16. Harris
16
HARRIS
“ H as something happened since we talked on Friday?”
I glanced at Martinez, then went back to studying the black spot on the carpet. The last twenty-four hours had been pure hell, and the last thing I felt like doing was reliving that.
“How many more of these sessions do I need to attend?” I snapped. “When is my evaluation? I’m ready to return to active duty.” Liar, liar.
Martinez regarded me evenly. “Why now?”
I pulled a sour face. Why now, indeed? Because where else would I go? I couldn’t say that , even if it was the truth. I’d been living in a fantasy, away with the fairies, dreaming of a future I could never have.
Martinez cleared his throat.
“What?”
“Why are you so anxious to return to active duty now?” Martinez narrowed his gaze. “What’s changed? You’re so wound up, the agitation’s just rolling off you.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Oh, it’s something, and we’re not even going to entertain the notion of you going back to your unit until you spill it.”
My knee bounced harder, and I rubbed the back of my neck. “Rachel kicked me to the curb,” I said, blurting it out. It hurt just to say it, and I looked down at my feet.
“What happened?” Martinez’s voice was gentle, and I couldn’t hold back. Like a dam had burst, the whole story poured out of me. I held nothing back, not like my past sessions. I confessed everything that had happened since I’d returned stateside. The news of my father’s death. My one-night stand. How I’d found out I was about to become a father. How I’d fallen for Rachel, but she hadn’t fallen for me. It all came pouring out. My hurt at being shut out of important decisions. My excitement when I thought Rachel was opening up. Darryl’s sabotage attempts, and how they’d filled me with terror.
“I thought I might lose her,” I said. “It was the worst feeling ever. This guy was out to kill her. I felt like if he did it, he’d be taking away everything worth a damn that I wanted for my future. Her. Our baby. Our life together. But apparently, I was the only one who saw it that way. Once she didn’t need me anymore, she jumped on the first excuse she found to kick me out. Wouldn’t let me explain.”
Martinez nodded, his pen flying over his pad of paper. He didn’t say anything, and I filled the silence.
“I can’t tell you how good it felt, fixing that house together. Working on the nursery. We felt like a team.” I stared at the dying plant on the radiator. “It felt like me and Rachel were building ourselves a home. And now I can’t go back. Guess that makes me homeless.”
Martinez waited, his huge frame engulfing the cheap chair and taking up too much space.
“What does everyone want from me?” I shouted, frustration rising. No matter what I did, it was never enough. It was never right. I was just like my dad—I never knew the right thing to say, and I drove away the people I loved.
“A better question is, what do you want?”
“I want to stop these therapy sessions and be cleared for active duty,” I shot back, then clamped my mouth shut. The words were all wrong, tasting like ash on my tongue. But I had no other words, so I nodded.
“I’m ready,” I said, more firmly this time. “I want to go back to my unit.”
I swiped a soapy rag over the Mustang Shelby, the bubbles leaving a trail behind. Yesterday’s therapy appointment had been a disaster. With every fiber of my being, I regretted opening my mouth. Pouring my heart out like that was just asking to prolong the sessions.
Son of a bitch. Swipe, swipe .
After weeks of living with Rachel in the B&B, my one-bedroom apartment felt cold and sterile, and I couldn’t stand to stay inside for long. With nothing better to do, I’d decided to wash my vehicles—Dad’s old Mustang and my Ford F150. Having the truck had given me the freedom to hit the road whenever I was stateside, but I hadn’t driven it in months. I should sell the damn thing now I had the Mustang.
I dipped my rag in the soap bucket and ran it along the Mustang’s white accent lines. If I was selling any vehicle, it should be this thing. I’d get more for it…but no. No. It wouldn’t be right.
“Not Dad’s car,” I muttered, wiping bug guts off the hood. I couldn’t part with it, even if that was the logical choice. Rachel had made some excellent points about safety features like child locks and?—
I planted my hands on the hood, breathing through the sudden tightness in my chest. Christ, it felt like a part of me was missing, and my body just couldn’t function without it.
“Master Sergeant McCallister?”
“Yes?” I peered over my shoulder to find a young private standing on the sidewalk. The kid was so new to the Marines, his fatigues still had fold lines. I felt old just looking at him, old and used up.
“This is for you.” The kid thrust an envelope toward me.
I dropped the rag back in the bucket. I had to rinse the Mustang before the soap dried, but I didn’t think the kid would be here long. Still, I outranked him, and I was feeling petty. I snatched up the hose and blasted the car.
Private Too-Young jumped back and scowled at me.
“Sorry,” I said, but really, I wasn’t. My mood had been foul for days, and it wasn’t getting better.
Water streamed down the metal. The scent of the soap intensified as the bubbles ran off the car. My mind flashed back to standing in the shower while another kind of soap ran down a different body. Rachel shuddered against me, pressed her soft lips to me…
No . I pushed down the memory and snapped back to reality, releasing the nozzle and dropping the hose. Wiping a hand on my gym shorts, I held it out for the letter.
Private Too-Young eyed me suspiciously for a moment, then picked his way around the water on the sidewalk.
Oh, for crying out loud. Are you kidding me? The kid was wearing combat boots. Did he think the soles would melt if they got wet? Christ. What kind of Marines were graduating boot camp these days?
Snatching the envelope, I glared at the private and felt a teensy bit better when the kid lost his smirk and hustled to the plain, government-owned car parked a few spots away.
Nothing on the envelope told me what I might find inside, but I knew my future was literally in my hands. This was it. Either I was reinstated or I wasn’t. Probably, I wasn’t. That meant more lonely nights in my bland, sterile apartment. More fun-filled times with First Lieutenant Greg Martinez, Ph.D.
I ripped the envelope open and plucked out the paper. Unfolding it, I braced myself for the news.
“Right. Here goes nothing.” I scanned past all the bullshit, straight to the meat, and I froze where I stood. I couldn’t believe it: …you are hereby reinstated to active duty…
A tremor started in my feet and worked its way up. I skimmed for more details, but there weren’t many, just orders to report to my CO tomorrow at eleven. I’d be redeployed, I guessed. Rejoin my unit.
White noise grew louder in my head. My trembling ramped up to full-on shakes. I should be overjoyed. I had gotten my wish. Instead, I wanted to throw up.
I slammed the Ford F150’s door shut in the parking lot reserved for Marines. I’d rather have brought my father’s car, but the truck needed to be driven after sitting idle for so long. I glanced at my watch. It was 10:49 a.m.
I figured the letter would’ve said if I was deploying right away, but I’d packed my duffle on the off chance I was wrong. Plucking my bag out of the truck bed, I hoisted the strap onto my shoulder. My combat boots thwumped across the asphalt as I headed toward the admin building. All morning, my stomach had been tied up in knots, and it pissed me the hell off. I needed to get my shit together and put my game face on.
I crossed the private lot and cut across the visitors’ lot, breathing deep through my nose and out through my mouth. Soon, I felt calm again. Or at least, as calm as I’d get.
“Daddy!” A little girl broke free of her mother, jelly shoes slapping as she ran across the lot.
A Marine about my age, dressed in fatigues, dropped his fully packed duffle and scooped up the girl. She looked to be around five years old. A boy, not much older, threw himself at the Marine’s legs and clung to them like a barnacle.
“You can’t go,” cried the girl, big fat tears running down her face.
“You’re never home,” said the boy, sounding about a second away from crying too.
“You have to let go of Daddy.” A woman—I pegged her for the wife or girlfriend—tried to take the girl from the Marine, but that just made the girl scream even louder.
The doubts that’d plagued me since I’d gotten the letter surged up even louder. I clenched my fist to keep my hands from shaking. I’d gotten exactly what I asked for, but was this what I needed? My heart screamed no. This was all wrong.
“Screw this,” I whispered. I needed my family, and not just my brothers. I needed the family I’d been building with Rachel. She’d kicked me out, yeah, but before that, it had felt like we were on the verge of something amazing. Something worth staying for. Something worth everything . Was I really going to run away from that—just give up without even trying to win her back?
Paper shushing in the wind caught my attention. I glanced down at the envelope crinkling in my fist. What the fuck was I doing? It was one thing to fight in service of my country. It was another to use that service to avoid a different kind of fight. I wouldn’t be returning to combat with the pride of a patriot, but with the unease of someone trying to escape.
Hell. No . Harris McCallister did not run or escape, nor did I avoid battles that needed fighting.
I marched toward my CO’s office to fire my opening salvo.