Prologue #2
There was no logo outside the building, but this had to be it. The Hillcroft Group had its own building wedged in between two others, with an empty plaza of some sort in the front.
I didn’t know if it was a plaza. What was the difference between a plaza and a square?
A narrow street for cabs went through the plaza slash square, and that was all.
I walked toward the entrance and looked up at the building. All glass that no one could see through. Maybe six or seven floors…? I wasn’t sure since there was nothing but glass squares to count.
Two men were coming out of the revolving door as I approached, and they sure looked like they could survive in a combat zone. They were also definitely twins. There was no telling them apart.
“Danny looked way too smug,” one of them muttered.
“Because he doesn’t think anyone will retire,” the other replied. “Mark my words, we’re done here.”
Yikes. I guessed they were done with the Hillcroft Group and had no plans on leaving a five-star review on Yelp.
I ducked my head as I passed them, and I already felt out of place. But my dad had belonged here, hadn’t he? It wouldn’t be weird if a soldier worked at Hillcroft, and my dad had been a sergeant. He’d probably been all kinds of big and badass. Meanwhile, he’d unknowingly had a son who could be described as gangly at best. I was even pushing it when I called my height average at five-eight.
The glass inside the panel of the revolving door was the first place I saw a logo. Or a partial logo—it was just the griffin, not the name or those Latin words.
The lobby was…a fish tank. Perfectly square, from the distance to the elevators to the height of the ceiling, like two or three floors high. A front desk occupied the center, just a rounded cube kind of structure, and the wooden panels were a contrast to the glass and the glossy stone floor. It had to be so fucking boring working that desk. No music, nothing to rest your eyes on aside from the empty plaza outside… Not even a plant. The far back of the lobby had a handful of sofas that looked uncomfortable. That was all.
I aimed for the desk where a woman sat with a headset, and she didn’t look up once. She typed away on her screen. A webcam of sorts was attached to a grip on the top edge of the computer.
Be assertive.
Easier said than done, but here goes…
I cleared my throat and stopped at the desk. “Hello, I’m here to see Bo Beckett.”
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked automatically. She didn’t stop typing.
“No, but he gave me this,” I lied. I slipped the business card across the desk. “He told me to come in.”
That gave her pause, and she raised a delicate brow and eyed me over her glasses. Then she took the card and looked on both sides.
A beat later, she returned the card and adjusted the camera grip so the lens faced me.
“I’ll need a photo ID—and look into the camera, thanks.”
Uh.
Was she letting me in? Had it worked? Was I gonna get answers about my dad?
I hadn’t actually considered the possibility of this working.
Once my picture had been taken and my driver’s license scanned, I was instructed to have a seat in the waiting area, with no further information. Nothing like, “Mr. Beckett will come out shortly” or anything.
I didn’t hear her on the phone either, so if she’d alerted someone to my presence, it’d been done through a message.
I’d been right, by the way. I’d sat on benches that were more comfortable than these sofas.
They clearly didn’t want visitors to linger.
A water cooler couldn’t hurt. My mouth was dry, and I hadn’t brought my backpack. Instead, I just sat there and fidgeted as I tried to kick-start my saliva production. It was kind of hot in here too. The early April sun was nothing in comparison to the scorching August ball of fire, so I wouldn’t wanna be in here in the summer.
Poor headset woman.
A faint ding captured my attention. I couldn’t see the elevators from this angle, but that had to be where the sound came from. It was probably not for me, though. I’d only waited three or four minutes.
I was right. Whoever that woman was walked straight out.
The second ding of an elevator wasn’t for me either, nor was the third or the fourth. In the end, I waited twenty-two minutes before a man who looked like he could’ve given my dad a business card nineteen years ago approached the front desk.
He was very tall and broad-shouldered, and his short hair was disheveled and kind of the same light brown as mine. He definitely had the body of a soldier, except he was dressed in sweatpants and a black T-shirt.
He exchanged a few quiet words with the headset woman and lifted his gaze to me. I shifted in my seat and tried to sit straighter.
That man was uncomfortably hot.
He walked toward me, and the closer he got, the more pronounced his eyes became. They were some intense shade of bluish-green.
I appreciated the scruff too. It was the perfect “can’t be assed to shave” length.
“Leighton Watts?” he questioned, his voice warm but unyielding.
This guy fucked. And gave orders.
“Yes, sir.” I stood up automatically.
“Can I see the business card you showed Gina?”
She’d mentioned that?
“Um, yeah, sure.” I retrieved it from my pocket and handed it over. “Are you Bo Beckett?”
“I am.” He hummed as he studied the card, and then he shifted his gaze back to me. “I did not give this to you. I didn’t give this to anyone.”
Oh shit. I mean, yeah, sure, he would’ve remembered if he’d given it to me, but it occurred to me that it might be from someone else entirely. What if it was my dad who’d scribbled Bo Beckett on the card?
“No, it was, um… The card was my dad’s,” I admitted. “I’m trying to find his family, and this is one of my few clues. He had that card on him about nineteen years ago. He was in the Army, and at some point, he came here.” I think . It wasn’t like I could be sure of anything.
Mr. Beckett furrowed his brow. “Did you think I gave this to him?”
How should I know? “Maybe?” I asked rather than stated. Then I carefully dug out the folded newspaper article too. “Mostly, I figured I’d ask here first—if anyone knew what this might mean. If maybe he worked here at some point or knew you. He’s in the picture to the left in this article. Jacob Quinn.” I gave it to him.
The furrow deepened, and he returned the card to me but kept the article. “Nineteen years ago, I’d just received my ship date for basic training. Sit down.”
Crap. I’d offended him.
I plopped right down again and felt a noose settle around my neck. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t think you look very old.”
“Very…” He shook his head and sat down on the sofa across from mine, and he rested his forearms on his knees as he observed the article. “Aren’t you a ray of sunshine.”
It was probably best I kept my mouth shut. I doubted I’d make things better by telling him I’d definitely let him bang me.
He nodded at the card in my hand. “We haven’t used that card design for as long as I’ve been here. When you try to pull a fast one at a private military agency, I’d advise you to do your homework better.”
Duly noted. I didn’t belong here, for countless reasons.
I was a moron.
“What else do you know about your old man?” he asked. “Did he split when you were little or something?”
I shook my head and swallowed. “I never knew him. He and my mom hooked up, I guess… He never knew about me either.”
“I see.” He went back to the article and frowned a few seconds later. “It says here Jacob Quinn enlisted after 9/11.”
“Yes.” I nodded.
He glanced over at me. “That was seventeen years ago. He wasn’t in the Army when he got the business card.”
Oh. Okay…
I scratched the side of my head, trying to find another way for the puzzle pieces to connect.
I guessed it made sense, in that Mom probably would’ve known Dad’s profession when they met. Because that was just one of those things you discussed early on, right?
Oh God, I just didn’t fucking know.
“Hmm. He was at Fort Benning,” Bo murmured. “You know what, kid? I don’t think this is about me at all. My dad’s name was Bo too, and he was stationed at Fort Benning.”
I didn’t know what struck me first, the fact that he’d figured something out that might provide me with more details, or the fact that the Bo sitting across from me was a BJ.
He refolded the article and extended it to me. “My bet? He met my big brother—he’s an operator here too, and it kinda looks like his handwriting—and the two talked about careers. For whatever reason, my brother gave him the business card with our old man’s name on it.” He shrugged. “If Jacob came here looking for a job, he’s just one of hundreds we turn away and welcome back once they’ve completed at least four years in the military.”
Oh. I dropped my stare to the newspaper clipping, my mind spinning with useless questions and zero answers.
“Is your brother here?” I asked. “Can I talk to him? And isn’t the eldest son usually the junior?”
He snorted softly. “Not when a bossy mother decides to name the firstborn. And no, he’s not around. He’s overseas. And…” He shook his head and scratched his jaw. “Truth be told, kid, my brother’s met with countless applicants here. I sincerely doubt he’d remember.”
Goddammit. But when did the brother return? It couldn’t hurt to ask, could it?
“I don’t know why it matters, though,” Bo added. “Since Jacob is deceased, chances are you can find his records at the National Archives. I’d reach out to them if I were you—or the base directory at Fort Benning.”
Aunt Laura had mentioned something similar before we’d parted ways earlier, and I could just imagine the number of forms. I assumed I’d have to prove I was next of kin somehow, and I didn’t know how to do that. I didn’t fucking know anything. What the fuck was the National Archives? Like some big-ass library?
“Okay, thank you,” I replied quietly. I’d have to look elsewhere. I’d bothered Bo Beckett long enough. “Um, one quick thing. Is it difficult to get a job here?” Couldn’t hurt to ask, right?
His forehead wrinkled, and he smiled in confusion. “What kind of job?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I need a second job. I’m currently cleaning offices around DC, and I have experience in retail too.”
He chuckled under his breath. “I’m afraid we’re low on retail jobs at Hillcroft—and we only employ veterans for maintenance and cafeteria gigs.”
“Gotcha.” I’d definitely bothered him for too long now, and I was growing increasingly uncomfortable. I’d received some answers and acquired even more questions. I was such a loser for not knowing anything. Yet, I couldn’t help but open my dumb mouth again. “Out of curiosity, does everyone who works here have a military background?”
“There’s an exception to every rule, but yeah, pretty much,” he said, standing up. So I did the same. I was done here. “Our youngest operators these days are twenty-four, twenty-five… Thereabouts.”
I nodded once. “Okay. Um, thank you for taking the time to talk to me.”
“No problem. I hope you find your dad’s family.”
Yeah, me too.
* * *
May 22nd, 2018
“Thank you for coming in, Leighton. We’ll get back to you.”
“This looks good. If we decide to go forward with your application, you’ll hear from us in the next couple of weeks.”
“Unfortunately, you don’t have enough experience…”
“We will email you in a few days.”
“We’ll call you.”
I chewed on my lip as I checked my email.
What was I doing wrong? I’d been to fourteen interviews in the past couple of weeks, and I’d sent my résumé to over sixty places, from restaurants and coffee shops to clothing stores and businesses like Target, IKEA, and Costco. I lacked experience in the restaurant world, but I had to get started somehow, right? I’d held jobs in some capacity since I was sixteen, and I had good references. Mostly, I’d worked at cleaning services for office buildings; Druncle Billy’s wife had gotten my foot in the door before she’d wised up and left him. Now she lived in Tulsa, of all places, and my uncle was probably sitting on a park bench somewhere.
The bus slowed down again, and I pocketed my phone.
New day, new companies to visit. I had four hours to kill before work, so I was gonna drop off more physical résumés all over. I’d noticed I was more likely to get an interview at smaller businesses by showing up rather than emailing them.
I stepped off the bus outside a gas station in an area where I hadn’t looked for jobs yet. I had a friend from middle school who lived in Lyon Park, but I hadn’t talked to him in months. He was heading off to college soon anyway.
At some point, I should reconnect with the few friends I had. Life was lonely as it was now. But how was I supposed to have the energy for a social life? My 200-square-foot shoebox of an apartment was thirteen hundred a month, which was fucking cheap for NoVa, but it didn’t matter if I barely had the money to pay for everything. There wasn’t a Metro station anywhere nearby, taking the bus was much slower, and my commute was longer now.
Being a grown-up fucking sucked. I woke up with a rock in my stomach, and I worked my ass off to afford to exist. Rent, utilities, my phone, public transit, internet, food… I had insurance for now, but I knew what my mom had paid. There wasn’t a chance in hell I’d be able to renew it in seven months.
I went into a few restaurants, two of which had signs in the window that they were hiring, and I left them my information. I made a note in my phone, too, to look up the gas stations. Maybe they needed people.
It’d be nice to work at a place that served food. The staff got free lunch, right? Or was that taken from the paycheck?
I needed to fix up my old bike too. The less I had to take the bus or Metro, the better. I’d always need public transit for when I worked across the river, but if my second job was in Arlington, I’d use my bike.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I hoped it was someone getting back to me about a job—but of course it fucking wasn’t. It was Aunt Laura.
Dinner tonight, hon? I’m making tikka masala.
Blergh.
Her version of tikka masala was dumping a shitload of curry into a pot with crushed tomatoes, overcooked chicken, and broccoli. There was nothing masala about it.
I texted back as I stopped at an intersection.
I start work at 5, sorry.
Besides, I had cheap pasta, ketchup, and a packet of bacon waiting for me at home.
After crossing the street, I stayed on North Pershing and walked toward a couple pizza places I’d looked up. Both were hiring, and one of them used their own staff for delivery. I could definitely do that. I had my license, and it was the only thing on my post-graduation to-do list I’d accomplished. I’d graduated high school at seventeen with ambitions, man. I was gonna get my license, work extra to help Mom with rent plus pay for a class in economics, and then I was gonna save up to get my own food truck.
Yeah, that wasn’t happening.
Education. Money. Benefits. Adventure. Career.
I came to an abrupt stop on the sidewalk at the sight of a sign in a window, and wasn’t that just fucking perfect. Army recruiting center.
I could tell people one thing about the Army. They were not enthusiastic about giving out information about dead veterans. Thankfully, Aunt Laura had offered to help me figure out which forms I needed to fill out.
Scholarships, GI bill, annual tuition assistance…
I walked a little closer and stuck my hands down in the pockets of my jeans.
Retire in twenty years. Health care. Paid vacation.
Oof, I could hear Mom’s voice in my head. Or what I’d imagine it would sound like if she pleaded with me to not follow in my dad’s footsteps. But it was nuts. Laughable. I wasn’t soldier material.
Live in Hawaii, Alaska, Europe, Asia…
I lifted my eyebrows.
No mention of the Middle East, huh?
If I’d been taller, stronger, and…
The door opened, and an officer stepped out to light up a cigarette, and he nodded at me.
“How are you, son? You lookin’ to join?”
I chuckled and shook my head. “I trip over my own shadow.”
He flashed a grin and exhaled some smoke. “There’s training for that. How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
He nodded once. “You ain’t even done growin’ yet. Let me guess, you don’t see how you’d fit in.”
Well…
I shrugged and eyed the cardboard cutout soldiers standing in the window, all with happy faces and gym experience.
“My dad was in the Army.” I didn’t know why I’d said that. Goddammit. “He died in Afghanistan.”
The officer turned solemn. “I’m sorry to hear that. We’ve lost many great men and women over there.”
Yeah.
I let out a breath and felt some kind of boost of affection within me, and it was because this man had no idea I’d never known my dad. He probably thought I was used to seeing Jake come home every night, and we’d have dinner together as a family; he’d take me to games when he had time off… It was a nice dream. And then tragedy had struck.
Fuck.
I swallowed hard and blinked back grief for a life I’d never had.
“I should get going,” I muttered. “Thanks for talking to me.” I adjusted the straps on my backpack and started?—
“You know…I lost my big brother in Iraq,” he said. “I’m not saying it works for everyone, but it helped me feel closer to him by staying in the service.”
I chewed on the corner of my lip and eyed him warily. Was this just recruitment bullshit? Was he feeding me lies to get me to enlist? It would be their loss, honestly.
“Why don’t you come inside for a talk?” he suggested. “There’s more to the Army than shipping soldiers to the sandbox. We’re a big family, kid.”
A big family.
Family.
* * *
June 4th, 2018
“You did what ?!” The shock was written all over her face.
I shifted uncomfortably on the couch and side-eyed Biter, the name I’d given the worst ferret alive. He better not come closer. The whole living room was decorated as a playground for those nasty little shits, and he had to sneak up on me right where I was sitting?
“Please tell me you’re joking, Leighton,” Aunt Laura pleaded.
I couldn’t tell her that. I wasn’t joking. I’d done the stupid thing. I’d struck a deal with the devil.
“You don’t get it,” I said. “I’m almost out of money. I go to bed tired, I wake up tired, I’m hungry… My whole life fucking blows, because I’m just going from one work shift to the next.”
“But that’s why I want you to live here ,” she implored. “You wouldn’t need a second job if you just took my guest room, Leighton. Your mom wanted you to follow your dreams.”
I didn’t know what to say. Any route I chose would hurt her. And fuck the ferrets, the shitty cooking, and the smell. When push came to shove, I just didn’t belong here. I had to figure out who I was—who I wanted to be, and…and I wanted to experience something that brought me closer to the dad I’d never gotten to meet. And yeah, I’d probably made the stupidest decision by picking infantry—when that should’ve been my last choice—but if I was going to do this, I wanted to do it properly.
“I’m sorry.” I cleared my throat. “I swear I didn’t jump into this. The first time they tried to recruit me, I walked away. But…” I blew out a breath and scrubbed my hands over my face. “I’m sure it’s gonna suck, but now I don’t have to worry about rent and school and bills and…whatever.”
Aunt Laura sighed and shook her head. “This is precisely what your mom didn’t want.”
I clenched my jaw, and I couldn’t help but get annoyed. “I didn’t want her to hide my dad’s history from me, but here we are.”
She had no response to that.
She rubbed her forehead and flicked me a glance filled with trepidation. “You’ve really made up your mind?”
I nodded. “I go for my enlistment processing in a few days. It’s just an overnight thing, and then I’ll wait for my ship date to basic.”
She deflated with a long breath. “Okay.”
* * *
June 18th, 2018
I could do this, I could do this, I could do this.
Maybe he wasn’t in today.
The same headset woman sat behind the desk—Gina, right?—and I cleared my throat to get her attention.
“Hey, I’d like to see Bo Beckett,” I said.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but he told me to come in when I had news about something he’s involved in,” I lied.
She had the same reaction today; she lifted a brow and finally tore her gaze away from the computer.
“I’ll need a photo ID, and please look into the camera.”
I knew the drill.
Seconds later, I was sitting my ass down on one of those uncomfortable sofas, and I did a whiff check on my pits. Okay, still good. It was humid as balls today, with a storm coming in tonight. The sky was so dark that the lobby needed actual lighting.
Maybe it was a sign of my impending doom.
I’d barely slept last night, and I didn’t think it would get better tonight.
Bo turned up just a few minutes later, this time wearing utility pants and a snug Henley. The pants, and their army-green color, made me wonder if he was being deployed. Like, was that what they called it at private agencies? And did they leave in uniforms? Probably not, right? They had to blend in and stuff.
He smirked a little as he walked closer. “What did we say about lying, kiddo?”
I had a defense for that. “I’m convinced I’ll be turned away if I admit I don’t have an appointment.”
Man, he was gorgeous. Out-of-this-fucking-world hot. If he was gay and I had bigger balls, he’d be turning me down right now and saying I was too young for him.
He chuckled and sat down across from me. “Fair enough. What is it this time?”
Oh, just some questions from a nervous guy who’d possibly made the worst mistake of his life.
“Did you find your dad’s family?” he asked.
“Not yet,” I answered. “My aunt is helping me.”
“All right…”
Right. Moving on. I took a breath and did my best to relax, which wasn’t easy when it felt like I had a brick in my stomach.
“You were in the Army before, right?” I mean, he’d mentioned basic training.
“I was.” He inclined his head.
“Were you stationed at Benning?”
His forehead wrinkled slightly, as if he was wondering where I was going with this. “Yeah, the first few years.”
Okay. Yeah. Confirmed. “I enlisted,” I admitted. “I’ll be there too. I just went through MEPS the other week.”
That made his eyebrows lift a fraction, and I could practically read his mind. He thought I was gonna fail. I didn’t belong there. And he was right. I’d fucked up.
Oh God, what had I done?
“How quickly do you think I’ll fail?” I asked.
He didn’t miss a beat. “With that attitude, probably on day two. I trust you can survive the first hundred yards training on day one.”
That was…about the only thing I was good at, though only on flat surfaces. I was weirdly fast—when I didn’t trip.
Bo leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I didn’t get the military vibe from you last time. Quite the opposite.”
Yeah, no shit.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I offered helplessly. “I’m here, talking to a stranger, so…”
He didn’t smile or anything. He just observed me.
How old could he be? Last time, he’d mentioned his ship date to basic around the same time Jake had knocked up my mom, so maybe Bo was thirty-seven, thirty-eight…? Depending on when he’d joined the Army. With a dad who was military, I was sure it was early.
“What does your family think?” he asked. “Your ma, siblings…”
“No siblings, and my mom died a few months ago.”
“Damn.” He leaned back again, and he folded his arms over his chest. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“My aunt thinks I’m crazy, but I’m not the one who has four ferrets,” I added.
That finally made his mouth twitch a little. “What did you get on the test?”
The ASVAB? “Eighty-three.”
“Not bad at all.” He actually looked slightly impressed. That was good, right? “All right, so basic at Fort Benning—and I assume AIT right after. Which MOS did you request?”
I nodded. “Infantry. I mean…11X or whatever.” It was going to be a while before I was fluent in clusterfuck codes.
He smirked faintly. “You picked the worst season, kid. It’ll be eighty-five degrees when you get up at four thirty.”
My recruiter may have mentioned that, and it was okay. I loved the heat and got cold easily. The humidity was another matter, so that was definitely going to suck.
“I’m more concerned about falling behind. I passed all the tests and exams, but it’s not like I excelled,” I said. “Do you have any pointers? That’s kind of why I wanted to talk to you again. I don’t know anyone who’s served.”
He thought about it and rubbed a hand over his scruffy jaw.
He had that perfect manspreading going on too. It was just so hot.
“I’ll tell you what my old man told me before I got on the bus in Atlanta,” he said. “Keep your head down. The nail that sticks out gets hammered. If you complete basic without your Drills knowing your name, you’ve done a good job. You just do your thing. Don’t be last, don’t be first. Don’t volunteer. You’re gonna be voluntold a whole lot anyway.”
I could blend in. I’d done that my whole life.
“Don’t drink either,” he told me. “We have a serious drinking problem in our military, and it’ll fuck you up. A few beers when you go out—fine—but you’ll meet boots who will take every opportunity to get blackout drunk. You don’t wanna be one of them.”
No drinking, noted. “I’m not much of a drinker anyway.”
“That’s good.”
“Is there, um…anything specific about Fort Benning?” I wondered.
He checked his watch, making me automatically sit straighter. What was wrong with me? I was wasting his time. He was working.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re busy, and?—”
“It’s fine. I have a few minutes.” He sat forward once more, and he absently cracked his knuckles while observing me. “Whether you’re religious or not, don’t miss Sunday services. Pick whatever religion you want and attend. It’s a nice break. My buddy and I would nudge each other if one of us snored.”
I grinned at the image that popped up in my head.
“Don’t go first during land navigation,” he went on. “The first guy is the spider stick, and there are a shitload of banana spiders in that terrain. They’re harmless but spin their webs at face level and can be the size of your palm. I’m not even afraid of spiders, but when you’re out on a ruck in the middle of the night and one of those yellow shits slaps you in the face, it’s not fun.”
Oh, gross. I hated spiders. My recruiter had jokingly warned me about boars and not-so-jokingly about copperheads.
“Make friends,” he told me next. “If your mom just died, I can only imagine life sucks right now, and you don’t wanna keep shit bottled up. So, make friends, talk to your chaplain, and don’t become one of those idjits who mocks openness about depression and anxiety.” He paused and held up three fingers. “In the Army, you will see alcoholism, divorces, and trauma—even if we’re heading for peacetime.”
I nodded in acknowledgment, knowing I had to work on that. I’d never mock anyone, but I wasn’t good at opening up.
“I’ve read about all the suicides,” I murmured.
He inclined his head. “The military can be really fucking lonely. They raise us to be brothers for life, except we’re in an environment where you get called a pussy for needing help.”
I dropped my gaze to my lap and wrung my hands, and it was dawning on me that no matter how hard I tried to prepare myself for this, joining the military was going to shock me to my core. And that scared me more than any drills or physical challenges.
Then again, I’d been scared since the day Mom told me she had cancer.
I didn’t wanna be scared anymore.
“Tell you what,” Bo said, extending a hand. “Gimme your phone. I’ll add my number, and you text me if you’re struggling. All right?”
What? Why was he doing that?
I gave him my phone without protest, but I had to say something. “There’s gotta be a million better things you can do with your time than comfort a chickenshit.”
“Eh, I have weird interests.” He input his number and returned the phone. “Call it right now. It’s my private cell, so if you text me and I don’t respond in a few days, I’m most likely out of the country. But if I’m around, I’ll answer when I can.”
I swallowed and pressed call, so he would have my number too, and I couldn’t describe what it meant to me. My chest felt tight, and I didn’t know what to do with the emotions that started surging within me. I’d gotten used to unshed tears and burning eyes, but it’d been ages since I’d actually cried. Last time, my mom had been there to hug me.
“Thank you for talking to me,” I said quietly. “I promise I won’t bother you a lot.”
He furrowed his brow. “Helping out doesn’t bother me. Remember that.”