Finding You, Finding Me Read online

  Flying back, Henry leapt off Will and rolled down to the base of the hay pile. Above him, Will was gasping, reaching, frowning, trying to find him, but Henry cursed and rolled away as the barn door slid open and a harsh ray of dawn's sunlight pierced his gaze.

  Henry could hear Will’s groan, hear the curses he spat into the hay. He closed his eyes, exhaled, and pushed it all away.

  “Doc?” Giordano was frowning at Henry from the door, peering into the dusty, darkened barn. “You all right?”

  Nodding, Henry pushed himself to his feet, hiding the shaking of his hands. He took a deep breath. “I’m fine. I found Private Rollins from Second Platoon. He’s injured. We sheltered here. How are you? The others?” Henry could see most of the guys in the First and Third Platoons hunkering down behind Giordano and hiding in the tree line.

  “We’re good,” Giordano said, relaxing and rolling his neck. “Scattered, but we picked up most of the guys through the night. Bunch o’ sticks got shot to hell, and most of our battalion is all over the wrong DZ. No real injuries though.” Eyeing Will’s prone body, Giordano frowned. “Rollins okay? He looks like shit.”

  “Knocked his head on the jump. He’s addled.” Doesn’t know up from down, queer from straight. Henry kept that thought to himself.

  “He good to go?” Giordano shifted on his feet. “We gotta keep moving. Follow this creek out to the causeway and secure it for the Fourth ID.”

  “He can’t fight.” Henry scooped up his medic bag and dropped it onto his shoulders. “He needs rest. But we’re good to move out with you.”

  Giordano nodded. “Good. We need ya, Doc.” He flashed a quick smile toward Henry. “Glad we found ya.”

  Henry snorted. “Help me get him up?”

  * * * * *

  The sun was climbing higher in the sky, and Giordano was leading the platoons on a fast break through the backwoods to the causeway. They had to get there to help the Fourth Infantry Division, or their drop would have been for nothing.

  The run through the creek did nothing to help Will. Henry ran by his side, letting Will set the pace and occasionally supporting his weight with an arm slung around his shoulder. Will was panting, sweating, and pale, but he was silent. He never complained, and he never said a word to Henry.

  Henry was beyond grateful for that. He didn’t want to have a loud, public argument in front of the company about how Will felt about him, especially when Will wasn’t even Will and would most likely despise him when he regained his senses. Will didn’t need that legacy, and the last thing Henry needed was another reminder to the rest of the guys that Henry was exactly what they didn’t want. He kept his mouth shut and ran beside Will, keeping an eye on his patient but nothing more.

  When they finally arrived at the causeway, behind the rest of the splintered company, they found the remnants of their battalion and the Fourth Infantry Division. The Fourth had already fought their way through the beach and up into the causeway, securing it from the Germans before their group had even arrived. Exhausted, bone-weary, and gasping for air, Henry pulled Will over to the makeshift field hospital and plopped him down on the triage tarp. A few words to the medic in charge, and then Henry jogged off. He doused himself with his canteen, turning it over on his head, and let the water fall into his open mouth as he ran back toward his company. Giordano was waving at him, yelling at him to hurry up, that they were moving out.

  Behind him, Henry felt the force of Will’s stare, the burn of his gaze boring into his back.

  He never looked back.

  Chapter Three

  If it was possible, Henry felt even worse than he had after his hard landing with the chute. Every muscle in his body ached, every bone in his body creaked. Giordano had led the remnants of their company, along with elements from Headquarters Company, with the colonel to the village of Sainte-Marie-du-Mont. Germans had pinned down almost a hundred of their troopers and then fallen back to the village. They had routed the Germans from their attack on their comrades, chasing them from Sainte-Marie-du-Mont, too. One of the companies stayed behind to guard the village, but Henry and the rest of the paratroopers headed back to the new 101st field headquarters. After over twenty-four hours of combat—and a midnight jump—the paratroopers were dog-tired. Bone-weary and dragging on their feet. They didn’t even jabber in the back of the trucks as they rocked and bounced on the way to the rear.

  The guys dispersed as they dropped from the back of the transport, heading for the makeshift sleeping areas set aside in the village ruins commandeered by the 101st. Sleeping troopers lay in lines, snoring and drooling as they caught up on their rest.

  Henry longed to drop down and let sleep claim him, but he trudged toward the aid station instead. He was fighting back his third yawn as he stomped up the steps of the old village school and pushed his way into the aid station.

  The stench hit him first, as it always did. Wounded troopers lay around him, bandaged and addled with morphine. He surveyed the scene, taking in the bloodied wounds on all of the troopers within. He frowned. Will wasn’t there.

  One of the medics attached to Headquarters nodded toward Henry. “Corporal,” he called softly. “Your patient was discharged several hours ago.”

  Henry nodded. “Good. How was he?” Was he still delirious, or had he managed to right himself?

  The medic smiled. “Much better, at least as far as his brain is concerned. He remembered who he was and where he was. Definitely upset, too. I imagine anyone suddenly realizing they’re smack in the middle of the war would be furious.”

  And that’s not all he’d be pissed about. Henry exhaled, feeling that terrible sinking feeling steal over him once again. There was no telling what Will would do now that he remembered. Henry would be lucky if Will simply avoided him. If he confronted him, Henry supposed letting Will take a swing or two would be the right thing to do. He’d been about to fuck him in that barn. Fuck an addled man, his patient, who somehow had imagined himself queer after a bump on the head.

  Snorting, Henry shook his head. He thanked the medic and headed out, slumping as he walked down the steps. He eyed the village, the mass of troopers lounging on the grass beneath the trees on the outskirts and the edges of town, and the bustle of officers near the command post. He longed to rest, but he’d rather be away from the others, at least for a while. He needed some time to center himself again, time to sort through everything that had happened—the jump, Will, their confrontation, their almost-fuck, and then dumping him off at the hospital. So soon after that, he was right in the thick of it with his troopers in the next battle. And then, coming back to being ignored again.

  He was simultaneously connected and disconnected from his troopers. They needed him, needed his skills, but they kept him at arm’s length, never invited him in. He wasn’t part of the group moving to the grass, wasn’t welcomed into the card games. Loneliness pricked at his insides, worn through with exhaustion. He kicked a rock, cursing as he felt the hollowness within him deepen.

  Henry set off, heading away from the grass and his troopers and strode deeper into the village. He’d find a place to rest, alone and apart. He didn’t need anyone anyway. A part of him sneered at himself. Yeah, he didn’t need anyone. But he sure as hell wouldn’t mind having someone. Even just a simple friend. Someone to help ease the sinking feeling of loneliness.

  Damn, Rollins must have affected me more than I thought. Henry kicked another stone, harder this time, and watched it bound down the dirt road. Stopping, he let his head fall forward with a sigh.

  A scrape from inside the building on his right made him jump. Cursing, Henry fumbled as he grabbed his rifle and peered into the broken and blasted café. The lights were busted and the dark wood interior cast long shadows throughout the ruined interior.

  “Flash,” a soft voice called from inside the darkness.

  Swallowing, Henry lowered his rifle. He knew that voice. “Thunder.” He frowned, chewing his lip. He wasn’t sure if he should stay or go. “Yo
u all right?” he finally said.

  There was a deep sigh and then the sound of a match being struck. He caught the flash of light illuminating Will’s features before the match faded into a tiny flame. Carefully, Will lit one of the candles on the table before him, brushing dirt and debris from the tabletop as he moved. He sat back against the long bench seat lining one wall of the café, wincing as his head hit the wall. Finally, he met Henry’s gaze. “I remember,” he said.

  “Must suck.” Henry tried for levity. “Waking up and realizing you’re here.” He gestured around him, at the ruined village and the general state of war they were both in.

  Will shook his head. “It’s not so bad,” he said slowly. “Better than where I was before.”

  Swallowing, Henry looked away, back down the street. He should have headed for the grass. Will should be tearing into him, and any minute, he was sure Will would leap from the table and try to gut him. Still, he couldn’t stop himself, and he spoke before he knew what he was really going to say. “You look like shit.” Cursing, Henry looked down. He was so fucking stupid.

  Chuckling came from inside the café. “I appreciate that, especially from you.” Was it Henry’s imagination, or was there a special emphasis on the last part? He looked up, peering at Will. “Wanna come in?” Will gestured to the blasted windows and the broken doorframe.

  Breathing carefully, Henry searched Will’s features. Was this an excuse to get him inside so he could gut him in private? A good way to hide his body? Rolling his eyes, Henry slung his rifle and trudged through the broken glass. He was a morose fucker when he was exhausted.

  But if Will did gut him, then at least his exhaustion would be fixed.

  Henry hesitated in front of Will’s table. The flame flickered, casting a warm glow over Will’s haggard face. He looked tired, yes, but no less attractive than he’d been the night before, or when he’d been reaching for Henry, or when he had been beneath him, gasping and moaning and urging Henry on. He could still feel the touch of Will’s warm skin beneath his hands, taste his kiss on his lips. The flame flickered again, and Henry caught the slight swell of Will’s lip and the purple cut he’d made when he had bit Will.

  Looking down, Henry finally spoke. “I’m sorry,” he grunted. “For what happened.”

  A heavy sigh, long and deep, came from Will. Henry didn’t look up.

  “I am too,” Will grunted. “I never wanted to upset you.”

  Shocked, Henry finally met Will’s gaze. He shook his head, chuckling once. “You should be wanting to punch me in the mouth,” he said. “I took advantage of you. And your head injury.”

  “Isn’t that what I did to you?” Will was frowning, staring at Henry. “I practically forced myself on you.”

  “That’s my line.” Henry frowned. “I was the one who threw you down and was trying to fuck you.” At Henry’s words, Will’s eyes flashed, suddenly burning in the shadows. “You were confused,” Henry said quickly, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And you’re not—”

  “Queer?” Will’s eyebrows arched up, even as his mouth set into a hard line.

  Silently, Henry nodded.

  “But I am,” Will said. He swallowed hard as soon as he spoke, and Henry could see his hands gripping the sides of the tabletop hard enough to make the flame shiver. “I’ve just never—” Will shook his head and looked away. “I didn’t want to accept it for the longest time. I ran. From myself, from home, from everything.” He swallowed again. “I can’t outrun myself, though, you know?”

  Henry stared at Will, barely breathing. “Why could you remember me?”

  Even in the dim light, Henry could see Will’s jaw clench. “I’ve always been attracted to you. In awe of you, I guess. You are yourself. You don’t take shit from anybody, and you don’t back down.” He swallowed again. “You don’t hide.”

  Henry frowned. He didn’t feel like he was anything close to how Will described him. “I’m definitely not like that,” he mumbled.

  Will spoke, seeming to ignore Henry’s protests. “You know, when I hit my head and lost everything, it was like I was able to be the me I would be if everything else weren’t the way it was. If I hadn't run from myself my whole life. If Davy hadn't punched me in the mouth when I said he looked real nice. If I hadn't had to bury myself in a dark place, deep down where even I couldn't find myself anymore. I didn't ask to be this way, and I didn't want to be queer. I've spent my whole life ignoring it.” He shook his head, finally smiling up at Henry again, though it was tinged with sadness. “And then I saw you, in the company.”

  Henry looked away.

  “And you don’t hide jack,” Will said, laughing lightly. “You are who you are, and the guys don’t mess with it.”

  “They ignore me well enough,” Henry snapped. “You’ve got friends. People to hang out with. Go on liberty with. I’m always alone. No one wants to be seen with me.” He had never confirmed or denied who he was, but that didn’t matter. The guys had made up their minds, and Henry was on the outs. Will, although hiding himself, was accepted in ways that Henry never would be. He belonged, at least in the eyes of everyone else. Henry was, when he could admit it, lonely.

  “Yeah, I pal around with the guys,” Will said. “But it’s not like I can get real close to them. I’m hiding from them. And if they find out?” Will shook his head and dropped his gaze. “I don’t know how anyone would react.”

  Silence stretched between them. Will finally broke it, scratching at the dirty tabletop with his fingernail. “So you see,” he chuckled. “We’re really not all that different.”

  Closing his eyes, Henry let his head fall back as he sighed, long and loud. No, they really weren’t all that different. Both alone and hiding, in their own ways. Henry peered at him as Will spoke again.

  “I’m real glad it was you who found me in the woods,” Will said, biting his lip. “It was…nice. To be me, for a while.” He paused, chuckling as he thumbed over the tabletop. “And, you know, telling you how hot I found you wasn’t bad either. ’Specially when it paid off.” He smirked up at Henry and then looked away.

  Henry’s mouth dropped open. His eyes narrowed, and he glared at Will. “You’re a damn tease,” he growled. “I thought you had scrambled your brains.” He glared again, shaking his head. This was the last time he was going to be chivalrous when an injured comrade put the moves on him.

  “You thought I’d bonked myself queer?” Will laughed out loud. “That’d be something. But no, I was really wanting you.” His eyes flashed. “Still do.”

  Groaning, Henry let his head fall back again. “You fucker,” he whispered. “I’m dog-tired. Exhausted. I’m probably sleeping where I stand, and this is all a dream.” He shook his head as Will snickered. “And now is when you tell me you actually want me?”

  Will grinned and bit the corner of his lip. He nodded.

  Henry tried to summon the energy to be mad. Or to be frustrated. Or to feel anything at all other than exhausted, relieved, and—if he concentrated—a tiny bit happy. He peered through the destruction and the darkness. “Where’s the back room?” Typically the owners lived behind their shops, or in this case, their café. There was bound to be a bed, or at least a mattress, around here somewhere.

  Eyes boggling, Will’s mouth dropped open, and he froze.

  Henry tried to stifle his snort but failed. “Not for that, idiot,” he said. “Too fucking tired.” He slugged Will weakly in the shoulder.

  Will caught his fist, grinning. “You need some rest.”

  “Hell yeah, I do.” Henry turned his hand over, tangling his fingers with Will’s. “So do you.” He paused. “Stay?”

  Will’s squeezed his hand, and a small smile bloomed over his face. Tugging, Henry led them into the back of the café, cursing and guiding Will through the piles of broken chairs and fallen beams. They found the backroom eventually, after mistakenly turning in to the water closet, and tugged the dusty mattress from the broken bedframe and set it on the floor. They di
dn’t speak as Henry flopped down on his stomach and Will lay beside him, propping himself up with his elbow.

  “Much better than the grass,” Henry mumbled. “Even if it is lumpy.”

  Will toyed with Henry’s nape, fluttering his fingers through his hair. “Get some rest.”

  The last thing Henry remembered was Will’s dry lips pressing against his temple.

  Chapter Four

  August in Southern England brought humidity and insects. Will swatted at the bugs buzzing around his head as he kept pace with the platoon on their run through the hills. Sweat clung to his back, sticking his shirt to his skin. He could feel the bugs chewing up his legs. It was awful, and he just wanted the run to be over.

  Told they would be fighting in France for only three days after D-Day, the company, along with the division, finally got back to England after thirty-three days in France. When the three-day mark had come, the company was dispatched to Carentan, sent to fight alongside the ground army to take the last stronghold preventing the Allies from holding a secure line from Utah to Omaha Beach. They won the village—after an exhausting battle, hard fought, street by street—and the paratroopers finally got a bit of rest.

  When they returned to England, they were told to train up and get ready for their next jump.

  There had been several almost-jumps—suiting up even, practice jumps, practice flights. Everything to prepare for the next mission. They’d all been called off, and God only knew when they’d actually be jumping again and returning to the war. Until then, they were stuck in England, training.

  Will plodded along, one foot in front of the other. His unit ran beside him, all miserable and sweating. Somewhere out there, First Platoon was running exercises as well. Will’s thoughts strayed to Henry, and he felt a tiny smile creep over his face. He looked down, hiding his expression. The guys couldn’t see. He couldn’t show his feelings, not about Henry, not the simple happiness he’d found with his comrade in arms. If they even thought, even suspected, there’d be no end to the torment.