Chapter 10 #2
In a culture where trust and unit cohesion meant everything, getting known as the two guys who fucked their way through Selection would destroy any future career in the military.
Not to mention his father. The General would hear about it within hours. And that... Elliot couldn't let himself think about that.
After dinner, they had their first scheduled call home: thirty minutes allocated per person on the base landlines, staggered throughout the evening.
Elliot had signed up for the 2130 slot. It was early morning in Lyon, but his aunt had told him last time they spoke that she'd make sure to wake up whenever he called.
The call room had four stations. Small cubicles with desk phones and just enough space between them that conversations didn't completely overlap. Still, voices carried despite the low partitions.
Two guys Elliot didn't know well had already occupied their stations when he walked in. And Hale, sitting at the far station, phone pressed to his ear, was laughing. Easygoing as always.
Elliot took the station in the opposite corner and sat down. He could have called his mother. She'd want to hear from him, would ask all the right questions—was he eating enough, was training going well, was he being safe.
But talking to his mother always meant another performance. He had to reassure her, watch what he said because she'd worry, or worse, mention it to his father. She tried. But years of living with The General had worn her down, made her careful.
His aunt Marguerite was different.
She was his mother's younger sister, still living in Lyon in the house where they'd grown up.
She'd never married, had spent her life teaching literature at the university and sending Elliot care packages filled with French novels and dark chocolate.
He'd spent summers with her as a kid, before his father decided he was old enough for "real training.
" She'd taught him to love books, to appreciate good food, and to speak French in a way his mother never did.
She was the only person in his life he didn't have to perform for.
Elliot dialed her number. Three rings.
"All??"
“Tata Marguerite. C'est Eliot."
"Eliot!" Her voice lilted with affection despite the early hour. "Mon chéri, I have been waiting by the phone since five like an old woman. Tell me everything—how is Montana? Are they feeding you? You sound tired."
"I'm fine, Tata. They feed us. It’s intense but I'm managing."
"Bien s?r, you are managing. You are brilliant." She paused. "But you’re happy?"
Elliot's throat tightened. "I'm doing well. Ranked second right now."
"That is not what I asked."
"—I'm serious, Tay. You need to stop letting Mom guilt you into—" Hale’s voice carried across the room, warm and teasing.
Elliot shifted, angling away. "It's competitive here. Everyone is good."
"Eliot, mon coeur, you did not call me at this ungodly hour to talk about rankings. Talk to me. How are you?"
Elliot exhaled. This—this was why he called her. Because she asked the questions that mattered and actually waited for real answers.
"I'm good. Managing the pressure."
"You have been managing pressure your entire life, mon chéri. That is not the same as being well."
“Well. It’s what I’m here to do.”
“N’importe quoi! Screw The General, Eliot. Do what makes you happy."
“Tata—”
"I know, I know. You do not want to hear it." She moved around on the other end—probably making coffee. "So. Let us talk about something else. Dis-moi—are there any cute boys at this place?"
A surprised laugh escaped Elliot before he could stop it. “Tata, I'm not here to socialize. I need to focus—"
"On making The General proud, yes, yes. But surely you can look, yes? Appreciate the view?"
"It's a military training facility, not a nightclub."
"So that means yes, then. Beaux garcons everywhere."
Elliot laughed again, shaking his head. "You're terrible."
"I am French. It’s different." She paused. "You know I just want you to be happy, mon chéri. To find someone who sees you. The real you, oui?"
Elliot's eyes flicked across the room to Hale without meaning to. Hale said something that made his sister laugh—Elliot heard it through the phone, bright and delighted. Easy.
"I know," Elliot said.
"—yeah, yeah, I know you're an adult—" Hale's voice again. The kind of sibling banter Elliot had never learned.
"Promise me you will take care of yourself," his aunt said. "Not only your body. Your heart too."
"I promise."
"And call me again soon. I will be waiting."
"Even at five in the morning?"
"For you, always."
They said their goodbyes—je t'aime, je t'aime aussi—and Elliot hung up.
His aunt knew him. The real him. And she loved him anyway. The only unconditional thing in his life.
"—Love you too. Yeah. Bye." Hale's voice, soft now. Elliot glanced over. Hale lowered his phone, still smiling at whatever his sister had said.
Elliot wondered what that felt like. To have a sibling you could talk to. Without treating every conversation like a tactical negotiation.
He stood and turned toward the door just as Hale did the same.
Their eyes met and they both stopped.
Hale's relaxed expression shifted. Like he suddenly remembered what had happened in the locker room earlier.
“Hey,” Elliot said.
“Hey.” Hale hesitated. "Didn't know you could laugh like that."
Elliot stiffened. "Like what?"
"Like you actually mean it."
Before Elliot could respond, Hale walked past him toward the door. Elliot stayed behind, his aunt's voice echoing in his head. Are there any cute boys there?
Yes. One. And he was becoming a problem.