Harper starts in with her college talk, telling me of her exams and her linguistics professor and the boy she studies with, who has bad breath. I’ve named him Stinky Stuart, even though his name is Marcus. It irritates her when I don’t use his real name. It irritates me that even I can tell Marcus wants her for more than studying and she doesn’t realize it. I don’t tell her that either. I don’t have rights to Harper in that regard anymore.
She’s the pipe dream I gave up when I became a SEAL. My cell chimes with a text message. It’s from a number not saved in my phone.
I had fun last night. Call me later?
Swallowing hard, the memories from my drunken escapade last night come rushing back. My hands in blond hair. Her mouth on my dick. I swipe to delete the message quickly.
“Benny, I have to go. My Jazzercise class starts in fifteen and I’m about to blow a gasket with these upcoming tests. I might even stay for two classes.”
Shaking my head, I reply, “Still with the Jazzercise? I may not clean well, but at least I don’t participate in the geekiest thing alive to combat stress.” I can’t make fun of her too much because I used to go with her when we were growing up. Her mom would drop us off out front with our sweat bands strapped to our foreheads. We’d wave her away, with gritted teeth and red faces. Wouldn’t want ole’ Mom to embarrass us at Jazzercise class, now would we?
I ask if Harper remembers it, and of course she does. We end our phone call the way we always do, with laughter and good memories. I feel so much better after we talk. The fuzzy, familiar feelings only she can give vanish bit by bit until I’m empty and alone again. Soon, she’ll be here and I’ll be able to fill the reserves again.
The random number texts me again, but I delete the message before reading it in favor of looking up house cleaning services.
++++
Sweat drips down the sides of my face as I hold my breath and steady my gun. The wet wood and drywall surrounding us makes for a horrendous smell and I can’t help but wonder how many mold spores I’m inhaling in this abandoned, nasty building. As a kid, I was obsessed with geeky things like Stachybotrus chartarum, better known as black mold. It can cause cancer and infections that take over an entire human body. Puffing out my cheeks, I try to hold my breath a little longer than I should.
My buddy Tahoe is in front of me. He squeezes my thigh with his free hand, signaling we’re moving into the next room. I reach behind me and return the gesture to the SEAL behind me. We’re stacked against the door, silently pursuing the people hiding behind it. We’re not in a third world country stalking evil predators. We’re in a fucking abandoned office building in Florida. This is our new normal. Fighting on American soil, in seedy places, taking out those who threaten our fucked up freedom. When people talk about the price you pay for freedom? Yep, that’s me. Paying that shit a million times over.
Someone from inside the room fires a gun and the bullet whizzes by my shoulder and lodges into the wall across the hallway. I can’t let the near hit affect my mindset, though. I take a deep breath and confirm I’m okay with a brisk head nod. Tahoe grabs my arm and looks me up and down. It’s a frantic gesture as he scans for blood or anything amiss. I hiss out a long breath as the front man gives the order to move in by signaling a hand gesture. It’s only been a few seconds since the bullet flew through the wall, and we’re obviously compromised. The scent of gun powder fills my awareness and in response I tighten my grip on the weapon.
With precision and speed, the first SEAL enters the room and gunfire lights the atmosphere like the Fourth of July. I keep my gaze focused at the door opening as my three brothers enter before me, folding around the door, each heading in separate directions to clear the room effectively. Voices cascade around me as I enter the dimly lit room for my turn. They took out the bad guy the millisecond they entered, so by the time I’ve entered the threat is gone. This time, at least.
I’m still breathing hard when someone yells, “Clear!” And we set out for the other rooms in this hallway. The Intel crew sweeps in behind us to case the room and the body to find anything of use. It’s become an exhausting effort to root out the people responsible for the terror attacks that rocked our world. It’s not just the terrorists, it’s also those who helped fund it, and those who helped organize the attacks.
All in a day’s work. I tell myself this on repeat as I try to forget about the stray, deathly bullet. The rest of the rooms prove less hazardous and we’re on our airplane heading somewhere else just as dusk sets.
My friends talk about the mission and pat me on the shoulder as they pass by my seat on the plane. I’m solemn, a little more silent than I usually am. I’m an extroverted introvert on a good day. Keeping to myself comes naturally, but when close calls rear, like they’ve done before, I shut down almost completely. Tahoe flashes his phone in front of my face. It’s a pair of big, fake titties. He spits into a clear soda bottle, and then takes a seat in front of me, our friendly exchange all but over.
My cell phone is in a dirty backpack sitting in the seat next to me. I pull it out and open up the notes to write a message that will never see the light of day. Sometimes I need to write things down to remind myself that I’m still breathing, that my reality is firmly planted in the same place it has always been.
When the light fades and the mute darkness washes over me, I don’t think of anything except every memory that has you in it.
Chapter Three
Harper
“Marcus, I know what I’m talking about. Trust me, I’ll be fine.” I sigh, folding my arms across my chest. He doesn’t think a visit to see my best friend is a good idea. I mean, we’re dating, so I get his hesitation. He’s putting his girlfriend on a plane to see her lifelong best friend, who happens to be a Navy SEAL with a friend stable filled with vagina hungry, muscled monsters. Marcus doesn’t have muscles. He’s kind and he’s thoughtful—more intelligent than I am, if we’re being completely honest.
“I don’t want you going. I don’t know why you even want to go!” he says, his voice loud—tenor demanding.
I wince. “Don’t yell at me. If you don’t understand why I’d want to see my best friend for his birthday then you don’t know me at all.” This is officially our first real fight. “It’s a trip back home for me.” Mostly to see Ben, but it’s still within driving distance to my parents.
Marcus has dark, chocolate-colored skin, and the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. He’s wearing a plaid button-up shirt and a pair of pressed khakis. He’s the poster child for Harvard in every way, shape, and form. His father attended, as did his older brother, and Marcus is…safe. He lives a secure life, free of any encumbrances that could affect our relationship negatively.
His brown eyes turn down in the corner. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Harper. You mean so much to me. It just worries me. That’s all.” If the tables were turned, I know I’d feel some hesitation in letting Marcus go. “Don’t forget about me, okay?” He cups the side of my face and leans in to peck my lips with a warm kiss. I stiffen a little because his mood swings give me pause. I’m not well versed in relationships, but I have certain expectations regardless of my experience. No yelling is certainly on that list.
I kiss him back, wrapping my hands around his neck. “You’re going to be soaking in texts the entire time anyway. You won’t even know I’m gone,” I reply. “Ben needs me, Marcus. He always has.” Admitting it out loud forces a lump in my throat. I smile through it because Marcus is studying me with a critical twinkle in his eye. He asked me straight up, before we made our union official, if I had feelings for Ben. I told him I didn’t, but that was a surface answer, because of course I have feelings for Ben. I’ve tried, and I’m not sure how tonothave feelings for him.
Standing on the edge of forever, I can only save one person from spiraling into the abyss. It will be him.
Always him.
Even though that answer may never change, I’m able to live with it now in a way that makes it bearable. Ben chose his life and I chose mine and those decisions weren’t conducive to anything more than a long-distance friendship. It would be a bold-faced lie to say I’m not nervous about seeing Ben after a year of separation.
Marcus leans away from our embrace and sets his hands on top of my shoulders. With a wide grin he leans forward and presses his lips against my forehead. “We can order take-out. We can rent that Rom Com you wanted to see. How does that sound?” he asks, eyes hopeful.
