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)
Oh and because I know you’ll be curious even if you don’t wanna admit it—my ankle is fine and finger is doing lots better. Told you it was just tweaks. Take care of yourself and maybe write me back if you get a chance.
Bacon (or Del, if you’re wanting something to moan later ;) )
A splash yanked Spencer back to the present.
“You’re grinning,” his father said as he hefted himself from the pool. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile that wide.”
“Me? Really?” Spencer didn’t blush. He was forty-three years old. He had no reason for his cheeks to heat and yet they totally did. “Just an email from a friend. Nothing special,” he lied, even though he knew he’d read the email a dozen more times that day.
“You know, sometimes I miss that ex-husband of yours. All work-work-work doesn’t suit you, Spencer.” His father toweled off next to him.
“Ha. Says the workaholic who raised me.” Spencer had long ago made his peace with his father’s busy schedule and distant affections, but it was almost funny now, listening to him be the one to lecture about slowing down, visiting more often, bringing a friend or partner around. “I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I don’t think I’m cut out for them, honestly.”
His father sighed, eyes going heavy and sad. “I hope you don’t regret that later.”
“I won’t,” Spencer assured him, but inside, he couldn’t help but wonder. Was he lonely? Was that why he’d been so drawn to Bacon? He absolutely could not go craving a future with the man. In fact, he should probably do the kind thing and not reply to the email, let this...whatever it was fizzle out. Screw his father’s advice—getting involved with Bacon was only going to cause them both heartache.
“I’ll leave you to the writing while I go change for breakfast.” His father’s tone was resigned, but Spencer knew him well enough to say that the matter was dropped. Whatever brief happiness his father had had for him would be forgotten. And why that made Spencer suddenly unspeakably sad, he couldn’t say.
All he knew was that moments after his father left, he was typing out a response he probably shouldn’t send.
Good to hear from you. You’re right that I do have a certain amount of regrets, but I can’t deny that I was happy to hear from you and relieved to know that you’re safe for now. That’s excellent news about your friends. I know you can’t tell me much, but I’m wishing them both fast healing. I’d tell you to stay safe when you go back out there, but I know that’s neither realistic nor helpful. Is it weird to say I hope you’re successful? I know I’m not embedded anymore and I probably won’t get to use many details, but I really hope you guys complete your mission.
I hear you on the quiet, but I’ve got both my parents peppering me with questions. Does your mother do that? It’s like the older they get, the more hovering they do, almost like they’re trying to make up for what they didn’t do earlier. I’m looking forward to being back in my condo by myself and decompressing a bit. I guess that’s a way we’re different—I enjoy being social a lot, but I do like having my quiet and alone time to recover afterward.
And as a guy, not a reporter, I enjoyed your email. Drop me another when your schedule allows.
Spencer
P.S. Yes, it’s fine to admit the jerking off part. I like knowing that, far more than I should.
Spencer knew he shouldn’t click Send, shouldn’t allow this friendship to develop, and yet he was already anticipating the response before he even hit the button. He was so very, very screwed, and yet he found himself grinning on his way into breakfast, steps far lighter than they’d been earlier.
* * *
Spencer resisted the urge to fan himself in the stuffy conference room on base in Coronado. He already knew what was coming, so he worked to keep his face neutral.
“I’m sure you understand why we can no longer sanction the article you had planned,” said Lieutenant Mears, she of the highly competent attitude who had delivered him to Bacon’s SEAL team what felt like a hundred years ago. “Rear Admiral Loveless is adamant about that. This is an ongoing mission situation now, and you reporting on it could compromise mission integrity, put the personnel at risk.”
“Maybe embedding with a different team—”
The lieutenant sighed. “That was suggested. But Naval PR has thought about the matter and has decided that further access is no longer in the navy’s best interest—and that the risks to you and the spec ops community are both simply too great. We can’t put you at risk again. You’re lucky to have survived that mission as it is.”