Sergeant Dylan came to a stop within arm’s reach and tucked his thumbs into his belt loops. “What’s on your mind?”
Dylan didn’t send angry signals. In fact, he radiated only mild, respectful curiosity. Still… Liam untangled his tongue and went for it.
“About last night.” Ah, hell, how many crappy discussions had started out with those exact words? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
Well, yeah, he had refused the sergeant’s offer in lieu of Mike’s.
“I-I-I, uh, I don’t know what to say. But I feel I should apologize.”
A myriad of emotions flickered across Liam’s skin like a sharp wind. Shock, confusion, puzzlement. Before he could think about the confusion, his sergeant clapped one of Liam’s shoulders with a power that rocked him on his feet.
He staggered, and it was only Dylan’s gentled grip that saved him from falling onto his ass. Dylan’s next words, however, were on the original subject.
“Liam,” he said, “like I told you last night, there’s no shame in any step of the learning process. You chose Mike, and judging by the blinding colors you two generated, you made the right choice.”
Colors? The colors said something about the binding?
He had other things to talk about.
“You looked pissed last night.” When one of Dylan’s eyebrows lifted across his forehead, Liam rushed a rueful, “Just saying.”
Indignation filled the energy between them. “That’s because he tossed me. Sure, I wasn’t at risk of taking any damage, but that’s not the point. The fucker tossed me.”
“Well, I’m told he is a competitive ass clown.” Oh, shit! Maybe he shouldn’t have said that while on duty.
Dylan’s hand moved from his shoulder to cup the back of his neck. With a gentle squeeze, the sergeant leaned close.
“The truth is,” Dylan murmured, “you’re an amazing addition to the cabal. We are lucky to have you. But most of all”—he paused, as if to make sure Liam was paying attention— “you gave us back something equally precious. You gave us back our Mike.”
Humbled by the sincerity and the statement, Liam blinked against threatening tears. Christ! Man up, for fuck’s sake.
Dylan stepped back, dropping his hand as he did so.
“Dismissed, Mr. Sinclair.” The blade’s edge of command had returned to his voice. “Your team’s waiting at the Abrams.”
Liam looked and, yep, his team relaxed on the turret bucket, watching his private conversation without the slightest hint of embarrassment. In fact, his gunner offered a shit-kicking grin.
Of course they would be waiting, he reminded himself. He was the damned tank commander after all. Yet here he was, standing around like a punk and trying not to cry. Damn it!
He tossed a fast, “Yes, Sergeant. Thank you, Sergeant,” over his shoulder as he bolted across the cement floor. He arrived at his tank and hauled himself onto the earth-colored, seventy-tons of death amid a chorus of dick-centric humor. Fuckers.
“Get your asses inside,” he ordered on a grumble.
Then he followed them through the loading portal and into the belly of the beast.
* * *
That evening, an informal and festive get-together happened at the reception hall. Liam had spent the day focused on the job at hand, ensuring the health and welfare of his tank team with the skills of a man at home on and in his planet. Back on base, however, the pinch of Mike’s absence became noticeable.
After dinner was over, everyone clustered around bars of munchies and drinks. They hung out around game tables and relaxed on furniture sectionals in front of entertainment units.
The newly-bonded Urilqii were determined to display the fresh tattoos of dark lettering on their left forearms, markings that displayed names of their human adnama and yesterday’s date.
Laughter and cheers erupted with each presentation of the lettering to any new observer. Their human partners smiled with each congratulations and promised they’d “soon” be wearing ink to celebrate their bonding.
Left forearm. Hmm…
Mike had reacted to his touch in that area like he’d burned it.
But that had been before they’d bonded. If that was the place where adnama names and dates were memorialized, then that would have a constant reminder of Mike’s loss.
No wonder the guy had flinched.
Liam recognized he was one of the few who didn’t have an affectionate partner at his side, but didn’t let it bother him. That, however, changed the moment command staff arrived.
Wherever they had been, everyone was back on base now.
They connected with their partners, those that’d been separated by the day’s activities, and parked themselves alongside the rest of the cabal.
Liam waited and kept an eye out for Mike…and waited…and waited. Gradually, an unavoidable reality covered him like a dark fog. Mike was on base. Command staff had returned so, of course, Mike had, which meant he’d opted out of the party.
Mike’s absence was noted, as was Liam’s solitude. Shame slid across him like a landslide. He closed off. In the space of twenty-four hours, he’d transformed from desired and fought over, well-fucked and happy as shit, a valuable inclusion to the family, into “That Guy” again.
That Guy who was stood up at the party or dined alone.
That Guy whose bonded partner ditched him.
Liam’s stomach clenched. Ditched. Blown off. Pissed away.
A migraine threatened his temples. His heart died a little with every beat. Hell, even the command personnel were glancing his way now. Curiosity…concern…shit, he wasn’t going to be the resident sideshow freak.
Fuck them and fuck Mike.
He stood and made his goodbyes. The polite smile he’d pasted onto his face felt like a full-face rubber mask by the time he made his exit.
The trip to his barracks was uneventful, made even easier by a ride he hitched from some troopers on their way to the gun range for an evening drill. Enduring the celebratory greetings and thumps on his shoulders and back was helluva of a downer, though.
He managed to fool everyone and bailed out of the wheeled troop carrier when it came abreast of his building. He made it inside
