Page 41 of Doing Life

In a place Lance had never been.

That was pretty fucking impressive and super cope-y.

He rolled his eyes at himself. Way to take care of his lover. “I feel like an idiot.”

Lance squeezed his shoulder. “I feel like an idiot all the time. It’s okay, honey. I didn’t see a thing.”

He stiffened, not believing that Lance had made that joke, when he heard Lance chuckle.

“Too soon?”

“I’m going to kick your fucking ass.”

“You’re going to try. You imagine what kind of troubleyou’d get in? A cop beating up a blind cripple?” Lance’s voice was dry as the desert dust.

He started laughing, the sound tearing from him so huge it almost hurt, but it was exactly what he needed.

Because for the first time since the bomb had gone off, Lance sounded like himself. Completely and utterly right.

“I love you.”

The hands rubbing his shoulders stuttered and then started again. “I know. I love you too. That hasn’t changed. Not a bit. You’ll always be my person.”

“And you’ll always be mine, man.”

“So, that’s cool.” But Sloan had to wonder where that left them. He got the feeling Lance still felt as if they shouldn’t be together. As if Sloan needed— no deserved— more.

At some point he was going to have to prove to Lance that he gave no shits if his dick didn’t work anymore. For whatever reason.

Now was not that time, though. He scooted over. “Want to come sit? No one is out here but us.”

“Sounds good to me. Hell, to be honest, it would probably be more awkward if there were people here, huh? Me rubbing your back and all?”

“Probably. Who the fuck knows, man?” Sloan didn’t care. He’d scream his love for this man at the top of his lungs.

Lance came around and sat, leaning against him. “I appreciate this. You coming out. Taking me away from the craziness.”

“You’d appreciate more if I didn’t have a complete panic attack on you.” His cheeks were never going to cool off. Never.

Lance shrugged. “This is part of the deal. Especially with me being here now, with us being together. There’s a whole ’nother level of dealing with shit.”

He frowned. “Do you think so?”

“Yeah, no question. I talked to my therapist about it whenyou showed up, because the dreams were way worse for a while.”

Oh shit. “I’m sorry?—”

“No. No, it’s not—I mean, they’d probably be worse if we came across other guys in our unit for a little bit. But we’re so much more than just dudes who were in our unit together. There’s a ton of life and love and complications between us, you know?”

Sloan snorted, the sound wild and worried. “I do know. This is fucked up.”

“Would you be freaked if I suggested I thought you might want to see somebody? I mean, not my doctor, but…” Lance seemed to be looking right at him. “If you talk to Luke, he can help arrange things and maybe get you a dog. Maybe even a former police dog.”

He didn’t know if he could talk to someone—a stranger. He’d done the mandatory therapy so he could clear his eval, but he’d never been one hundred percent honest. “I don’t know man.”

“You don’t have to commit right now. Think about it. I’m not gonna be one of those guys who says you’ve got to just suck it up. You’ve got to just deal with it and do that. Be a man.” Lance’s lips went tight, the edges almost white. “I hate that be a man thing. It’s baloney. We did scary shit. We lost friends. We saw people die. We’re allowed to hurt.” Lance stopped, inhaling deep then blew it out. “And we’re allowed to heal too.”

“So, are you going to do that?” He didn’t know if he wanted to ask, but the words slipped from him. “Are you going to heal too?”

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