Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“You gonna use last night too?” Bacon’s throat ached and his hands clenched against how damn badly this hurt. He felt used. Betrayed in a way he hadn’t thought possible. “How I came in all messed up? What chapter is that?”
“No.” Spencer held up his hands. “That was different. Private. But I knew you’d be worried about it. That people might assume you told me more than you have...”
“Yeah? And still you went ahead with this project?” His chest squeezed, adrenaline racing like he’d just lost that handhold and was in freefall, just waiting for the crash at the end of the fall.
“I have to. I owe it to Harry. To all the other guys whose stories need telling. And like I told you last night, I had this idea that maybe you wouldn’t be with the teams forever. And then it wouldn’t be such a big deal. I’ve spent the last few weeks hoping there might be some sort of compromise...”
“A compromise where I leave the teams?” He scoffed. Spencer thinking that was an option hurt almost worse than the book, said he’d never really understood Bacon. “Because then I would be exhibit-A for you. Washed out, damaged former sniper. It’s not about wanting me in private security because it would easier for me. It’s about what would be convenient for you. What fits your narrative.”
“I’m not going to lie. It would be easier if you were former military. But you said last night that you’re staying in the SEALs, and I respect that. I only want you to be happy, Del.”
“Fuck that.” Bacon got right up in his face, not shying away from calling him out on his BS. “You want good things for you. You’re the best goddamn thing in my life, Spencer. The thing that has made me happiest the last few months. I need that. Need you. You want me to be happy? Let me have you. Let me have this. Let me have us. Please.”
“You’re telling me to drop the book?” Spencer looked resigned, not surprised.
“I’m asking, yes. Please. If what we have is real, then fight for that.”
“It’s not about us being real.” Spencer’s eyes were deep pools of hurt. “We are. What I feel for you is real. But this story needs me to tell it.”
“Give me something to work with here. How am I supposed to tell people about you now? Like oh, yeah, my boyfriend wrote a book trashing everything about what we do, ran afoul of Naval PR—you know they’re going to lose their shit when they hear about this book—and hey, he thinks you may be broken and damaged, but sure, come for dinner and drinks?”
“I don’t know,” Spencer said softly. “I can’t ask you to stay with me if I do the book. I know that. I can’t make things harder for you on duty. I’d never be able to forgive myself if being with me brought you grief from your teammates.”
“And so that’s it? You’re choosing the book over us? Unless I don’t re-up? Way to hold my feelings—my life—hostage.”
“I owe it to Harry Winstead to tell his story. To his widow. To all the widows and widowers and families struggling. It’s an important story, Del. He deserves this from me. And I’m a journalist. I can’t live with myself if I walk away from this one.”
Thud. Just like that he landed, the crash that followed the fall he should have seen coming twenty klicks away. Should have expected Spencer’s choice, should have braced for impact, should have saved himself the oxygen of begging Spencer to choose them.
“Then don’t.” Bacon stalked away, found his backpack and his phone. “But don’t cry when I walk away from you. This is the mess you made. We could have had something special here, but you’ve made your choice. And now I’ve got to make mine.”
And with that, he left. His eyes didn’t even start burning until he was in his truck in the parking garage. He told himself that he’d taken his heart, walked away before it could really hurt, but it was a lie. He’d left his heart back on the tenth floor, left it for Spencer to shatter.
* * *
Del had ordered him not to cry, but the door had barely shut before Spencer’s tears started to fall. Which was ridiculous, really. He was well over forty, had had breakups before. But none like this. Not even the end of his marriage to Greg had hurt like this, had felt like his soul, the very essence of who he was, had just walked out that door.
Things had appeared easier when the book was still hypothetical, but from the moment he’d seen his agent’s email he’d known it was the beginning of the end with Del. He’d known Del would be furious about the direction he was taking, known it would make it almost impossible for them to be together if Del stayed in the service, and still he’d agreed to the book.