Renzo said nothing, just twirled his water glass around.
“I’m probably not going to do that, though. I agreed to a La Jolla show next weekend, but that’s all. I don’t want to lose my job. Or you.”
“You should take the gigs.” Renzo’s voice was flat.
“What? No way. I don’t want to cut into what little time we have together.” He studied Renzo, who was busy moving food around his plate but not eating, which wasn’t like him. This whole encounter wasn’t like him. Showing up out of the blue. Not smiling. All somber. Canaan’s legs tensed, knees pressing together hard. “Wait. Are you breaking up with me?”
“No.” Renzo said the word so softly Canaan had to strain to hear.
“So what? Why tell me to do the shows with the band? Don’t you want...” he trailed off as understanding hit. “You’re deploying, aren’t you?”
Fuck. He’d known this would happen eventually, but he’d hoped they’d have a little more time first, a little more chance to get things rock solid between them. But no matter. They’d deal. And he’d make Renzo see that.
“It’s okay,” he said when Renzo said nothing. “I understand. And we’ll be fine. I know you probably can’t tell me where—”
“It’s not a deployment.” Pushing back from the table, Renzo put his head in his hands. “I got approved for jumpmaster training.”
“That’s fabulous news.” Canaan forced himself to smile. Renzo had mentioned a time or ten how much he wanted to do that eventually. “So you’ll be gone for training, right? But then...”
“Then after that I’ve got PCS orders—means a permanent transfer to a different base. Little Creek in Virginia. I’ll be a jumpmaster for a team based there.”
“Oh fuck.” Canaan really didn’t know what else to say to that. The cake threatened to make a reappearance, and swallowing hard, he focused on breathing. Hurling wasn’t going to make this situation any better. Probably nothing would.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Yeah.” Renzo didn’t have a real answer for Canaan’s reaction, which was pretty much what he’d expected—the “oh fuck” and the looking like he was going to puke any second. Renzo wanted to touch him but wasn’t sure whether that would make things worse. The moment when Canaan had thought it was a deployment was something Renzo was going to carry with him for a long time—the way his shoulders had stiffened, jaw lifting, resolute expression on his gorgeous face as he told Renzo that they’d be fine. He’d meant it too, been more than willing to wait for Renzo.
Fuck. Nothing about this was easy.
“We can’t talk about this here.” Canaan abruptly pushed up from the table, making Renzo raise his head. He all but hauled Renzo out of his chair, an impressive feat given their size differences. But then Canaan always was surprising Renzo with his strength. Raising his voice, Canaan called out, “Renzo and I are going back to my place. You okay?”
“I’m good,” Canaan’s grandfather called back, confirming he was probably the only one in the house not on the verge of falling apart.
“We don’t need privacy,” Renzo protested even as he followed Canaan to the back door. Privacy wasn’t going to help a damn thing.
“The hell we don’t.” Canaan whirled on him. “You don’t get to hit me with that and then tell me what I need. Grandpa’s probably waiting to tell me that he warned me. He told me how often this happens in military relationships. I need to fucking think a minute without him hovering.”
“Fair enough.” Food forgotten, Renzo let Canaan lead the way to his apartment. God, he loved this place. Loved the long, narrow living room with an older leather couch, drum set in the corner, mix of family photos and artwork from crafty friends on the wall. It was so utterly Canaan that he’d felt at home here from the very first visit.
Rather than flop on the couch like Renzo had expected, Canaan paced the room. “When do you leave?”
“Training next month. They haven’t told me where, but it’s not usually here—Georgia, Florida, or Arizona are the big possibilities. Three weeks intensive training, then more when I get back. I have to report to Little Creek October first.”
“They didn’t ask you if you wanted here versus Little Creek? I thought they usually ask for a preference list of some kind.” Canaan scrubbed at his already messy hair.
“It was before we met.” Renzo’s chest felt hollow. “My mom’s been on me for years about trying for an East Coast team. I know I complain about my family—”
“But you love them. I get it. They must be over the moon with the news.” Canaan didn’t sound bitter, more resigned.
“Haven’t told them yet. Came right to you. I couldn’t think straight. Needed to see you.” Renzo told him the bald truth. He’d known how badly this was likely to go, and still, he’d needed Canaan, needed to tell him first.