Coming Home, page 21
part #1 of Finding Shore Series
Sam’s body tensed and he pulled back a little, eyes flickering across Wesley’s face. He looked guarded and unsure.
Sam dropped his hands so they were between their bodies, half on Sam’s lap and half on Wes’s. Though Wes could feel his heart slamming against his chest, screaming and begging for a reaction, he tried to center himself and let his own hands fall. Their fingers intertwined and Wes had no idea if it was him or Sam who initiated it.
“You—you don’t hate me?”
“I love you,” Wes corrected.
Sam looked at him hard. Wes let him.
“Jesus Christ,” he said, his face breaking from the vulnerable stiffness. He grinned and his whole face seemed to light up; his eyes were wide and his skin was glowing and he looked nearly ethereal in that moment, a man who was loved and in love. “Jesus Christ, how did I get so lucky?”
Wes surged forward again and kissed him. Because he could.
He was allowed.
“I love you, Wesley,” Sam said when Wes pulled back. He nearly passed out from the dizzying feeling that accompanied hearing those words. “I love you.”
Wes tightened his grip on Sam’s hands. “I—I kind of can’t believe this.”
Sam laughed. It sounded light. Wes swayed at the music of it. “Dibs on not telling your brother.”
Sam laughed even louder. “Somehow, I think Sara will beat us to it.”
Wes turned his head, raising an eyebrow. “She give you a love-themed pep talk, too?”
Sam’s lips twitched. “She’s a real matchmaker, you know.”
Wes shook his head. “How long do you think it would have taken us to get here if she hadn’t?”
Sam let out a breath, shaking his head. “Probably years. I’m dumb and you’re stubborn.”
Wes grinned. “True.”
“You’re sure you’re—you’re good? I don’t want you to feel like we glossed over things.”
Wes shrugged, still smiling. “I’m sure we’ll have things to talk about. But—can’t that wait? Because I love you and you love me and there’s always going to be stuff to work out. I think we spent enough time on focusing on that for the time being.”
Sam’s shoulders drooped, relaxing. “Yes. I agree.”
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Wes admitted. Sam squeezed his hand and Wes felt his chest constrict with something other than pain that it nearly tickled.
“Me, too,” Sam said. He looked for all the world like maybe he was feeling that same ticklish, happy feeling beneath his ribs.
There would be time later to discuss the things that were still between them. There was miscommunication and confusion and a year of silence that they needed to figure out. Wes didn’t think that a confession of love or feelings was enough to smooth everything out. But it was enough to make smoothing it out possible. It was enough that Wes, for the time being, didn’t care.
He had told Sam once that having a family was the most important thing to him. So what if his new, makeshift family took a lot of work?
If there was one thing that Wes had always known about Sam Carlisle, it was that he was worth it.
14
Wes
Technically, Wes and Sam’s first date could be considered the night they spent in Sam’s childhood backyard, looking at stars and talking about why it was important to come home. Wes had been kind of drunk and Sam had been kind of lost and they had kissed underneath stars that were older and brighter than either of them could ever dream of being.
But that ended with Sam leaving for the Navy and Wes spending months thinking that the man didn’t care about him and Sam thinking that he’d ruined everything. So the couple decided that, though technically it could’ve counted, they weren’t going to let that be their first date.
So instead, they made their first date two weeks after they confessed to being in love with each other because between their hesitancy to tell Tom about their relationship and the fact that Sam needed to go to some form of therapy every other day for those first few weeks out of the hospital, neither felt like the time was right at first.
But when the time did become right— well, Wes hadn’t expected to be quite so nervous to go out to dinner with a guy he’d known for a long time and already confessed his love to.
He straightened the tie he was wearing and smoothed down the dress shirt. It was a new suit that Sara had helped him pick out and he couldn’t help but be relieved. This was the first suit he’d ever bought that actually fit him. It hugged his body and looked pretty good— a far cry from the last date outfit he’d worn.
Oh, Nick. He had been such a nice guy—he’d never stood a chance.
Wes counted the awkward hey you’re awesome but I’m kind of back with my war torn ex phone call as the worst one he’d ever had. Nick took it well, if a little surprised, but Wes had burned red and winced the whole time.
The little prattle of four quick knocks on his door distracted Wes and he gulped in a huge breath of air, taking a deep breath.
Here goes nothing.
He opened the door.
Later, Wes would wonder if he was ever going to answer the goddamn door and not be fucking shell-shocked by how good Sam looked. He was getting a little sick of being struck speechless every time the man showed up.
But at the time, he didn’t think that. He didn’t think anything. He just gaped at Sam.
“Wes,” Sam said, grinning. His hair had grown out long during his captivity and though it was trimmed now, it was still much longer than Navy protocol. Wes felt his fingers itch with the desire to run his hands through the strands and pull, just to see what Sam did.
“Sam,” he said. His throat was dry and he cleared it twice before it felt close to normal again.
This man wrecked havoc on him, just by existing.
“You look…” Sam trailed off, shaking his head. He stepped forward. “Really fucking good.”
“Eloquent,” Wes breathed out. “You look—too. Really, really.”
“Eloquent,” Sam repeated jokingly. Wes swatted at him and pretended like it wasn’t just so he could skim his hands against Sam’s chest.
Goddamn that man was handsome.
Sam wore a dress shirt, blue and stark against his tanned skin. It made his eyes seem even bigger and bluer, which Wes had previously thought was impossible. He hadn’t really looked down but even from his peripheral, Wes could see that his pants were dark and tight and very, very good at their job.
Flashbacks of the other night soared through Wes’s head, fogging his thoughts. He stayed lost in the memory until Sam waved a hand in front of his face.
“Should we go?” Sam asked, cocking his head. He smirked widely and Wes pretended not to notice.
Disappointment flared in his stomach—not that he didn’t want to go out with Sam. It was just that staying in seemed like a really fucking good idea, too.
“Let’s get this date on the road!” Wes said and Sam laughed. His excitement for the date came back full force because, while staying in and making out for hours seemed like the perfect day, Wes would be lying if he said that doing anything with Sam didn’t seem like the perfect day.
Sam took a step back and gestured towards the doorway. “After you, Bright Eyes.”
“Thanks,” Wes said, heading out the door. He brushed past Sam and the two both shivered a little, bodies reacting to the tension they were both feeling at seeing each other.
Wes grinned. Sam scratched the back of his head, face heating.
“So, dinner,” Sam said.
Wes almost laughed. “Yes. We’re doing proper dating things.”
Sam did laugh. “Oh, how proud Tom and Sara would be.”
Wes couldn’t help but grin. “She demanded pictures.”
“From me, too,” Sam confirmed, rolling his eyes. “We’ll send her one at the restaurant.”
“We will?” Wes rose an eyebrow.
Sam turned his head, raising an eyebrow as well. “Yes?”
“We’re going to have to leave my hallway if you want to actually do that, though.”
Realization dawned on Sam’s face and he rolled his eyes. “After you,” he repeated, gesturing again.
He laughed and turned around, shutting and locking the door to his apartment before climbing down the stairs of his complex. He didn’t look back but could hear Sam following him.
It was a particularly nice feeling to know that the person you wanted with you was there, whether you could see them or not. Wes wasn’t sure if it was always like this or if it was just Sam, but suddenly, he wasn’t worried about Sam ever not being there.
They hadn’t even gone on their first date yet but Wes couldn’t shake the feeling of complete contentedness with their relationship, whatever it turned into. He knew so strongly right then that they would be fine no matter what was thrown at them.
They got to Sam’s car and he unlocked the door, looking like he was about to open it for him. Wes beat him to it and stuck his tongue out.
Sam laughed, crossing over to get into the driver’s side.
“So,” he said, once they were both buckled and the car was started. “You nervous?”
Wes looked at him and smiled. “Nope. You?”
Sam grinned back. “Nope.”
And Wes believed that really, neither of them were. When you loved someone, you didn’t need to be nervous.
The drive to the restaurant was only five minutes and they spent at least half of the time arguing about which radio station to listen to. Wes ended up winning and he got halfway through an old Rolling Stones song before Sam pulled into the parking lot.
It was the same Italian restaurant that Wes had gone to with Nick. It was the only nice place to eat in all of Poplar and Wes resigned himself to spending every major occasion there.
“They have pretty good pasta,” Sam said, scratching the back of his neck.
Wes smiled, trying not to let his face melt into a disgustingly gooey expression at how cute he found the other man. “I’ll keep that mind.”
Sam turned the key, shutting the car off and jumping out his door. He raced to the other door and swung it open as Wes was trying to open it himself.
“Pretending to be a gentleman?” Wes asked, raising an eyebrow.
Sam rolled his eyes but ducked his head to hide a growing, small smile. “I’m always a gentleman.”
“Don’t buy it,” Wes teased, tapping Sam on the chest twice before walking past him towards the door. He ignored the way his fingertips tingled from the contact and the awestruck expression on Sam’s face that he could see peripherally.
The hostess took Sam’s name to find their reservation and led them to a table in the back. There was a lit candle and no one else was around; Wes thought it already looked like the most romantic dinner of his life.
He settled into his chair and tried not to just openly stare at Sam as he settled into his. It proved pointless and unnecessary when Sam stared straight back.
The waiter came and gave them their menus, listing off the specials. They waited until he left to get their drinks before digging into the menu, looking at the various options. Sam listed off a couple that he remembered as being good and Wes suggested that they order separate things so that they could split them. Sam beamed at him and Wes wondered about how effortless it was to make the man smile like that.
The waiter came back and deposited the beers they had ordered. Wes took a pull of his and thought it might have been the best he’d ever had. Sam ordered for them and then took a drink of his own beer, offering Wes a little smile over the lip of his bottle.
“This is weird,” Wes blurted out. His face burned red with a blush as he scrambled to explain. “Like, it feels weird because it doesn’t. It should feel more weird, don’t you think?”
Things had been so hard between them for so long. To feel as if things were now as easy as breathing felt so nice and comfortable that it almost felt like a dream.
Sam’s smile grew, small dimples growing around the corners of his lips. “It’s a little weird,” he agreed.
Wes relaxed into the chair.
“I think that Sara about killed herself when Tom told her,” Sam said, taking another drink of his beer. Wes eyed the way his Adam’s apple bobbed, the pull of his throat and the sharpness of his jaw jutted out.
Sam shot him an amused look. Wes was pretty sure his eyes were glazed over.
“What?” he asked, shaking his head free from thoughts about the other night and his tongue on Sam’s pulse point and the sounds he’d made and— okay, settle down. Settle down. “What?”
“Our date,” Sam said through a lascivious grin. “Tom told Sara and she was—quite excited.”
Wes laughed. “Oh, sweet Sara. My fake girlfriend.”
“What?” Sam furrowed his eyebrows.
Wes waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. It was too good to be true.”
“You two are going to give Tom and I a run for our money, aren’t you?” Sam leaned forward, his elbows propped on the table. He looked up at Wes through his lashes, eyes dancing.
Wes’s mouth went completely dry. “No,” he said, though it sounded meek even to his own ears.
Sam’s lips twitched. “Alright.”
He kept leaning forward on the table, eyes sharp and watching as Wes struggled not to fidget under his scrutiny. Each time Wes gave in and shifted or darted his eyes down to Sam’s slightly parted lips, Sam’s smile would widen just a little bit.
It was a question of who would move first—would Sam move through the space and capture Wes’s lips or would Wes jump over the table and clutch Sam close to him?
Their game of chicken continued until the waiter came back, clearing his throat. He purposefully avoided looking either men in the eye and instead just sat their plates in front of them, asking if they needed anything else.
“Another beer, please,” Sam said, not taking his eyes off of Wes.
Wes’s blood was surging inside his body.
He was going to beat Sam up if he didn’t stop looking at him that way. Or do something equally inappropriate and physical in the restaurant.
With his food in front of him, Wes took a drink of his beer to quench the dryness in his throat before turning his attention to the plate of pasta in front of him.
“I think you were probably right,” Wes said, twirling some of the food on his fork. “This looks so good.”
Sam glanced down at Wes’s food and then his. “I guess we’ll find out.”
He watched while Wes took his first bite, eyes widening a bit when Wes couldn’t help but groan a little around the fork. “God damn,” he said, “this is so good.”
Sam cleared his throat, leaning back in his seat. “Good,” he said.
Wes dug into his plate, occasionally sneaking his fork over into Sam’s Fettuccini Alfredo. Sam jokingly swatted his fork away and glared at him, but pushed the bowl closer to Wes’s side of the table as soon as he’d stopped laughing.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” Sam said.
Wes’s gaze snapped to Sam’s, surprised. “Oh. Um.”
At his hesitance, Sam’s eyes widened and he pursed his lips for a moment.
“Anything,” Sam elaborated. “Doesn’t have to be anything special. Just—what’s your favorite drink?”
Wes tilted his head. “Coffee, probably. I’m also into whiskey.”
Sam’s face brightened as if Wes had told him something important or life altering.
“Coffee,” Sam repeated, as if memorizing it. “Any specific way?”
Wes shrugged. “Hot. But doesn’t have to be, I guess.”
Sam nodded seriously. “I like coffee, too.”
Wes bit his bottom lip to hold the smile in. “Anything else you like?”
Sam put one elbow on the table, leaning his chin on his open hand. He drummed his fingers against his cheek for a moment, thinking.
Wes felt a little like he was going to explode.
There was a little line between Sam’s eyebrows, wrinkles indicating how seriously he was taking this dumb question. He looked incredible in his suit and there was just a little bit of stubble on his face that Wes was absolutely floored by.
He looked—
Cute.
Wes nearly groaned at himself. Of course he was sitting around thinking about how cute Sam Carlisle was. He was so in love with this man.
A little thrill ran through his body when instead of the grief and guilt that he normally associated with being in love with Sam, he was rewarded with nothing but contentment and assurance.
“I like being here,” Sam admitted. His cheeks were tinged a little red and Wes realized with a start that was because he was blushing.
The great Sam Carlisle was blushing.
Holy shit.
“I like you being here,” Sam continued. He sat up, dropping his hands to his lap. “I—when I was gone, I used to write letters to you.”
Wes blinked, waiting for the words to click in his head with meaning.
He blinked again when he still didn’t understand. “What?”
“I didn’t send them,” Sam explained. “I wrote them to you—so many of them. Dozens, who even knows how many. Sometimes I’d write them on paper and even just seeing your name, it—it was—”
Somehow, Wes knew. It was enough.
It was too much.
He felt the same way every time he had thought Sam’s name.
“I would tell you about my day or the mission. I’d talk to you about that night we had together and how badly I wanted to come home and—I mean, I was never as specific as this, but I would talk about this. About us being here, just us, no mission or duty or responsibility to anything except this thing between us.”
Wes could feel that thing between them, their potential and their love all woven together as one giant, unmissable thing. He saw it as a gossamer sheet and when he spoke, he did it in a whisper so it wouldn’t disturb the threadlike fragility between them. “Why didn’t you send them?”
Sam picked up his beer but didn’t drink it. He tugged at the corner of the label, his jerking and the sweat dripping down the bottle making the paper give way easily.
