“We could use the truck to pick it up before I head back,” Josiah offered.
Fine. Zack figured he was getting a couch whether he wanted it or not. Might as well save his energy for the next battle.
Pike really didn’t have that much stuff, and it didn’t take too many trips until Harper and Zack unloaded the mattress from the back of the truck. They wrestled it into the house, pausing to dog-leg it into the bedroom.
Pike came up behind them, box labeled Shirts in his arms. “Need a hand?” he asked, setting the box down.
“We’ve got it,” Harper answered before Zack could. “Say, Mountain Boy, what part of LA did you live in? I’ve got some friends up there.”
“West Hollywood.”
“WeHo?” Harper snorted. “Dude, that is so gay.”
Zack knew what Pike’s answer was going to be, even as he tried to beam him a cease-and-desist order with his eyes. But Pike being Pike simply gave Harper a bland smile. “Yup. So am I.”
“Dude. Seriously? You fucking with me? You’re a—”
“Harper. You will watch your language around my kid,” the senior chief cut in. And fuck, that meant he had heard Pike’s announcement too. Talk about the opposite of discreet.
“Sorry, Senior Chief.” Harper didn’t sound particularly sorry. They finally got the mattress into the room, onto the frame. Harper dusted off his hands and turned back to Pike. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” Pike set his box next to a dresser whose last good decade was probably before Zack was born. “That going to be a problem?”
“Nope,” the senior chief said firmly before Harper could answer. “Let’s bring in the last few things so we can get that couch.”
Well, that was that. Well, other than the searching look Harper was giving him. “Dude. Nelson. Are you...”
“Nope.” Zack looked away, afraid Harper might see the lie in his eyes.
“Let’s go.” The senior chief motioned them out of the room. “And let’s see if we can tear Dorrell away from your stack of games.” He clapped Pike on the shoulder.
It was a nice gesture, but Zack had a feeling that any chance of Harper coming over to play video games had died a quick death. And why that made him sad, he couldn’t say.
* * *
Pike really liked Zack’s senior chief and his large, active family. Dorrell was a great helper and Pike counted three more kids at the sprawling, newer Southwestern ranch where they picked up the couch. Harper, whose first name Pike never got, had taken off as soon as the truck was unloaded, not staying for the couch run. Pike supposed it was understandable—four guys for one couch was a bit overkill. But still, the guy had been so fun and friendly right up until Pike said he was gay.
And he didn’t care what Zack said about being discreet—Pike wasn’t the type to let a gay joke slide or to lie about who he was. Did he want to hang more with Harper, who looked like he could easily play a Greek god while bench-pressing Pike? Absolutely. But not if it meant hiding who he was. Zack was just going to have to deal.
But Zack really wasn’t saying much at all, especially once Josiah helped them get the couch into the living room and left with the truck, leaving him and Zack like the world’s most awkward newlyweds standing apart in the living room, neither sitting on the misshapen blue plaid couch, neither looking at each other.
“So,” Pike said, trying for some cheer. “Dinner? Want to order a pizza?” Josiah had declined the traditional post-move pizza-and-beer fest because he wanted to get home to Ryan, but Pike was getting hungry and willing to grasp at anything that might help defuse the tension.
“Sure. I’ve got a menu in my room.”
Pike could have looked up the menu on his phone, but he hadn’t seen Zack’s room yet and was beyond curious so he followed along.
Not waiting for an invitation, he peered in the room—the very, very bare room. Neat stacks of clothes in boxes around the edge of the room, precise stacks of what looked to be true-crime and history novels along with a collection of atlases and—
“Holy crap. You just have a sleeping bag for a bed?”
“What the hell, man?” Zack whirled on him. “You can’t knock?”
Pike waved away the complaint. “No. Seriously. Does Senior Chief Weber know that you have no bed?”
“Nah. Not his business.” Zack’s voice was gruff. “Told him I’d buy something. I just haven’t yet.”
“You’ve been here weeks. And you’re out there defending our country and shit. Sleeping bag—”
“Where exactly do you think we sleep on missions? The Hilton?” Zack put his hands on his hips, looming over Pike, who was not going to be intimidated.
“That’s in the field. At home, you deserve a bed. A real bed.” Pike’s pulse sped up. It was a stupid thing to get worked up over, but it was totally making him angry that Zack was coming home after twelve or more hours on duty and sleeping on the fucking floor. Zack was a SEAL, not some homeless guy. And maybe that was the root of Pike’s issue—it reminded him too much of his perennial couch-surfing uncle and his ever-present sleeping bag that accompanied him from relative’s house to relative’s house as he overstayed his welcome. Zack wasn’t some vagabond. He deserved a real bed. “We’re going to get you a bed. Tonight.”