What the Heart Wants Page 9

  They dropped hands as soon as they reached the station, and Brent dug in his pocket for his pass. Juliette immediately tried to rush off up the stairs, used to this trip, but before Brent could pull her back, Stanley started sniffing around her, causing her to sniff back.

  “You know,” Brent started, grinning at Marc. “I’m gonna have to keep you around all the time. Juliette behaves so much better around Stanley.”

  Marc’s lips quirked up and he snorted. “Is that the only reason?”

  Brent shrugged, tongue in cheek, and started up the stairs, Juliette pausing long enough to make sure Stanley was following and then bounded up after Brent. “There are other advantages, I guess.”

  “Oh, you guess,” Marc said, amused but with a mock expression of irritation. “As long as you guess our relationship has benefits.”

  Relationship made something tingle up Brent’s spine, and he couldn’t help the goofy smile that crossed his face. He leaned in close to Marc, not close enough to drape himself over Marc’s body, but close enough Marc could throw an arm over his shoulders if he wanted to. He didn’t, but from the way Marc’s eyes darted down his body, and then around him to the people on the platform, he wanted to.

  “If we were alone,” Marc whispered in Brent’s ear.

  Brent grinned. “Yeah. I’m just proud of you for being here.”

  “I’ve caught the L before, Brent,” Marc said dryly, though Brent wasn’t fooled for a second. There was still a tenseness to Marc that hadn’t been there before they’d arrived at the station, and his eyes were traveling up and down the platform. Hyperaware of everything around them, Brent thought, and was doing his best to distract Marc.

  “So, when we get to the center,” Brent said, nudging Marc with his elbow. “Are we meeting your friends?”

  Marc rolled his eyes, but his expression cleared into something more nervous, an edge to his tone Brent couldn’t place. Was it hopeful? “I told you, I don’t have friends.”

  “And I don’t believe you,” Brent said abruptly. “There must be some people at the center, some old buddies or something, who still keep in contact with you.”

  Marc’s brow furrowed, and Brent wished he could take the words back. Thankfully, Marc didn’t seem to be angry at him for his choice of phrase. “Not at the center,” he said eventually. “I have some back home, but I haven’t spoken to them in years. As for ‘buddies’,” he continued, and Brent could hear the air quotes, “Most of them are still deployed or invalided out like me. We don’t talk.”

  Brent winced. He couldn’t understand what it was like, but he could empathize with the mentality of not wanting to keep connections to that life. He wondered if Marc was recognizing his loneliness more now. “Do you—you could always come out with me and Brandon. If you wanted to.”

  There was a hesitation before Marc spoke, a train coming into the station, and Brent stayed close to Marc as they and their dogs hopped onto the train, thankfully finding seats. Juliette and Stanley both obediently sat at their feet, tucked between their legs, and Brent kept his hand on Juliette’s head, scratching behind her ears. He dropped his free hand to Marc’s legs, squeezing gently, and leaving it there. Marc’s lips were curved into a small smile, and Brent leaned into him.

  “You don’t have to. I don’t want to push you into—”

  “I can’t promise I’ll be much fun,” Marc said eventually. He was looking out of the window at the city rushing by, but Brent could see the expressions warring on his face, torn between apprehension and enthusiasm.

  “You’re always fun,” Brent assured him, squeezing his thigh. “There’s nothing to say you have to,” he continued, wanting Marc to know there was no expectation. “If you decide you wanna go and then don’t, it’s no big deal. Brandon won’t mind, and you know I don’t.”

  Marc stared at him, speechless, his fingers tangling with Brent’s on his thigh. He swallowed. “You’re too good to me, Brent.”

  “No such thing,” Brent said, waving him off, feeling the embarrassment settling in his stomach. He wasn’t that good, not as much as Marc kept claiming. He just wanted to find everyone who had ever hurt Marc or made him think he was somehow weird or less of a person for dealing with his PTSD the way he was and punch them all in the face. “I just lo—care about you.”

  If Marc noticed his slip, he didn’t say anything about it. Brent’s heart was in his mouth, waiting for Marc’s hand to slip out of his, or for Marc to snort and turn away. Instead, Marc was looking at his face, thoughtful, but didn’t say anything.

  Brent didn’t know if he was grateful for the ignorance, or sad that Marc wasn’t asking him to elaborate.

  “Come on,” Marc said eventually, when they reached a station. Brent had no idea where they were going, but climbed out of the seat, Juliette slipping through his legs to lead the way. Brent rolled his eyes, aware they had never departed the station before. Marc took his hand as soon as they were back out onto the street, their dogs jogging ahead, and Brent snorted at the picture they made. Juliette was considerably larger than Stanley, but Stanley seemed to be the one in charge, whining and sniffing around Juliette.

  “They definitely have to stay together,” Marc said, amused. “Stanley would miss having someone to boss around.”

  Brent couldn’t describe the feeling currently crushing his chest, but he had a feeling it had a lot to do with the L word he couldn’t say on the train. Fuck, but he was clearly not down for listening to anything he had been told about falling too fast. Marc was the first person he didn’t want to bang and then abandon. Marc was around for the long haul—at least in Brent’s opinion—and he would like not to screw this up. If that meant keeping his mouth shut on the L word until Marc was ready to reciprocate, he could do that.

  The VA center itself was a nondescript building with the customary sign outside. Marc led the way, and Brent kept a few steps behind him the entire time they were in the building. He was afraid for a moment Juliette wouldn’t be allowed inside, but the woman behind the front desk gave Juliette the once over and asked if Brent would mind some of the military personnel being introduced to her.

  Brent was only too happy to comply, especially when it gave Marc’s expression that added shift of hope and appreciation. Brent’s heart ached as they walked through the center, and though it wasn’t packed with people, there were enough people going through physio, mental health help, and recovery, that Juliette was given so many hugs and scratches she would be insufferable for days.

  Marc’s demeanor changed a few times, depending upon which room they were in, and Brent didn’t watch him too closely, didn’t want to be the kind of boyfriend that analyzed everything. That didn’t stop Marc from catching his elbow, from taking a break after an hour or two.

  “All right?” Brent asked, keeping his voice low.

  Marc nodded, meeting Brent’s eyes slowly. “I’m—I’m not used to someone I know seeing me here, and I don’t know what I’m—”

  “I don’t think anything,” Brent told him. “Obviously, seeing everyone here is devastating, but I understand they helped you and that you—that these people have been through what you have. I just want to make their lives better, even if it’s only for a minute.”

  Dropping his head forward, pressing their foreheads together, Marc curled his hand around Brent’s hip. “Thank you.”

  “You don’t have to thank me for being decent,” Brent said immediately. He might not have seen his mother in a while, but she had ingrained into him the need to be a good person, even if you couldn’t change anything. “These people did things that I don’t even – you did things I can’t imagine, but you deserve people to know.”

  There was an idea building in the back of Brent’s head, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he’d work it out when they weren’t preoccupied.

  “I want to show you something,” Marc said, as they were doing their last round of the center.

  “Oh?” Brent asked, attaching Juliette�
��s leash to her harness before they reached the foyer. Stanley was still leashed up, walking obediently next to Marc as they bundled up into their coats. Brent grinned as Marc took his hand before they’d even left the building. “Something interesting?”

  Marc hesitated, trepidation about what he had to show Brent, and Brent squeezed in his hand in a show of support. Whatever it was, Brent wasn’t going to rush him into it. “Yeah. It’s—it’s one of the things I like to do in my spare time.” He met Brent’s eyes unabashedly. “You came here with me today and you keep—you keep wanting me to be happy and safe, and I figure it couldn’t hurt to show you, right?”

  “No,” Brent agreed. “But if it gets weird, you don’t have to.”

  Grip tightening on Brent’s hand, Marc rolled his eyes. “Yeah, weird.”

  “You know what I mean. Not weird. But if it’s gonna make you uncomfortable,” Brent explained.

  “I knew what you meant,” Marc said gently. Brent could see the pink tinge to his cheeks and figured Marc was just embarrassed about what he was going to do.

  Leaning against him as they walked back to the station, Brent couldn’t keep the soft smile from his face. “You don’t have to worry. Whatever you do, even if I don’t get it, will be awesome.”

  Marc snorted, looking amused this time. “Some of the things you do definitely aren’t awesome.”

  Brent sniffed, affecting a look of mock hurt. “That’s just mean, Marc. Here I am, trying to be a caring and understanding boyfriend, and you just point out my flaws.”

  “Uh-huh,” Marc said, shaking his head, but lips still curved in amusement. “However, will I make it up to you?”

  Pretending to think about it, Brent bit at his bottom lip, looking off into the distance. “I suppose there are some things that could be done.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Brent wasn’t interested in doing anything remotely sexy by the time they arrived back at the apartment. Marc had been mostly silent on the journey back, mostly lost in thought, but also darting looks at Brent occasionally. It left Brent with a sense of anticipation about what it was Marc wanted to share. It could have been something as innocuous as knitting for all Brent knew, but the fact Marc wanted to be open with him and share something was a big enough occurrence that Brent didn’t want to wait.

  The heavens opened just as they got off the train—one day Brent’s luck would hold on the journey from station to apartment building—and the two of them jogged the rest of the way home, Marc pausing in the hallway outside of their respective doors.

  “Just like when I worked up the balls to talk to you,” Marc said, with a lop-sided smile.

  Brent grinned in, shoving up onto his toes to kiss Marc. “I’m gonna change.”

  “Then come over,” Marc said, eyebrows raised like it was a question, but the phrase was more statement.

  “Yeah,” Brent said, unable to refuse. “Maybe we could order in.”

  Marc nodded, and though they would effectively be spending the whole day together, Brent didn’t care. He half-expected to be bored, but there was still so much he wanted to know about Marc, and he would learn at least something new.

  Darting into his apartment, keeping a tight hold of Juliette while he wiped off her feet, waiting for her to shake rain water all over the carpet. Thankfully, she immediately went into the kitchen, and he could hear the inevitable shake. Hopefully he didn’t have anything out on the counters, and at least it would be easier to dry in the kitchen.

  Brent changed quickly, tugging on a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt he knew Marc was particularly fond of. How weird was it they already had favorite articles of clothing? Brent’s heart thumped painfully in his chest. Wiping down the kitchen took longer than he would have liked, even though they hadn’t been that wet, and he sighed, not bothering to yell at Juliette. It was better than having it all over the carpets, and it wasn’t as if she had control over the weather.

  Grabbing his keys and whistling for Juliette to follow, he shut and locked the apartment behind him, double-checking to make sure he had his phone only after he’d locked the door.

  “One day,” he muttered to himself, “you’ll figure that out before you lock the door.”

  Giving Marc’s door a quick knock, Brent waited for the answering yell, and opened the door. It was barely open enough for Juliette to squeeze through before she darted inside, and Brent rolled his eyes.

  “I think Juliette likes you more than me,” Brent commented, dropping his keys onto the counter in Marc’s kitchen. Marc was in the living room, bending over the couch and looking for something, Brent assumed, but he took his time giving Marc the once over. Like Brent, Marc was in sweatpants, but he’d gone for a sweater rather than a t-shirt. He looked good, his ass prominent even with the baggy clothing.

  “I can feel you staring,” Marc said eventually, looking back over his shoulder. For all that he was trying to give Brent an unimpressed look, Brent could see the outline of his dick in his pants. Marc was fooling nobody.

  “Good,” Brent said, unashamed, and relished the blush but fond grin that Marc returned. “What do you fancy for dinner?”

  Marc shrugged, nodding his head to the drawer behind Brent. “There’s some takeout pamphlets in there. Take a look.”

  Brent fumbled for them, shutting the drawer with his hip, and taking them through to the living room. Asking Brent to make a choice was the worst thing Marc could have done; they’d be figuring out their dinner for hours. “Let’s narrow it down. Anything you don’t want?”

  “Not really,” Marc said, then laughed. “I vote we just close our eyes and pick one. I doubt either of us will make a decision.”

  Even with that philosophy, it took about fifteen minutes to decide on Thai, and Marc called it in while he waved Brent into the kitchen to give the dogs something to eat. Both Juliette and Stanley skidded after him, claws audible on the kitchen floor, and Brent stared them both into submission before filling their bowls. They waited until he told them they could eat, and then both were on their food like it was still alive and needed chasing.

  “Yeah, I don’t think they’ll ever be clean eaters,” Brent said, leaning against the kitchen door.

  Marc snorted, rooting around in the cupboard next to the couch. Brent would ask him what he was looking for, but he had a feeling it had something to do with whatever Marc wanted to show him. “If you had a cat, it would be just as messy.”

  Brent sighed. “My sister has a cat. Very judgmental. But cute.”

  Smirking, Marc placed a cardboard box on the coffee table, raising his eyebrows at Brent’s interested look. He pushed it off to the side and then sat back, stretching an arm over the back of the couch. “You coming?”

  Brent snorted and pushed himself off the door, staring back into the kitchen. Both dogs had finished eating and were now sniffing around each other’s bowls. As if either of them would leave anything behind. Abandoning them—and glad they were both doing the floor cleaning for him—he went to join Marc on the couch. “How long until the food gets here?”

  “Long enough,” Marc said cryptically. His hand dropped to Brent’s shoulder, playing with the hairs at the nape of Brent’s neck. It was his favorite thing to do, Brent realized, and leaned into it. Marc looked as if he was going to say something else, and then reached for the box on the table, pulling away from Brent completely. Brent tried not to feel the absence of his arm too keenly.

  Brent watched Marc carefully, as he took the lid off the box. Brent wanted to lean forward, to see what was in the box, but he held still, waiting for Marc to reveal it on his own.

  “While I was deployed,” Marc started, playing with the edge of the box, digging his finger into the cardboard. Brent could see the indentions left in his wake and rested a hand on Marc’s back, rubbing back and forth with as much comfort as he could. Marc took a breath and then looked over his shoulder, a sad smile on his face. “It was terrible, but beautiful at the same time. The landscape and some of
the things I saw out there—they weren’t all bad, but I wished I could have brought them home with me.”

  Brent frowned. “In what way?”

  “They had cameras,” Marc said, looking off into the distance. “There were pictures taken, for official purposes, but I found myself wanting to take some for myself.”

  With a better idea of what was going to be in the box, Brent added a little pressure to his hand, watching the way Marc’s eyes focused back on the apartment.

  “So, I bought a camera as soon as I got home.” Marc reached into the box, cradling a DSLR camera in his hands and turning back to Brent. “It’s expensive, but worth every cent.”

  Brent hesitated before taking it from Marc. He had never owned a camera. He had a smartphone, and often used the camera on there, but while at college, he’d had cause to use a DSLR camera or two. It was a good model, and Brent met Marc’s eyes carefully. “What kinds of pictures do you take?”

  Some of the tension dropped from Marc’s shoulders. He wasn’t smiling, not yet, but with a little time and hope, Brent was sure he would be. Photography wasn’t anything to be embarrassed about it. No hobby was, in Brent’s estimation, but he could understand why Marc would be nervous about it.

  As long as it made him happy.

  Marc held out a folder he’d taken from the box, and Brent placed the camera carefully on the table. He didn’t want to drop it, and knowing his own propensity of being a klutz, that would no doubt happen. Flipping open the folder, Brent’s eyes widened.

  “Marc, these are amazing.”

  A lot of the photographs were of Chicago; parks, buildings, even random streets. Brent didn’t know an awful lot about photography, only enough to be able to tell a good photo from a bad photo, but he could tell these were great.