Afraid to Fly (Anchor Point #2)(4)

He got up, wobbled hard enough he had to grab my shoulder for balance, and clumsily made his way toward the buffet. I watched him go, feeling like the world's biggest asshole because I was already rehearsing how I was going to cut him loose at the end of the night.

Yes. Tonight. I didn't need this anymore. Especially if I was going to stick to that promise I'd made to my ex-wife, our attorneys, the judge, and the fucking Navy to stay out of the bottle.

Do you want this guy, or do you want your kids back? 

My throat tightened.

Yeah. Tonight-done.

Then I realized that, while the ballroom was still noisy with dozens of conversations, my table had fallen silent. When I turned, I realized everyone was watching Logan or me. The last few heads turned, and they were all looking at me.

Heat rushed into my face. I cleared my throat as I reached for my glass.

Oh God. Say something. Say something!

Bailey snickered, tilting his glass toward Logan. "Boy can really hold his liquor, can't he?"

I pleaded with the ground to open up and swallow me right then and there, but managed a quiet chuckle. "Ex-Marine. What can I say?"

To my great relief, everyone at the table laughed.

"That explains it," Stevenson said. "The Marines can hold plenty of liquor. Problem is they don't know what to do with it."

"Not like Sailors," Bailey said proudly.

Everyone laughed again and raised their glasses. I was still mortified, but joined in. At least they were all taking him in stride.

"You have my sympathy." Travis absently ran his finger around the rim of his drink. "I took a guy like that to a buddy's wedding once."

I blinked. "You . . ."

"Yeah." Travis chuckled, gaze fixed on Logan. "Ex-Marine too, if I remember right. Anyway, he drank like a fish, and it was a fucking disaster."

Kimber groaned. "Oh my God. You're talking about Nate Grayson, aren't you?"

Travis nodded.

Bailey smirked. "Wasn't that the guy who hooked up with the bride's dad?"

"Yep." Travis grimaced. "I'm surprised my friend still spoke to me after that."

The table again erupted in laughter, and suddenly everyone was coming out with disastrous wedding stories. I couldn't have been more relieved, especially as Logan returned to his seat.

But at the same time, my stomach was wound up in a whole new set of knots.

So Travis . . .

Took a guy to a wedding?

He's . . .

No way.

So now I felt like an epic idiot for being nervous about coming out to this crowd. They obviously all either knew Travis was gay, or didn't care. Shit. I really should've just mentioned in passing that I was dating a guy, and that would've been the end of it. Especially since tonight would also be the end of me dating his ass. Pity I hadn't gotten my head together before I'd made myself look like a tool in front of the man I'd been lusting after. The man who, it turned out, was not-straight enough that he openly and casually talked about taking a man as his date to a wedding.

Yep, this night was one for the history books. Best night of my life, or some bullshit like that.

Movement at the other side of the room caught my eye, and when I turned my head, that knot in my stomach turned to pure horror. The deejay and his assistant were settling in behind the booth, probably getting ready to fire up the music.

Which meant dancing.

I slowly turned toward Logan. He was in the middle of animatedly telling some story to Wolcott's wife, unloading half his drink on himself, which he so far hadn't noticed. But he would. Once that music started, he'd be on his feet, tugging me toward the floor, and I would have to fake my own death or go into witness protection rather than risk crossing paths with any of these people ever again.

I touched his shoulder. "Hey."

He faced me. "Hmm?"

"Listen, um . . ." I hesitated. "Maybe we should get going."

Logan's glazed eyes lit up, and he grinned as he slid a hand over my thigh. "Yeah, we should."

I fought the urge to squirm out from under his touch. He was in for a surprise when we got to his place, but if the prospect of going home and getting laid-even after we'd just eaten-was enough to get him out of here so I could break this off? Fine. Leading him on for an hour if only to get us away from my coworkers before I dropped the hammer . . .



       
         
       
        

Well, I'd find a way to sleep at night.



As I pulled into the parking lot below Logan's apartment complex, my stomach lurched. Regardless of how much I hated confrontation and awkward conversations, this one needed to happen.

Being around him when he drank was dangerous, I reminded myself. Unless I wanted my life to fall apart again, I had to stay sober, and that wasn't easy when I was around someone who wasn't, no matter how much I liked the guy. Or the sober version of him, anyway. It hurt, and it would for a while, but I . . . I just couldn't anymore.

So he had to go.

And now that we were here, it was showtime.

I shut off the engine, and Logan stumbled on his way out of the car. Fortunately, it was dark and he was distracted, so he didn't see me rolling my eyes before I came around to help him.

He steadied himself on the door. "Man. I am . . ."

Drunk? You don't say.

I held out my hand. "Keys?"

He fumbled in his pockets before he finally found them, and dropped them into my hand.

Thank God he lived on the first floor. I was not in the mood to help him navigate stairs-the walk up to his door was challenging enough.

"Watch that step," I said, as if he'd never approached his own apartment before.

He looked down, and as hard as he concentrated on taking that step, I wondered if he would've face-planted if I hadn't said something. Jesus.

I unlocked the door, toed it open, and handed back his keys.

Grinning, he tugged at my jacket. "Come on in. Let's tear up your uniform."

I pried his fingers off my clothes. "How about no."

"Huh?" Logan stiffened, and he might've even sobered up some. "What the fuck?"

"I'm gonna go." I straightened my jacket. "And listen, you're a great guy and all, but I think it's time to-"

"Seriously? I went to that boring bullshit and hung out with you and your coworkers, and we're not even going to fuck?"

I folded my arms across my chest, probably making a mess of my medals in the process. "Looks to me like you're too drunk to fuck."

He laughed. "Oh come on. We've fucked when I've been drunker than this." Logan reached for my waist, and I sidestepped the advance.

"Yeah, I know we have." Why didn't I do this sooner? "And we're not going to anymore."

"Why the fuck not? You weren't complaining last time-"

"You wouldn't have noticed if I had been," I snapped.

He blinked. Then his eyes narrowed and he stabbed a finger at me. "This is bullshit, Clint. I didn't go sit through all that Navy shit just so we could-" 

"You know what?" I put up my hands and took a step back. "We can talk about this again when you're sober, but I'm done. I'm out." I started to leave, but he grabbed my elbow.

Any other time, he might've been able to pull me back toward him. Tonight, though, lunging at me like that was enough to throw him off-balance, and he used my arm for support more than to actually stop me.

I casually pulled away from his grasp, leaving him to slump against the wall. "We'll talk later. But I'm done with this shit."

This time, when I turned to go, he wasn't quick enough to catch up with me. He shouted after me, though-screaming slurred obscenities and suggesting I go fuck myself if I wasn't going to fuck him.

"Thanks for making my decision that much easier," I muttered as I got into my car. The slamming door cut off most of his shouts. The engine coming to life muffled the rest. Without so much as a backwards glance, I pulled out of the parking space and left his apartment complex. Whatever he was shouting at me I couldn't hear, but his neighbors undoubtedly did. Fine. Let them call the cops or the landlord or whatever. I was over it and I was out of here.

Tomorrow, when he was sober, we could hash this out properly. There'd be more shouting and swearing, no doubt, and the finality would hurt, but I was one hundred percent done now. And feeling like an idiot for holding out until tonight just so I could bring a date to the Navy Ball.

A few blocks away from Logan's apartment, I stopped at an intersection. Left would take me to my place. Right would lead back to the hotel.

Tapping my thumbs on the wheel, I looked at the clock on the dash. It was only ten. The ball usually went until one or two at least.

Which meant there was time. I could go back. See if Travis was still there.

And what if he is, Clint? Then what?

My heart sped up and my stomach fluttered.

Yeah. Then what?

Only one way to find out.

So I turned right and floored it.





"How are you holding up?" Kimber leaned over the back of her chair. "You look like you're in pain."

I'm always in pain, sweetheart. I smiled. "I'll be fine."

"You sure? We can go if-"

"I'm fine. Promise."

Her eyebrow arched. "Dad, you're sweating."

I dabbed at my forehead, and sure enough, my fingers came back slick. As I wiped them on my napkin, I forced another smile. "Listen, it's not going to be any better or worse at home. And these chairs are surprisingly comfortable, so I don't mind staying a while longer."