Chapter 19
THE FALLOUT
ZEKE
As soon as I got back to my room in the barracks, my stomach immediately filled with dread.
The buzzing sound in the back of my head grew louder as if my brain protested the distance between us, especially not knowing when I would see Maggie next.
Longing settled in my chest like pneumonia—making it nearly impossible to breathe.
Cold sweats continued to slick my skin as I tossed and turned all night long. The red analog numbers on the digital clock across the room mocked me as time passed but sleep remained evasive. Fear of losing her, of never seeing Maggie again drove me nearly crazy.
I knew it was rude as fuck, but I couldn’t help pulling out my cell to text her. Maybe that would at least keep the fear from swallowing me whole.
HEY, TROUBLE.
Although the clock read 0304, three dots appeared on the screen right away.
WHATCHA DOIN UP?
CAN’T SLEEP. KEEP THINKING ABOUT YOU.
I MISS YOU TOO.
I HAVE TO SEE YOU TOMORROW. OR TODAY, I GUESS.
GOOD THING YOU KNOW WHERE TO FIND ME
I smiled like a lovestruck idiot down at my phone. Is this what it felt like? To love someone? Was it too soon to feel that way?
Never once had I considered what I missed out on by not pursuing a romantic relationship with someone. While the novels I read made love sound passionate and lifechanging, I was perfectly content with what I had. The Army took up most of my time and that was enough for me.
But what if it was no longer enough?
What if I wanted something more? Someone to share it with?
What if Maggie Eaton changed my life?
The sound of my alarm broke my daydream of a picturesque future filled with Maggie.
We would travel the world, or settle down in River’s Run, or go wherever the Army sent us.
Whatever she wanted to do. I didn’t care if that meant me finishing out my contract and becoming a civilian or if that meant staying in the Army for rest of my life.
Maggie was the only thing that mattered.
The revelation of it all, how right and happy it felt, came to a crashing halt when I realized I needed to report for physical training.
After a four day weekend, the commander was sure to crush us with a workout.
And since I ignored any text that hadn’t come from Maggie or Marla all weekend, I could very well walk into a shitshow if any other soldiers got in trouble.
Just the thought of going through the motions of training rather than greeting Maggie with a cup of coffee as she joined me down in the bakery made me want to vomit.
Oh, god, no—I was actually going to puke…
I barely made it to the toilet in time to hurl up my guts. What if I reported and there was another fuck up that required me to stay all day? What if the person who threw the rock through the window came back and threatened Maggie or Marla again?
The anxiety of it all made me throw up all over again. I had a physical need to see her. There would be no functioning today unless I had some sort of guarantee that Maggie would be a part of my day.
Whipping out my phone, I texted Staff Sergeant Bridges, the next person in my chain of command, that I was too sick to report.
GO TO SICK CALL.
I had never resorted to using sick call, a system the Army offered for soldiers to seek immediate medical care for sickness and injuries that would in turn notify their chain of command.
Through the years I’d seen plenty of other soldiers in my unit use it as a means to get out of work for a day or two simply because they were too hung over or tired from partying the night before.
However, if the very thought of not seeing Maggie made me throw up, there was definitely something wrong with me.
Thankfully the line when I arrived at the clinic was blessedly short. A nurse called me back right away, noting how flushed my face was. I clung to her observation like a lifeline.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I really don’t feel well.”
Guilt briefly flared in my chest, but it wasn’t an outright lie. I didn’t feel well…I just knew it had nothing to do with me actually being sick.
Dr. Sudemyer, an Army captain with a ruddy complexion and brisk demeanor, checked my ears, nose, and throat in swift movements before stating, “There’s a flu going around post. If you’re vomiting, you probably have that.”
Yet another bone Fate threw me. “Uh, yes, sir. I must definitely have the flu. I was around a lot of people this weekend.”
Technically also not a lie.
The doctor nodded. “I’ll give you quarters for the next 72 hours. Stay hydrated. I’ll send your scripts to the pharmacy.”
“Thank you, sir.” I saluted him and accepted the slip of paper he offered with the quartering instructions for my chain of command.
I hadn’t even hit the parking lot before a text came in from Leggett.
GOOD SOLDIERS DON’T GET SICK. PUSH THROUGH IT.
Anger flared. My jaw clenched so tightly that I heard my teeth clack against one another.
CAN’T. TOO SICK
REPORT TO MY OFFICE IMMEDIATELY.
In all my years of service—hell, even during all of high school, if I really thought about it—I had never stayed home sick.
Leggett viewed all illnesses as a mental issue.
One simply had to strengthen mind over matter and the symptoms would go away.
The fact that I had gone to sick call in the first place wasn’t just a red flag to him.
It might as well have been a flashing neon sign with pyrotechnics.
I gritted my teeth in irritation, weighing my options if I told him no. Years’ worth of habit and training had me automatically driving to his office, however. I didn’t know how to refuse Leggett on anything.
Playing up the sickness card, I grabbed a face mask that I continued to carry in my truck after Covid-19 and headed inside.
Like always, Leggett ignored me when I entered and stood at attention at the door. A laptop was opened on his desk and bifocals sat on the end of his nose as he read something on the screen.
“’It is exercise alone that supports the spirits,’” quoted Leggett. “You should be at PT, not gallivanting around post like a Private on leave.”
Shame washed over me at his accusations. Quoting an ancient Roman scholar like Marcus Tullius Cicero would only appeal to my intellect and innate drive to excellence. I had always been the best because I simply couldn’t accept anything less. No decent soldier could.
But Maggie’s beautiful face came to mind, mouth quirking up when I attempted to flirt and spectacularly failed.
How she had already grown more comfortable around me with less makeup on.
The way the sweat from a hard day’s work glistened on her skin in those spandex shorts she wore to drive me crazy. I didn’t want to miss that.
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t feel well. I need rest.” How I managed to maintain the cool, detached tone, I would never know.
Leggett grunted in response. “You go to one party and suddenly you can’t obey orders? Is this the kind of shitty soldier you’re going to become?”
I was grateful the mask covered most of my face so that he couldn’t see how thin my lips flattened from his allegations.
I allowed the silence to grow, determined to wait him out.
He would not make me budge on this. Already the contents of my stomach churned, anxiety rising over not seeing Maggie today if Leggett forced my hand.
“I still control your career, boy. I could have you on a plane to no man’s land today if I want.”
My blood ran cold at the threat. He had never gone so far before. Then again, the general had never had to. I always complied.
After several long, agonizing minutes of my continued silence, Leggett grunted again. “Get out of my sight!”
He didn’t need to repeat himself. I slid into the driver’s seat before the door had even fully closed in his office.
Now I had another nagging fear in the back of my mind, though.
General Leggett could drum up orders to another duty station and I would have no way to fight them.
Once a person enlisted, the Army owned them and could dictate their location like any other property.
As soon as I drove through Fort Stewart’s gates, I whipped out my phone to text Maggie.
ON MY WAY TO YOU, TROUBLE.