Page 7 of Danger Close
Private.
He hadn’t planned for it to happen, hadn’t wanted to want that badly.But the words had come anyway.Stupid things.Honest things.Like,I don’t do this.Like,You make me feel safe.
And Ezra had answered, had pulled him close, hands trembling just enough to be real.Had kissed him slowly and sweet like it meant something.They’d lain together after, breathing the same air, foreheads touching.
And Ricky ...he’d let himself believe.
That it wasn’t just sex.That it wasn’t just him.
He’d fallen asleep in Ezra Navarro’s arms and woken up to a cold bed.
No note.No call.No message.
Just empty.
Like he fucking regretted it.
Ricky slammed his fist into the bag harder, jaw clenched tight.
He didn’t do vulnerability.Didn’t do firsts.
And Ezra—he’d been both.First time he’d trusted someone to see him, touch him, know him.First time he’d let anyone that close.And the bastard had walked out like it was nothing.Like Ricky wasn’t even worth a goodbye.
Had he done something wrong?Said something?Was it too much?Or worse—not enough?
The bag wobbled.His rhythm broke.Ricky’s breath came fast and hot in the back of his throat.
You let him in.Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He unwrapped his hands in silence and stalked to the showers.
The water scalded, and he let it.
Let it sear down his spine, sting his scraped knuckles raw, hiss off the fresh welts blooming along his shoulder from the bag.It felt almost holy in its heat—like maybe if it burned deep enough, it could cauterize the emptiness that had been bleeding through his ribs since the day Ezra vanished.
Three months.
Three monthssince he’d woken up alone in that barracks bed, skin still warm with the shape of someone who’d held him like he mattered.Since the scent of cedar and metal and skin had lingered on the pillow beside his.
Ezra had left before sunrise.
And Ricky ...like a damn fool, Ricky had waited.
All damn day, pacing between training rotations, checking his phone like a fucking idiot.Every time it buzzed, he’d jumped.And every time it hadn’t been him—hadn’t been anything—the crack widened.
By midnight, he’d stopped hoping.
By the next morning, he’d built the wall.
No one knew they’d been together.No one asked.That was how things went here—don’t ask, don’t pry, don’t break the silence if you’re not prepared for the fallout.So, they let him drift.Cold, quiet.A ghost with calloused hands and perfect scores.
He trained like his life depended on it.Worked until his muscles screamed.He did everything he needed to do.Everything except talk.
Because what the hell was he supposed to say?
Hey, LT, I let someone into my bed, and he vanished.Oh, and by the way, it was my first time.Yay, milestones.
The soap didn’t help.Neither did the heat.He scrubbed until his skin hurt and still he felt dirty.Stupid.Small.
