The Best Man (Blue Heron #1)(32)

Home.

And when a car came screaming up to your outpost or you braced for the IED to blow you into chunks, when bullets streaked through the night air, home was the only thing that kept your shit together. On the days when the temperature hit a hundred and thirty and his gun was so hot he had to wear gloves to hold it, when his water was the same temperature as McDonald’s coffee and his mouth felt like leather from being so dry, those pictures were little pieces of paradise.

Faith’s name, which had been mentioned fairly often at first, stopped appearing after Jeremy graduated and started med school (he’d turned down the NFL, for crying out loud). There was some mention of one of Jeremy’s fellow medical students, a guy named Steve, and Levi wondered if maybe there was something there. Honestly, though he didn’t give it much thought. If his friend had come out of the closet, Levi would hear about it when Jeremy wanted him to.

Finally, five years after he’d first gone to Afghanistan, Levi got a leave long enough to go back. He’d seen his mom and Sarah twice since shipping out, once on a long weekend in New York City, once when he surprised them with a trip to Disney World. But this time, he wanted to go home. He popped in on Sarah at school in one of those tear-soaked CNN moments, endured an impromptu assembly in which the principal told him how proud they were (despite having given him a record number of detentions not so long ago). His mom made his favorite dinner—meat loaf and mashed potatoes, then wept happily all the way through it.

And finally, Levi called Jeremy; it was October, and Jeremy was home for the weekend from Johns Hopkins. “Hey, bud, wanna grab a beer?” he asked, then grinned as his friend cussed him out for not giving him more notice.

A few hours later, Levi was slightly drunk from all the beers bought for him. Connor O’Rourke had done a round on the house, and everyone had toasted Levi. He’d been hugged by every woman in the place and practically leg-humped by Sheila Varkas (total freak, that one), was repeatedly thanked for his service, had his back pounded and his hand shaken and was told how proud the town was. It was...nice. It was great, actually. The kid from the trailer park turned American hero and all that.

And then, finally, he and Jeremy got to sit down and talk.

“So how are you really, buddy?” Jeremy asked, his eyes as kind as ever.

Levi watched a drop of condensation slip down the side of his bottle. “Doing okay,” he answered, not looking up.

Jeremy was quiet for a minute. “Do you need anything?”

A good night’s sleep. War had definitely taken that away. A brain bleach to get some of the more horrific images out of his head. “No,” he said. “But thanks for all those packages and stuff. Especially the pictures.”

Jeremy leaned forward. “Well, listen. I don’t know what it’s like, I’m just some dumb-ass med student studying bowel disease.” Levi gave a half smile. “But if you ever need anything, or want to unload or whatever, I’m here. And I’ll be here the whole time, and when you get back, too. Okay? You’re my best friend. You know that.”

Levi gave a nod, peeled a shard from the label. Maybe there would be a day when he told Jeremy some of the things he’d seen...and done. It wasn’t today, though. He looked up at Jeremy and nodded again. “Thanks.”

Jeremy sat back in the booth and smiled, that broad easy grin that Levi remembered from football huddles, when Jeremy would tell them just how they were going to shock and awe their opponents by coming from behind and stealing the win. “So. Any way you can get a few days off next June?”

Levi shrugged. “It’s possible. Why?”

“I need you to be my best man. June eighth. Faith and I are getting married.”

Levi didn’t blink. “Holy crap.”

“Yeah.” Jeremy grinned sheepishly. “She said yes. I was a nervous wreck, but she said yes.”

Yeah, right. Faith Holland had probably been planning their wedding since the day she’d met Jeremy.

His buddy was blathering on about who’d be in the bridal party, and Levi suddenly held up his hand. “Jeremy,” he said. “Just one second, okay?”

“Sure.”

To ask or not to ask. That was the question. Levi glanced around. O’Rourke’s was almost empty; two people at the bar, two more at a table. Connor was behind the bar, tallying up receipts.

“What is it?” Jeremy asked.

“You’re getting married,” Levi stated for clarification.

He nodded. Levi didn’t say anything, just looked. Maybe lifted an eyebrow. Jeremy swallowed, then forced a grin. “Yeah. So?” He wiped his forehead, suddenly sweaty, and that was clue enough. If he was this nervous, then maybe he was just waiting for someone to bring it up.

“I guess I was always under the impression that you were...” Levi waited, hoping Jeremy would supply the word.

“I was what?”

Shit. Levi took a deep breath and held it. “That you were g*y, Jeremy,” he said very, very quietly.

Jeremy’s face didn’t change for a long second. Then he took a deep breath. “No! Uh...I don’t think so. I mean, everyone has...thoughts. But just because...” He looked away. “No. I’m not. I’m not g*y.” His voice was hollow.

Levi didn’t say anything—what do you say, after all? “It would be okay if you were.”