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Bob doesn’t drink. Not a lot of the team really knows this—they know he’ll wave off a beer when offered, preferring to drink a Coke and eat some nuts while they have their drinks. He’s sure they probably figure he only drinks at special occasions or is a glass of wine with dinner type of person instead. Jake is probably the only one who knows, but that’s not surprising since Jake had a front row seat to the mess that was Bob just three years ago.
—
Bob used to drink. He loved a good Jack and Coke or screwdriver when his squadron would go out and then maybe he’d have a glass of wine or four when he got home. Jake would have a beer or two and be ready for bed, but Bob could easily out-drink Jake. Maybe it was a little bit of a problem.
It came to a head when Bob went on a hop while dizzyingly hungover. He missed the location of their wingmen, and they ended up flying through the jet wash. His pilot was able to stabilize them, but it was terrifying. When they got back on land, Bob’s pilot asked him if he was feeling all right, and Bob told him that he thought that maybe he was sick and apologized.
Bob was then called to his Commanding Officer’s office to discuss what had happened. Bob was sweating and clammy, and when his CO told him to explain, Bob apologized.
“I haven’t been feeling well this morning, sir, I’m so sorry. It’s my fault we flew through the jet wash.”
Bob hoped that his commander didn’t know that he was hungover from drinking himself stupid once again. Usually it only happened on weekends or when they had leave after a mission, so he thought it would have been fine just this once.
His commanding officer was quiet for a moment. “Lieutenant Floyd, I think you should go home for the day and rest.”
“Yes, sir,” Bob said. “I’ll do that.”
“Lieutenant Seresin is a friend of yours, right?” His commander asked.
Bob nodded.
“He finished with his own hop not too long ago,” The commander said. “He’s going to take you home. You’re not in a fit state to drive back to your lodging.”
“Yes, sir,” Bob answered.
His commander nodded. “Very well. You are dismissed, Lieutenant Floyd.”
Bob saluted his commander and walked to the door to exit. As he was leaving, his commander spoke up one last time.
“One last thing, Lieutenant,” his commander called out. “I think it’s time for you to dry out.”
Bob froze for a moment. So his commander did know. Fuck.
Jake was waiting for Bob outside of the office, and from his face, Bob could tell that Jake had heard what the commander said. Jake simply stood upright from where he was leaning against the wall, and clapped Bob on the shoulder. “All right, let’s get you home.”
Jake didn’t say anything else on the walk to the car, and Bob desperately wished he would. Instead, Jake got in his Subaru and drove them off base in silence. The entire drive back to their house, Jake stared ahead in silence. Bob couldn’t keep himself from staring at Jake himself while Jake drove. He could take yelling, disappointment, anything. But Jake wasn’t usually quiet. Bob didn’t know how to handle this.
When they pulled into the driveway, Jake cut the engine. However, instead of getting out of the car, he sat there for a moment before pressing his forehead to the steering wheel.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Bob was taken aback. That was the last thing he expected to come from Jake’s mouth. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” Jake repeated. “I knew something was going on, that something wasn’t right, but I didn’t say anything. Maybe I should have.”
Bob shook his head. “No, Jake, I’m sorry. You have nothing to apologize for. My…my drinking. My drinking…problem…isn’t something you should apologize for. It’s my fault. I hadn’t even realized things had gotten so bad until the CO pulled me into his office. But, I think he’s right. I think it’s time for me to dry out. I can’t keep doing this, not to you, but especially not to me.”
Jake nodded in understanding. He reached across the center console to take hold of Bob’s hand.
“This is something I’m going to have to do myself,” Bob said. “It’s not going to be easy, not on either of us, so I’m sorry in advance. But I promise I’m going to do better.”
Jake squeezed Bob’s hand. “Don’t promise me that. Promise yourself that, okay? Now let’s go inside so you can sleep this off. I think the guys are planning on going out tonight, but you got sent home sick and I got sent home with you, so I think we’re good to skip this one.”
Bob squeezed Jake’s hand back before getting out of the car. He headed inside, kicked off his boots by the door, and walked back through their small house to their bedroom. He changed out of his service khakis and got into the shower to wash away the sweat.
When he got out, he saw that Jake had already set out his favorite sweats and Jake’s old Naval Academy t-shirt for him to wear to bed. There was also a glass of water and two Advil left on the bedside table for him. He swallowed the Advil and drank half the glass of water before settling in bed.
Bob slept off the rest of his hangover, and he woke up around 6 p.m. He could faintly hear Jake in the kitchen, and he could smell something cooking. Bob hauled himself out of bed and exited their bedroom to join Jake in the kitchen.
Jake was cooking bacon over the stove, humming along quietly to some music playing from his phone, which was set on the counter. Bob had a feeling Jake was making his favorite comfort food—breakfast for dinner. Bob walked up behind Jake and wrapped his arms around him. Jake leaned back into the touch a little.
“Good morning, sleepyhead. I’m almost done fixing up things for our breakfast burritos. Why don’t you get some juice out of the fridge for us to have with dinner?”
Bob pressed a quick kiss to the back of Jake’s neck. “On it.”
Bob walked over to the fridge and opened it. He stood there for a moment, stunned. Just the night before, the bottom shelf of the refrigerator was half full with various beers and even a box of wine. Now, it was empty save for a bottle of orange juice.
Jake looked over at Bob standing still in front of the fridge. “Oh, I, uh, got rid of some stuff while you were sleeping. I thought it might make things easier if we had a dry house.”
Bob swallowed thickly. “I love you, Jake Seresin.”
“I love you, too, Baby. Now please get the orange juice. I ain’t paying to refrigerate the whole house.”
—
Now at the Hard Deck, three years later, to the day, Jake brings him a Coke and a cup of nuts from the bar, pressing a quick kiss to the side of Bob’s head. “Happy three years, Baby. I made sure Penny gave you plenty of cashews.”
Bob smiles and pops a cashew into his mouth. “Breakfast for dinner later tonight?”
“Breakfast for dinner,” Jake says, returning Bob’s smile.