Page 70 of Over the Top

Chapter Sixteen

GUNNER SQUEEZEDthe steering wheel like it was a cobra and he was choking it to death. Chas loved him. Love. Goddamn.

Love.

The bigL. The real deal. Serious. Adulting. Commitment.

Shit, shit shit.

He was supposed to say it back, right? Wasn’t that how it worked? But did he even know if he loved Chas? Sure, he’d loved him like a brother forever. Loved him as a friend. But that wasn’t what Chas was talking about.

It felt as if the rules of the game had suddenly changed. Instead of playing the football he was familiar with, he found himself in a rugby game with only the faintest idea what the hell was going on, where he was supposed to go, what he was supposed to do. Hell, maybe this was a cricket match. He hadnoidea how that game worked.

Breakfast was a quiet affair. They ordered food at a local diner, gulped it down, paid the check, and hit the road. They barely spoke two words to each other the whole time. Gunner knew why he was freaked-out, but why was Chas freaked-out?

Although it was not as if he was about to ask Chas to clarify on his earlier declaration of love.

He stared at the road, not really seeing it, driving on autopilot. His mind raced in circles. Did he love Chas? How would he know if he did? Was there some test for it? Would he feel different? Act differently? Did it come to a person like a revelation—boom, all of a sudden it was there?

Wasn’t he at least supposed to say thank you or something in response to Chas’s declaration? God, he sucked at this relationship stuff. No doubt he had feelings for Chas. Big ones. Deep ones. Adding sex to their relationship had totally changed the equation and left him not knowing at all how things worked between them anymore. It had always been so easy being best friends. They could talk about anything, were always there for each other no matter what. Had he sacrificed all of that for the sex?

He turned down Chas’s offer to drive, preferring to keep busy concentrating on the road winding ever deeper into the Rocky Mountains. Winter had come to the higher elevations, and snow lined the roadways and coated the slopes around them in black-and-white relief. Only the deep, faded green of the pine trees interrupted the stark, photo-like contrasts. As they neared the Continental Divide, even the pine trees gave way to just snow and rock—white on black, light on shadow.

He headed more north than west as the roads allowed, making his way toward Wyoming. He’d never been to Yellowstone National Park, and now was as good a time as any to see it. It lay at the junction of Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming and took most of the day to get to, given the back roads they took when they could and the poor condition of the main roads when they were forced onto them.

Dusk was falling as they pulled into a magnificent lodge just outside the park, a huge log structure decorated with rustic furnishings and exceptional taste. Even Gunner could tell it was a classy place. Chas made a quiet “Ohhh” as they stepped into the lobby.

“I figure I owe you a night at a nice place after forcing you to camp last night,” Gunner said gruffly.

“I’d hate for this place to get shot up, though,” Chas muttered under his breath.

“Even if the bad guys figure out we’re here, they won’t be able to get here tonight. This isn’t the easiest or fastest place in the world to get to.”

“You said that last time.”

“If nothing else, I’m betting they spent today dealing with the body of their guy. They either buried his remains or had to collect his body and get it shipped home.”

“Any word from Spencer and Drago?”

“We’ve been in cell phone dead areas most of the day. I’ll call them when we get to the room.”

He was relieved Chas was talking again. The silence in the car had been almost total today, and it had been unnerving. Chas was usually the gregarious one who carried the majority of the conversation. But he’d barely spoken a word since that fateful declaration this morning.

Not that Gunner minded silence in general. Most of the guys he worked with were taciturn types, and SEALs ran most of their missions in complete silence. They became adept at communicating through looks, facial expressions, and subtle hand gestures.

But Chas was an expressive person and used his words to convey pretty much everything he felt or thought. Gunner appreciated knowing in general what was going on with Chas without having to try to figure it out.

They checked into a deluxe suite using one of the credit cards Drago had provided. It was set up not only to be easily trackable but to report back to Charles Favian whenever somebody else tracked its use. When the tangoes chasing them figured out they were here, Favian ought to be able to warn them that the thugs were inbound. In theory.

Now that they’d caught one of the bad guys, the game would be to stay one step—or ideally several steps—ahead of the hostiles and not engage with them again until he and Spencer and Drago were prepared to take them out for good. From here on out, they would be leading the bad guys into traps and not the other way around.

They hauled in all the baby gear, and Chas carried in the doll. When a woman asked to see Poppy 2.0 in the elevator, Chas murmured that she was asleep and had had a long day. Gunner traded amused looks with Chas as the woman got off at her floor and they continued up to the concierge level.

Gunner opened the suite’s door and held it for Chas.

“This is more like it,” Chas declared, standing in the center of the spacious living room and turning in a full circle.

A fire burned cheerily in the fireplace, and tall picture windows looked out upon a valley straight out of a picture postcard. White snow blanketed the slopes and weighed down the boughs of the fluffy pine trees. The narrow black ribbon of a running stream cut through the valley floor, and a herd of elk drank from it. The last light was just fading, and as they watched, the valley slipped into peaceful night.

---