His heart pounded as he flicked on the reading light, then grabbed a piece of paper from the passenger seat, which detailed his journey. He hadn’t needed it up until now—being fairly familiar with London—but a glance towards the bottom of the page gave him the details he needed to locate Balkhi’s block of flats. So close—he could see the damn building, but apparently needed to be on the opposite side to gain access to the car park. A set of traffic lights and a junction later and he was rolling over a speed hump… finally!

Meticulous as ever, Balkhi had even told him which part of the car park was closest to his place. If he could find a space in that section—although the flats had spaces, they weren’t allocated—then he wouldn’t have so far to carry his stuff. Not that it mattered—he was plenty strong enough and didn’t have anything heavy, anyway. Years in the military had taught him how to pack light. And he’d have carried an elephant if it meant he got to see Balkhi.
Spotting a slot, Wilkes headed for it, pulling in carefully, then turning off the reading light and the engine. Taking his phone from his pocket, he fired off a text message.

Each song on the radio that finished signalled another bunch of miles less that he had to travel before he reached his destination. So, although each respective tune wasn’t necessarily better than the last, it was worthier of celebration. Before long, Wilkes exited the M3 and passed through the fashionable, expensive areas west of London—Twickenham, Richmond, Battersea. Then Clapham, and a turn towards the river eventually brought him into Stockwell.

He didn’t know the area, but Balkhi had explained what a great location it was—close to a Tube station, giving him easy access to the university hospital on the south bank of the Thames. Even better, it was outside of the congestion zone, and the accommodation came with its own parking space, meaning Wilkes could drive right up to the block of flats without incurring any charges, or have the hassle of finding somewhere to leave his vehicle.

Wilkes couldn’t help smirking as he thought about some of the situations they’d gotten into together. A trip to Camp Bastion and accidentally bumping into each other in the shower area had started it all off, followed by taking advantage of the relative privacy of an accommodation block. Then there’d been the blowjobs in the briefings tent, the insanely risky clinches in Wilkes’ tent… Christ, how had they never been caught? Heat flushed his cheeks at the erotic flashbacks, and he had to shove them forcefully from his mind and drag his attention back to the road before he caused an accident.

They’d always known things between them were never going to be simple, not even on returning to the UK. Neither man was “out.” And although it had been far too dangerous for Balkhi to come out in Afghanistan, there was no reason he couldn’t be openly gay here. Wilkes, on the other hand, had the reactions of his family, friends and colleagues to consider. He was certain all the people that mattered would quickly get over the shock of discovering his sexuality and accept it, but he still couldn’t shake the worry that it would adversely affect his career. His immediate superior, a homophobic old bastard by the name of Major Graham Hunter, often made his life unpleasant as it was, and that was without knowing Wilkes batted for the other side.