“You want what Curly has?” Mark was surprised—he’d never really thought of Bacon as anything other than happily unattached, enjoying the single life.
“Him. Horvat and Tovey. Did you see how they looked at each other all night? Save me from the eye fucking. And now they’ve got two dogs. Could they get any more perfect?”
“Nope. But I never thought of you as the relationship type,” Mark admitted.
“Gaaaa,” Bacon groaned. “You and every friend-with-benefits I’ve had the last few years. Few people are willing to put up with our schedule and risk long-term. And honestly, I think the sniper thing puts people off too.”
“Maybe you’re looking in the wrong places.” Mark shrugged, unable to believe he was handing out dating advice.
“Maybe.”
“But you want that?” Mark pressed. “Even if it meant coming out to your team? I mean if your person wasn’t—”
Bacon interrupted him with another frustrated groan. “My team...it’s complicated. Strange politics lately. But I find the person who’s the one? Who will put up with my shit? I don’t think I’m going to keep them a secret forever. That wouldn’t be fair to them. And I’m not going to lose my shot just because I don’t want people knowing I’m pan.”
Lose my shot. Is that what Mark had done? Lost his shot? Maybe the only one he was going to get. And Bacon was a sniper. He knew that sometimes you only got a single chance. He got that. What if Mark was letting his shot slip away because he was too damn cowardly to pull the trigger?
“What if it was a guy,” he whispered. “Your person. People would read you as gay, not pan—”
“And I give a fuck why?” Bacon snorted. “Yeah. People are stupid. And think in binary ways. But I can’t control that. It doesn’t make me any less pan just because on a given night my partner identifies as a man. Or a woman.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“Look. I’ve been in love before,” Bacon’s eyes got a far-off quality. “And it tore me apart. And I’d still do it again. Fuck the world and its narrow assumptions. That’s not what’s important. Assumptions don’t do fuck all to keep you warm at night.”
“Truth.” Mark gave a weak laugh. Bacon would do it again. He’d clearly loved and lost and he said he’d still do it again. He’d pull that trigger, take that chance. Why couldn’t Mark do the same? Take his shot.
Because Bacon was right—worries about what the world would think were hardly comforting Mark, a piss poor substitute for everything that Isaiah brought to his life.
“We’re here.” Bacon pulled in near Mark’s car. “You okay, man? Need to talk? I’ve been blabbering on about my shit, forgot to ask you how you’re coping?”
“I’m...” Terrible. Awful. Coping. Wonderful when I’ve got Isaiah. And there it was—in the midst of everything awful about his life, the greatest loss he’d known, there was Isaiah and finding each other and that was wonderful. And special. And he’d thrown away the one thing that made everything else bearable. Take your shot.
“I’m... I’m demisexual. Or maybe gray ace. I’m still figuring stuff out... But sometimes, I like guys. Like a crush or...” Fuck. He was babbling, words tumbling out now that he’d given them permission to surface at long last. He paused to give Bacon a chance to say something, anything. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic rhythm.
“Congrats.” Bacon clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s a big deal, you trusting me enough to tell me. I appreciate that. And I’m just guessing here, but Isaiah, he’s part of this? One of the guys you’re attracted to?”
“Yeah.”
“So he’s your person now?”
Your person. Bacon made it sound so simple, and maybe it was. My person. It just fit.
“Yeah. He’s my person.” It was a strange relief, saying it aloud for the first time. “But I kinda fucked it up. And now I’ve got to fix it.”
“You can.” Bacon’s voice was firm. “Chief, you’re the finest medic the U.S. Navy has produced. You’ve got this.”
“I hope you’re right.” Mark took a breath. He could do this. He could fix this. Maybe he was Wizard after all. All he needed was the right plan of attack. “And I’ve got to go.”
“Yeah, you do.” Bacon laughed. “But you let me know if there’s anything you need? I’m not the most on kids, but I could lend a hand.”
“Thanks.” Mark hurried to his car. He needed to beat Isaiah home, needed to prepare for the most important mission of his life.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was late when Isaiah pulled in at the house, car full of sleepy kids. He’d had a late dinner with the aunts and his father, making plans and sharing stories. It was the sharing stories part that was most unexpected. Something seemed to have rattled loose with his father, made him want to be more connected to the family again. And for Aunt Cecily, sharing Cal stories seemed to be a big way she coped with her grief. So Isaiah had stayed and listened and eaten far more than his share of pork chops and blueberry pie. Aunt Louise could cook.