3. Will
CHAPTER 3
WILL
“M.I.A.” - GRAHAM BARHAM
“ G ive me twenty more push-ups, dirtbags,” barks Sergeant Montgomery.
“I swear to God, if Johnson doesn’t get his chest to the floor this time, I’m going to kill him with my bare hands,” I whisper quietly to Smith, so as not to be the one responsible for extended PT this morning.
It’s Friday and it’s been a hell of a week. The last thing I need is to have to lie face down on this busted excuse for a track for even a second longer than is mandatory. We’ve had nothing but problems with our surveillance feeds for the past four days, our computer network has shit the bed twice, and we’re preparing to deploy at a moment’s notice. Not knowing when it will happen is fueling my anxiety.
Coming off our last deployment, I thought getting moved as a group to Tampa sounded great. I thought it meant I’d actually see a beach. Instead, I’m stuck in a constant state of darkness at work—literally. We work in a pitch-black room lit only by the hazy glow of hundreds of computer monitors. Then there’s the fact that my mother decided last night would be a good time to tell me she ran into Patricia Wright at the market. Hearing about the woman who should have been my mother-in-law has my skin vibrating with regret.
“...nineteen, twenty.Alright, you idiots. Shower and report to duty in twenty,” barks Montgomery again.
Does that man ever speak any other way except in grunts and barks? I bet he walks around hollering about light switches being left on and who’s signed up for trash duty when he’s at home. It’s reassuring that he found someone to marry though. There might be hope for the rest of us yet.
As we walk quickly toward the gym showers, Smith raps me on the shoulder. “Whaddya say, old Willy boy, wanna hit the Hole tonight?”
I groan quietly. I’ve been to the Waterin’ Hole too many times to count in the last three months, and honestly, the place is dulling my senses. Don’t get me wrong, I love country music, it runs in my veins, but every time I walk in that place, I’m transported back to dancing lessons in Cam’s barn after school. The way memories of what we had seep into me and rip my heart out is becoming too much to handle.
“I don’t know, man. I might just order pizza and chill tonight.” A low-key night feels like exactly what I need.
“Willy boy, who gives a shit if no one can dance properly and if the music isn’t the folksy shit you grew up on? Girls are girls and you need one, like, yesterday, my man,” shouts Smith.
“Geezus, what I don’t need is you announcing to the whole base that I haven’t had a date in far too long. I don’t need a woman, I’m fine by myself,” I hiss back at him. He knows why I don’t put myself out there, he just doesn’t accept it.
“You need to get your mind off her and let go of all the ass-backward reasons you’re holding on to for not putting yourself out there. You aren’t your father. Never have been, never will be.” He demands my agreement, grabbing my chin and shaking my head up and down.
As we step into the steam-filled locker room, he squeezes my shoulder and tells me to think about it, adding that I can hit him up at his apartment around nine if I want to grab a cab with him. He says it like it’ll be this big endeavor when in reality, he lives across the hall from me. I could walk out my door and get in the cab when it pulls up, but that’s just like Smith to lean into the drama of it all.
Shaking my head, I toss him an eye roll, grab my caddy, and head toward the shower. He’s a great guy, a real man’s man who will always watch your back in the field, but he’s also loud and boisterous. Smith knows everyone and isn’t afraid to make a scene, be the star of the party, and laugh his ass off—at my expense.
“Alright man, I’ll think about it. Let’s hurry here and get to work, so Montgomery doesn’t make us do anymore push-ups today,” I grumble.
We shower swiftly, put on our standard-issue uniforms, and rush to the secure facility we work in. It’s not going to be a crazy day, but we’re pretty busy and all on edge that we may have to head out soon. I can’t stop thinking about what Smith said. Maybe I should do what the rest of the guys do, download Tinder and find someone to take the edge off quickly. It’s not like I haven’t done it before, it’s just that I don’t want to deal with what comes afterward. It’s supposed to be quick and easy, but they always want more than I can provide, emotionally. The only person I was ever attached to I broke. These women don’t deserve it.
To be frank, if—and that’s a big if—I was going to get attached again, it would be to her. But I can’t. It would be selfish to put her through what would inevitably be me making a mistake that costs both of our happiness. Not that she would even give me the time of day at this point. Cam is a no contest girl, when compared to anyone else she wins every category hands down and I screwed her over. Ultimately I did it to help her, she couldn’t be a ray of sunshine stuck to my grumpy ass, but of course she didn’t see it that way. Instead, she thinks I crushed her on purpose, and I let her believe it.
Smith rolls over, bumping into me with his desk chair, spinning like an eight-year-old entertaining himself on bring-your-son-to-work day. “So, the Hole? You in? Or are you going to sit around and wallow all night?” he chides me, knowing if he pokes long enough, I’ll eventually cave. No one enjoys sitting alone at home on a Friday.
“I don’t know, man, it’s going to be the same shit as always. We go, I sit at the bar and drink while you pick up a girl, hook up with her in the bathroom, and then we leave. Why don’t we go somewhere else?”
“Hmm...why don’t you try not being a sad sack and finally give up on this no-dating rule?”
“You know why.” I stare at him astounded that he doesn’t feel exactly the same way. “I don’t have a job where I can commit to being in one location. I am stubborn as a mule and struggle to say the right thing. I am sure that women are just waiting to line up,” I deadpan.
“You know there’s this thing you could try, it’s called just have fun . Keep it light and casual with clear expectations upfront.”
“Okay...so you want me to lead them on?” I ask, hoping deep down that’s not actually what he’s doing to the women he entertains. I may be dense at times, but I pride myself on being respectful in all things.
“No, that’s the meaning of clear expectations. I just want you to quit moping around. Look, we all know that the elusive Cam is it for you, but that doesn’t mean you’re dead. We all also know that you don’t even know where she is or what she’s up to.” He doesn’t know my mom’s latest update on her grocery store run in with Cam’s mom is weighing on my mind.
“If I agree to go, will you never mention her name again?” I ask, impatiently.
“If you agree to stop pining away for her like a puppy that lost his favorite toy. You made the decision to drop her like yesterday’s trash, you didn’t want her, she would never have been able to handle the emotional toll, one of you would have eventually walked away, yada yada...Get over it, bro, it’s been five years!” Smith throws his hands up and rubs them together, signaling my need to wash my hands of her. As if it would be so easy to forget the only woman I’ve ever loved.
“First of all, I didn’t drop her like trash. I did want her, but I also knew what was best for her. Second of all, stop talking about Cam!” I raise my voice at him, immediately glancing around to see if anyone noticed. If I have to do another push-up today, my arms won’t work at all tomorrow and it will be Smith’s fault for provoking me.
“Whoa, dude, I’m just messing with you. But you really do need to find a way to break this spell. Let’s hit up Venus instead. You can pay for a little action to take the edge off.”
“Fine, I’m in, but I’m not buying you a lap dance. You gotta pay your own way,” I say on a huff while I point my finger at him for emphasis, not that it will work. I don’t typically enjoy frequenting strip clubs, but maybe he’s right. Maybe I should try casual. I’m just afraid if I do, no one will ever measure up.
“Deal,” Smith agrees, while trying to mask his sly smirk with his hand. He knows I’m paying, even though I literally just said I wouldn’t. I always end up paying because I’m the only one who doesn’t regularly blow the minuscule paychecks we get. I guess that’s my penance for refusing to go dancing and for being stingy, saving every penny I earn aside from what’s necessary for living expenses and the occasional stock up at the nutrition store.
Salty ocean air swirls around me, wafting hints of fish and sunscreen into my Jeep. The breeze is warm on my skin, not as refreshing as I’d like it to be with the temperature nearing triple digits, but it’s moving air nonetheless. Lyrics honoring small hometowns and the people we take for granted vibrate from my stereo. Nothing like a classic country song to make you feel seen, or to sometimes deepen the ache for times, people, or places gone by.
I do my best thinking when driving, the silence allowing my brain to marinate on mistakes I wish I could change. I never meant to break Cam’s heart; it’s just, I’ve seen this all play out before. My mom was a devoted wife, but my dad felt like he missed his chance to sow his wild oats since he married his high school sweetheart, so to speak. He had never dated anyone else, never went to parties unless my mom was with him, and supposedly the dullness of never experiencing the things he “should” have wore him down. One day, my mom came into an on-call room at the hospital they both worked at and found him bent over a nurse with his pants around his ankles.
She wanted to forgive him—honestly, Valerie Davenport is the sweetest woman known to man, a real-life angel walking on earth. The problem was, he didn’t want to stop giving it to Susie Homewrecker because she made him feel “alive,” whatever the fuck that means. Getting his release was more important than his wife or kids.
I think that’s why I fell so hard for Cam. Aside from her outer beauty, she taught me what it felt like to truly be loved, without exception. She met me where I was, and my scars became the roadmap to earning my heart. But I had to end it. Knowing I would never be able to give her as much in return as she gave me ate at me. Cam is sunshine, she’s the most beautiful bouquet of flowers, the rainbow on a rainy day. I am the man who wasn’t even lovable enough for his father to stick around. Splitting up was easier than falling short of ever being able to lasso the moon for her.
“Honk ,” a horn blares behind me, alerting me that traffic is moving once more and I’m carried back from my trip down memory lane. I turn into my complex, zip into my parking spot, and grab my gym bag from the back. Glancing at my watch, I have exactly three hours to eat dinner, relax, and shower before we’re heading out. Rounding the corner to head down the hallway to my apartment, I grind to a halt. Something is off, out of sync, but I can’t immediately place it.
Trained to trust my instincts, I slowly step down the long hallway. Ten paces away, I notice the edge of a suitcase peeking out from the alcove at my doorway. Anxiety ratchets up another notch within me—unattended bags equal bombs in my experience. My brain immediately races through scenes of how many cars are out front, which of my neighbors could be home, and where the hell is Smith? The acrid taste of gunpowder and the smell of pure dirt mixed with iron dance on my senses. Fighting the urge to panic or hurl, I place my hand flat on the wall, stare at a palm tree swaying in the distance, and repeat in my head the mantra I’ve practiced so many times: You’re safe, you’re home, you’re in Florida. You’re safe, you’re home, you’re in Florida.
When we got back from our last deployment, mandated counseling was one of the many prizes we won. Tina, my therapist, taught me to deal with the flashbacks or triggers by focusing on an object and repeating words to affirm my safety. I fought her on it—hello, it’s me, not a big fan of therapy or talking about my feelings. But it does help, not that I’d admit it to most people.
I take a few deep breaths to steady myself, then place one foot in front of the other to close the distance. My younger sister, Amy, is perched carefully on a duffel bag with a rolling suitcase in front of her. What the fuck is going on?
“Aims, what’s wrong, why are you here, what the hell?” I huff out at a rapid clip, anger laced in my voice where shock should be. “I thought, well...I thought...never mind.” I almost tell her the suitcase triggered an episode of PTSD, stopping only because she doesn’t know I still have these episodes in the first place. And even if she did know, explaining why something as benign as a suitcase could send me into one doesn’t make sense even to me. There is no rhyme or reason to it. It’s easier to leave it alone.
“I can’t take it anymore, Will. Mom is unbearable...she treats me like a child. I can’t find a job. Rob is a cheating asshole. I dumped his no-good sorry ass, by the way. Ugh! Can we please just go inside?” she pleads with me, water dangerously close to leaking from her eyes.
“Yeah, of course, let’s go.” I sigh, desperate to bring her back from the brink of tears.
What does this mean? Is she staying? For how long? Does she expect me to pay for her to live, I mean obviously I would, she’s my baby sister, but this isn’t how I saw my evening unfolding. Hell, I only have a one-bedroom apartment, and I can’t force my little sister to sleep on the couch in her current state. How the hell did she even get to Florida without anyone knowing—wait does Mom know? Questions flood my mind like a tidal wave crashing into the coast.
“I know it’s Friday, Will. If you have plans, you can just go and I’ll crash here.” Amy withers.
“Well, I was going to go out with Smith and the guys from our unit. I am not leaving you alone, but if you think you’d be up for some dancing...it could be fun.” Smiling at her and wagging my eyebrows, I’m desperate to make her happy. There’s no one else in this world I would subject myself to a night out at the country bar for, except Cam.
“Yes! Dancing sounds like exactly what I need. Is Butler going to be there?” Her cheeks turn a vibrant shade of pink as she hides her eyes under those long lashes.
“He will but you know my friends are off-limits. These aren’t the kind of guys I want you to be anything more than friends with.” Bristling at the thought of my sister, the one who used to skin her knees trying to keep up with me on the playground, dating one of my friends—not happening, ever.
I shoot off a text to Smith letting him know Aims is in town and we will need to change plans. Of course he responds with heart-eye emojis, furthering the churning in my stomach. Looks like I’ll be spinning my sister around the floor tonight to keep the hounds at bay.