lightened, his body grew heavier. “I’ll just have a little nap. Just a little…”

“Get him in the fucking chopper,” Rory shouted, his voice almost lost in the angry-sounding
whump
the blades made as they rotated. “We’ll be spotted soon—if we haven’t been already. Quickly—for God’s sake go faster.”

Steven closed his eyes, wincing at the pain shooting up his leg as whoever held the stretcher jogged toward the helicopter. Christ, the agony was excruciating—he had to have broken it in a couple of places, surely. While he was lifted inside, he thought about his plane. Had the enemy converged on it already, eager to see if any human remains were burned to a crisp in the cockpit? Had the US Air Force got there first? Or had he been spotted being ejected—and if so, why hadn’t anyone other than the US come to investigate his whereabouts? He’d fully expected to be captured and held as a hostage, a bargaining tool at the very least—killed at the most.

He was lowered and felt a strap being secured across his stomach. Then came the beautiful lift of the chopper, the swerve as the pilot navigated dangerous skies. Shit, history could repeat itself now. The rotors could be shot at and once again Steven could go tumbling back to earth, more than his leg, wrist and spirit broken.

He started awake. Looked around the room, relieved to find he was at home and not on that stretcher. Night had come while he’d been asleep, and Michael was beside him, snoring softly. A glance at the clock told him it was two a.m., so he settled back down, hoping to God that was the only dream he’d have tonight.

Sleep came quickly, taking his hand and leading him away.

“Clear skies,” someone said.

“Darn fucking odd,” said another. “But it isn’t the skies we need to worry about—you know that better than any of us. It’s those on the ground… Possibility we could even be shot down by one of our own. Fuck, I hate this place. I need to go the hell home.”

Steven scrunched his eyes tighter. He hated it here too—and he was lucky. Again. He’d get to go home on leave, he imagined, while this lot remained in one of the worst places the planet had to offer.

Images of the chopper being detected, the crew attacked from rebels coming out from behind the dunes or mountains crept into his mind. He saw the helicopter on fire, swirling to the rocky terrain with them all trapped inside. He swore he could taste the smoke, the charred flesh…

He opened his eyes, unable to stand the visuals any longer. They were too foul—could be all too real. Yet still they cavorted in front of him.

“Shit, just go away.” He groaned. Would he ever be free of this nightmare? It seemed to have been going on forever. Was this just the beginning of a slippery slope, where all his training went down the shitter and his emotions took over, ensuring he wasn’t fit for duty ever again?

“You’re doing great, buddy,” Rory said.

Steven slid his eyes across to look at his friend sitting next to him. Pain, worse than he’d felt so far, racked his body. His head hurt—it was too full of…of everything about this godforsaken place. “I need Michael. I have to get home to Michael.” Panic rose inside him and he tried to get up off the stretcher. The belt prevented him getting very far, and he went to use his hand to undo the lock, remembering too late that his wrist was wrecked. He screamed out in pain, uncaring that others were there to witness him not being strong. To witness that he’d only broken bones yet acted as if his whole skeleton had been fractured. Some of their squadron had had limbs blown right off and had been silent throughout the rescue mission apart from a few pained whimpers. He was weak, showing how much he was hurting.

“Yeah, you’ll be going home to Michael,” Rory said. “Can’t see you staying here for very long. Leave is coming your way, I’m guessing.”

“No, you don’t understand. I
need
Michael.” Steven stared at Rory, trying to get his meaning across.

“Yep, we all need our best buds in times like this.” Rory smiled. “Good job I don’t get offended, huh? I mean, I’m your best bud out here and all.”

Yeah, Rory was his best friend out here, but Michael was… Michael was his life. “I just need—”

A blast of pain in his leg rendered him speechless.

“Michael!” he screamed.

Chapter Five

Michael jolted awake. Disoriented for a moment, he looked around in the darkness, not seeing the familiar shapes of his bedroom. Then he remembered where he was—in bed with Steven—and turned onto his side facing him. Steven’s body jerked, then he thrashed around, arms flailing, fingertips connecting with Michael’s face. Michael scrabbled upright, settling onto his knees. He caught hold of Steven’s wrist, doing his best to grasp it gently.

Steven sat up, his mouth a frightening grimace. He stilled, breaths coming out hard and fast, and glared at the wall opposite. “I said I
need
Michael. Don’t you
understand
?” He whimpered. “No, I guess you don’t because I didn’t spell it out.” He flopped backward, landing on the mattress with force. He shivered.

What the fuck?

Michael wasn’t sure what to do. It was clear Steven was dreaming. Should he wake him or let the dream play out? Although dream was a mild word for it—nightmare would be more appropriate.

“Steven?” he whispered, lowering to the bed so he could rest beside him. He laid an arm over Steven’s midsection.

“And get this fucking belt off me, will you?” Steven said. “It’s heavy on my stomach, man.”

Michael immediately lifted his arm.

“Thanks. That’s better.” Steven mumbled a few more sentences, none of them decipherable.

“What are you seeing?” Michael asked quietly, expecting no response. “Your life out there…shit, it must have been so damn scary.”

Steven’s breathing returned to normal—the deep, even breathing that said Steven was in a dreamless sleep now. Michael had sensed the terror Steven had felt—just by listening to Steven recounting the tale earlier had been enough for Michael to get the whole, awful picture. But Michael was on the outside of that part of Steven’s life, and all he had was his imagination to help him to understand the depths of the fear the military went through. Reality—he couldn’t cope with that and come out the other side smiling. Steven was a damn sight braver than Michael would ever be—and he’d known that when the time had come for them to both sign up. A voice inside Michael had told him not to do it, that it wasn’t really the career for him.

A realization came to him in the darkness. He’d played soldiers with Steven as a kid so he could
be
with Steven. Maybe, now he thought about it honestly, Michael had never wanted to be a military man at all. So why hadn’t the same rule applied once they’d gotten older—why hadn’t Michael joined up so he could be with Steven all over again? They’d agreed on the USAF. Steven had been naïve back then, assuming they’d be placed together. But Michael had known deep down that they wouldn’t—that being with Steven in combat wasn’t what Steven needed. So Michael had stepped back and agreed with himself to let Steven go.

If you let them go and they come back to you…

And Steven was back now, right? He’d always come back in the past too. Except this time things were so different. That plane being shot down had changed Steven—in more ways than one. Yeah, there was no doubting that the fear Steven must have gone through at the thought of losing his life had contributed to them being in bed together now. Michael guessed that it had forced Steven to admit that he needed to let Michael know how he felt.

Had Steven’s angel had a hand in that like she had in everything else?

If she had, then she was Michael’s angel too, sending Steven home early.

Michael closed his eyes, ready to go back to sleep. While he drifted, he thought of the coming week and how taking seven days off hadn’t been such a crummy idea after all. Come tomorrow, he had five days left, and if he had his way he’d spend every one of them with Steven.

He’d spend the rest of his life with Steven.

Every. Single. Second.

* * * *

Morning arrived with Michael opening his eyes to see sunrays peering through the window like a nosy neighbor. The blue sky, with a white cloud or two drifting along, promised that the weather would be a scorcher. He glanced across to Steven’s side of the bed to find him gone. Recalling Steven’s nightmare, Michael dashed out of bed and into the hallway. The scent of coffee drew him to the kitchen. Steven sat at the small table in the corner, browsing on his laptop, his forehead ruffled and his eyes narrowed. He lifted his head and, at the sight of Michael, seemed to light up, his features smoothing out and a smile getting broader by the second.

“You okay?” Michael asked.

What they’d done last night, the step up the ladder they’d taken, came to mind, stirring fresh longing and anxiety at the same time. What if things didn’t work out between them? Would their friendship be ruined?

“Fine, you?” Steven rose to walk to the counter, where he made coffee. “I slept so damn well. Must be because I’m home—and I’m with you.”

Michael kept his expression neutral. “You don’t remember having a nightmare?” He cocked his head, unable to stop a frown forming.

“Did I have one, then? I remember a dream but nothing sinister.” Steven handed Michael the coffee, biting his bottom lip. “Nope, I don’t remember anything bad. What… Did I say anything? Rory said—you know, after the plane incident and all—that I talked in my sleep.”

Although Michael was aware Steven shared a room with Rory and other guys, since Michael and Steven’s relationship had progressed, he experienced a twinge of jealousy.

“Yeah, you said a few things.” Michael shrugged. He wanted to make out it had been no big deal. “Thanks for the coffee.” He sat at the table, feeling the weight of Steven’s stare on him.

Steven joined him. “Uh, what did I say?”

“That you needed me. Something about a belt hurting your stomach. And you not spelling things out.”

Steven closed his laptop. “Ah,
that
nightmare.”

Michael raised his eyebrows in question.

“It’s a recurring one,” Steven said. “The time I was rescued and put in the chopper.”

“Why do you think that one recurs?” He wanted to help Steven to understand what was going on inside his head. To ease the mental burdens he carried.
What, do I think I’m a fucking psychologist now?

“Because it was at that point, when I’d been rescued, that I knew you’d made the right choice.”

Michael frowned harder. “I don’t follow.”

“I shouldn’t have joined the military in the capacity I did, where I was sent overseas. I shouldn’t have become a pilot—I was guaranteed being sent out there to fight in wars, you know? Why did I put myself in the line of fire?” Steven let out a long breath.

“I don’t know. Maybe because you thought there would never be an us—in this kind of way?” Michael reached out to take Steven’s hand in his. “Maybe, at the back of your mind, you thought that if you weren’t here, I could get on with my life. And you’d rarely be here to see me living it.”