The Marine Next Door

Prologue

CALEB

Reilly shows up with two coffees right as I'm pulling the last photo off my locker door. He holds one out, and I take it without looking up, peeling the tape carefully so it doesn't rip the corner of the picture.

"You're still here?" he says. "I figured you'd be halfway to the parking lot by now."

"I'm getting there." I slide the photo into the side pocket of my seabag and grab the travel mug and spare razor off the shelf. Thirteen years and everything I'm taking with me fits in one bag.

"That's all you have?" Reilly asks, reading my face.

"It's all I needed," I tell him, feeling the hollowness of the moment.

I'm about to head off into this great unknown with no plan at all.

The past thirteen years of my life have been so rigid and structured, there wasn't time to try to sort out who I am or what I really want in life.

Now there will be no one around me to give me orders and tell me what to do. Feels sort of shocking.

"It's depressing, Caleb."

I zip the bag shut and close the locker, letting the clang carry down the empty row.

Some boot-camp kid will get assigned to it next week and never know the history behind who had it.

Maybe they'll tape their own pictures up there and remember their memories like I did.

Or maybe they'll abuse it and get out early like half the men who joined up when I did.

Reilly leans against the opposite row and sips his coffee.

He's got about six months left on his contract, and we've been talking about building a private security firm every chance we get.

Neither of us knows the first thing about running a business, though, and I've got some time to map things out while he finishes up.

"I found another office space," he says. "Down in Charlotte…" I'm not sure where we'll land, but somewhere in the Carolinas has been my goal. Who knows where life will take us, though. Maybe we'll go separate ways and maybe the security firm will work out.

"Hmm… Charlotte's good." It's hard to muster up any excitement. They say when God closes a door he opens a window, but I’m not seeing windows right now. Just wide open spaces that leave too much to the imagination. I'm used to routine and rigor. Who's going to keep me in line until Reilly gets out?

"Yeah, well, we'll see." He pushes off the lockers and falls into step beside me as I sling the seabag over my shoulder and head for the doors.

"I'll set everything up when I'm out. By then you'll have the paperwork filed and probably a couple of contracts under your belt.

I'll just come in and make it look professional. " He says it with a wink and a chuckle.

"You're going to make it look professional?" I joke, lifting one eyebrow. I'm going to miss these guys and their banter. Life is about to take a huge turn and I have no clue what's around the bend.

"I'm the organized one, Caleb. You know that." He grins. "I already found us a good coffee maker online, nothing like the garbage they stock in the break rooms around here."

"What about the guys?"

"Dawson's up in four months, and Mick and Torres are right behind him." He glances at me. "They're all in, and the second their papers clear, they're ours."

We push through the barracks doors into the evening air.

The quad is packed with the usual end-of-day traffic—marines crossing between buildings on their way to chow, a sergeant dressing down a private near the flagpole, a formation of recruits running drills on the far side of the grass.

The cadence caller's voice carries across the quad, reminding me of things I'm going to miss.

Maybe I don't want to do this. What am I going to do with my life?

"You gonna miss it?" Reilly asks.

"I'll miss parts of it."

"Which parts?"

"They're not the parts you're thinking."

But yes. I'm going to really miss almost all of it.

I'm not fond of the overseas deployments and the killing, though most of that stopped a few years ago.

But I'll miss the comradery and the chain of command.

And I'll miss having men look up to me for my hard work and passion.

I've heard getting out can be hard because civilians don’t recognize the sacrifice and dedication it takes.

"You nervous?" he asks before taking a long swig of his coffee.

I push the door open and step out onto the grounds where the sun is still hot and the day is fading fast. With the stuff I have lined up for the next few months, I'm gonna feel very different than I do now.

My journey takes me to the Midwest, into rain and more winter-like conditions than here at La Jeune.

"Hmm," I sigh, shrugging, "maybe a little, but I’m just gonna focus on the thing in front of me and take one day at a time."

"Yeah, I get that." Reilly stops when we get to the office and turns to face me, giving me one last salute, though he doesn't have to. "I'll be around, you know, Gunny?"

I salute him back and nod at him, feeling tightness seize my chest up. It might be the last real salute I give for a while. Maybe for life.

"You know where to find me," I say, thrusting out my hand. He grips it hard and then backs away, heading off to finish his rounds for the day.

I turn toward the office and wipe the sweat from my forehead as I walk to the door.

I'm sure all men who leave the service have their doubts and fears. I bet a lot of them feel as aimless or uncertain as I do right now. But I'm not sure how many of them have no one to go home to. My parents are gone and I have no siblings. No wife or woman to speak of, and no home to return to.

It's all new for me now. I'm not sure how to feel about that.

"Gunny," Corporal Jones says, offering a hand to shake as I walk through the office door. "We're sure gonna miss you around here."

I shake his hand and eye Margaret, one of the civilian contractors who does paperwork. She's probably waiting for me, ready to get my signature.

"I'm gonna miss this place too, Corporal.

Don't go giving my bunk to a greenback. And make sure if anyone takes that locker, they fix the latch.

" It's a standing joke. I took the locker with the sticky latch on purpose after hammering a guy's face into it during a spat one week into the gig.

Corporal Jones was set to reprimand me and let it slide, and I've owed him one ever since.

"Stay in touch, Gunny." He walks out, leaving me to stalk over to Margaret.

Signing the paperwork is easier and faster than I figured. I'll still have three years of active reserve duty, which I took voluntarily to keep this door open in case I want to come back. But this might very well be the last time I set foot on any military base for the rest of my life.

When the papers are signed, I head toward my truck with that same hollow feeling in my chest. I don't know how long that's gonna last, but I hope not long.

I pause beside the truck when I hear boots hitting pavement behind me.

"Gunny!" someone shouts, and I turn and see three of the younger guys heading across the lot toward me in their utilities. Dawson's in front with Mick and Torres behind him. All three of them look anxious, like they thought they'd miss me or something.

Dawson gets there first and sticks out his hand. "Heard you were rolling out today."

"Looks that way."

He shakes my hand and takes off his hat, using it to mop the sweat off his forehead. The kid came in green as grass four years ago and nearly washed out after his first field exercise. Now he's one of the better men in the unit. Funny how time does that.

Mick folds his arms. "Feels weird seeing you leave, Sergeant."

"Yeah?" I ask.

"Yeah. You were here before all of us. Who's gonna knock us around when we fuck off?" He chuckles, and I grin at him. He's not wrong. I do get after these guys a lot.

Torres nods toward the seabag as I sling it into the bed of my truck. "Thought there'd be more stuff."

I glance back at it. "Most of the important things don't fit in a bag." My entire life can be summed up to what's in that bag now. Reilly's right. It's depressing.

Torres scratches the back of his neck and looks over at the truck. "Still feels wrong seeing you leave with just that."

"Better than hauling around junk I don't need.

" I've lived on base, worked on base, even eaten on base every day for thirteen years.

I had a bed in my parents' house when they were still alive, but that all got sold off at auction.

Wherever I go, I'll be starting fresh with new furniture and belongings.

Mick smirks. "That's because you live like a damn monk."

"I've seen your barracks room," I tell him. "One more pizza box and medical would've condemned it."

Dawson laughs while Mick flips me off. They are the same idiots, and it falls into the same routine every time.

I think that's what gets me more than anything. Tomorrow, this place will keep moving like I was never here. Reveille still goes off before sunrise. Somebody still gets chewed out for being late. The younger guys still crack jokes during cleanup and bitch about chow like it's poison.

The machine will just keep going.

But for me, life will stand still until I figure out what direction I'm taking.

Dawson clears his throat. "Reilly said the security firm's still happening."

"That's the plan."

"You serious about wanting us after we get out?"

I look between the three of them. They're good, reliable men who know how to keep their mouths shut and handle pressure without falling apart. Of course I want them.

"Dead serious," I tell him. "You boys stay out of trouble, finish your contracts clean, and call me when you're free. By then, maybe we'll have enough work to keep everybody busy."

Torres grins. "Private security, huh? You gonna make us wear suits?"

"Hell no."

Mick laughs under his breath. "Good. I look terrible in a tie."

"You look terrible in general," Dawson shoots back.

They start jawing at each other the same way they always do, and I find myself smiling again. I'm going to miss this more than I thought.

Dawson looks back at me after a second. "For real, though, Gunny. I appreciate everything."

I nod and shake his extended hand. "Just do your jobs and keep each other alive. That's all I ever wanted out of you."

They straighten a little at that before Dawson throws one last salute over his shoulder and I return it automatically.

Then I'm alone again as they run off to get back to whatever it is they're supposed to be doing. I hook my thumbs through my belt and stare out across the yard. For thirteen years, this place decided when I woke up, where I went, what I wore, and who stood beside me.

Now I get to choose all of that for myself.

Life's waiting out there, whether I'm ready for it or not.

Whatever comes next, I'm going to meet it head-on.