“I've had better,” I admit. “One of my troopers had to go to the hospital. But what's up with your message?”
“Well . . . after seeing what Lance made for you in daycare, I made a decision. I think we should tell Lance who his father is. The four-day training holiday is coming up the weekend after next.”
I stop, stunned. “You know I’m all for it. But are you sure?”
“I’m positive. You should see the card he had his teachers help him write for you. It says, Big Brother Aaron, Thank you for the sleepover. I love you. Your Little Brother, Lance. The only thing I can think of that would make it better is if it said Daddy on it.”
I’m stunned, unable to form any words. I take a few seconds, then compose myself with a deep breath, ready to say the words I never did before, but I won’t hold back any longer. “I love you, Lindsey. I've loved you for years, and I don't want to lie about that anymore. I can’t wait to be a father to Lance.”
There's a moment of silence, and I pause, standing outside the company building when Lindsey speaks again. “I love you too, Aaron.”
I can't help the smile that's on my face. Finally, it's out. “Okay. Listen, I've got some company stuff to take care of, then we can talk maybe Thursday afternoon, make some plans?”
“That sounds good. Talk to you later, Aaron. I . . . I love you.”
“I love you too, Lindsey. Good bye.” I put my phone away, and I’m practically whistling when I head into the company offices, stopping when Captain Bradley calls my name.
“Lieutenant Simpson!”
There's nobody else in the office, but the CO sounds pissed, and some of my good mood evaporates as I head to his office. “Sir?”
Bradley's got his glare going, he and points at the chair across the desk from him. “Sit down, Simpson.”
He never calls me by just my last name anymore unless he's pissed about something. Fuck it, time to man up. “Sir?”
“You should be more careful about your phone conversations, Lieutenant. I happened to have my window open, and I overheard you,” Captain Bradley says, fuming. “Now, thank God that nobody else in the goddamn company knows who Lindsey is, but I happen to because I processed the paperwork on your enrollment for this Big Brothers program. For fuck's sake, Simpson, what the hell are you thinking?”
“Sir . . .” I start, then shut up. Nothing to say, really. “What happens now, sir?”
“What happens is, I'd like to bust your ass,” Captain Bradley says, slamming his fist down on his desk. “I'd like to have you standing tall before the man. However, I can't. I've already got our asses in a sling with the Hardy situation, and now you've got another soldier in the goddamn hospital because you're too busy fucking some admin clerk in the MPs instead of being a good platoon leader!”
That pisses me off, and I glare at him, my jaw quivering. “My personal life has nothing to do with these incidents. Nadar slipped on mud, completely out of my control. And I take offense that you're even insinuating that I would be that unprofessional.”
“Don't you dare talk to me about being unprofessional!” Bradley hisses, his eyes blazing. “You . . . of all the fucking rules to violate, fraternization? Fuck, man, isn't there enough pussy running around Fayetteville that you could have kept yourself satisfied outside of post? Fayetteville girls nearly walk bowlegged because of the 82nd!”
“I don't operate that way, Captain. So, what are you going to do?” I ask, ready to feel the hammer drop. “Do I need to talk to JAG?”
Bradley stares at me, fuming for a long minute before shaking his head. “No. First off, I can't stop your promotion, and busting your ass days before you pin 1LT is going to embarrass the battalion commander, who's already informed me that he would like to be the one to pin you Thursday morning at the officer's professional development meeting. Second, if I bring you up on charges or an Article 15, the whole deal for Hardy goes out the window, and he's going before a court martial. I won't have a trooper under my command suffer because his Lieutenant can't stick his dick in the right place. But I’m giving you a direct order. You will break it off with this Lindsey. Do you understand me?”
“I hear you, Captain. Is that all, sir?”
Bradley sees the set of my jaw and shakes his head. “Get the fuck out. The next thing I want to hear about is some broken-hearted MP S-1 clerk who's pissed at you and keys your goddamn car or something. I already know about Nadar's injury status. Dismissed.”
I stand up and leave the office without saluting, probably a first for me. I'm pissed, upset, and also scared. I want to call Lindsey, but I don't. She doesn't need this dumped on her head just yet. I need to calm down. Instead of calling, I get in my car and drive home to sit in the dark, thinking.
The darkness matches my thoughts, which is helpful.
* * *
“So he overheard?”
Lindsey and I are sitting on the blacktop, watching as Lance plays happily in the late afternoon sun. Thursdays are normally short days for troops, and we're able to actually meet up here at an elementary school close to my place.
“Yeah. I guess . . . I didn’t realize I was that loud.”
Lindsey shakes her head. “We bucked the odds for how long at West Point? And let's face it, Aaron, it had to happen eventually. So, what did he tell you?”
“He told me to break it off with you, that the next thing he wants to hear from me is that you're broken-hearted and keying my car,” I say, and Lindsey tenses. “Don't worry, I'm not going to do that. Fuck Captain Bradley. I love you, Lindsey. And that's more important than what some Captain says.”
“He can make it difficult for you,” Lindsey says. “What if he gives Captain Lemmon a call?”
“Pete?” I ask, smirking. “Knowing Pete, he'll nod and say uh-huh, then hang up and go play volleyball or something. Pete's a good guy, and if he's anything like he was as a Devil, he knows that sometimes, there are things bigger than the rules. I guess the question is, what do you want to do? I'm willing to take on the whole Army and tell them from the Joint Chiefs on down to go fuck themselves if they don't like it that we're together. But what do you want?”
Lindsey hums, then squeezes my hand. “You're an idiot, you know that?”
“I know.”
She lifts an eyebrow and gives me a sarcastic little twist to her smile, nodding. “Just as long as you know. I can't turn back the clock, and I don't want to. If the Army doesn't like that, we can deal with it. Oh, and as for the Army . . . congrats on your new rank, First Lieutenant Simpson.”
I smile, scooting just close enough that her knee touches mine, and we watch our son play in the grass. It's a good feeling, and I'm happy. We can't tell Lance just yet, but right now, it's good enough.
* * *
I'm feeling anger creep up as sweat drips down my neck—anger at Captain Bradley. Thursday may have been a fun afternoon, but since then, the CO has had me on every shit detail position that he can think of. Whether it's been Officer in Charge of the weekend work details, making sure that the weeds are pulled from between the bricks outside post headquarters by the troops who are under Article 15 punishment, or being in charge at the range for the reservists that can barely hit the broad side of a barn since they fire their rifles only a few dozen times a year. If it sucks, I've been 'volunteered' for it.
But today, today has to be the shittiest, literally, the shittiest work detail that he's assigned to me yet. It started when Toby Keith came to town over the weekend and did a charity concert for the troops on part of the airfield. Now, I'm not much of a country music fan, especially Toby Keith's over-the-top style, but I can appreciate a free concert as much as the next guy. I was on duty, of course, but now, two days after the concert, I get to be in charge of the cleanup detail, a bunch of trash but also the twenty Porta Potties that were arranged on the edge of the concert area. Twenty toilets for what one of the troops said had to be over five thousand people . . . that's a lot of piss and shit per potty.
It
smells like it too, and I'm trying to not gag as I help the field sanitation engineers more or less vacuum the shit out of each stall. “Okay, sir, just clear the kink in the hose,” the engineer, who knows his truck and so gets to stay with the controls, says. “Unless you want a shit bomb to go off.”
“No thanks,” I grunt, tugging on the heavy nozzle and sticking it down the hole of the porta potty before walking out and making sure the hose isn't bent anywhere. Couldn't the Army have gotten a civilian company to do this? Nope, it's a training opportunity for the engineers, of course. “How's that?”
“Good, El Tee,” the engineer says, starting his truck. “Gimme ten minutes, and then we can move on to the next one.”
With ten minutes’ break, I walk off, if anything, to get away from the smell, although I've been working around it so much today that it permeates my clothes. I'm washing the fuck outta these ACUs when I get home, double detergent if I have to. At least out here, nobody cares if I wear just my t-shirt and a boonie hat to keep the sun out of my eyes. Full sleeves down and a beret would just be too fucking much.
My phone buzzes, and I pull it out, smiling when I see it's from Lindsey. On lunch. How's the crap detail?
Terrible. I've literally been up to my elbows in shit today. You should be glad that I'm too busy to see you today. You two couldn't stand the smell.
LOL. I bet a shower could help. Especially if I joined you?
Careful, I don't think I need to pop wood on duty. People might think I like working with porta potties.
LOL. Okay, sorry. Just . . .
Just what?
I feel flirty and youthful the past few days. I know they've sucked for you, but even just texting like this, I kinda feel like old times, u know?
I do. Hey, I gotta get back to sucking crap. Text you later. Love u.
Love u 2. Call if you get home before 10.
I smile and put the phone back in my pocket, feeling refreshed. To hell with Captain Bradley. If he wants to put me on details like this every day, then I'll gladly do them to be with Lindsey. “Ready, sir?” The engineer says.
“Twelve down, eight to go. Let's knock it out,” I tell him, tugging on the hose. Just breathe through my mouth, and I can convince myself that it's not all that bad. At least, a little bit. Two more days, and then a four-day training holiday. Even Captain Bradley can't fuck that one up. It came down from the 82nd's commanding general, and Bradley can't stop me from using those four days unless he's willing to start paperwork on me.
Two more days. Just two more days.
Chapter 18: Lindsey
It's a sweet little drive toward the coast, Lance giggling in the back seat from time to time as Aaron snores next to me in the shotgun seat of the car.
“How much longer, Mommy?”
“We just left, honey. We still have a while to get there.”
It's a drive to the coast, but in exchanging texts and short phone calls with Aaron all week, we agreed that it was the best idea to stay away from the more popular places like Wilmington or some of the more famous barrier islands. Wilmington is the sort of town that attracts not only soldiers from Fort Bragg, but also lots of Marines from Camp Lejeune, who come to the 'big city' to party during long weekends. We don't need to run the risk. Murphy's Law seems to have bitten us in the ass once already.
Aaron tried to keep up a conversation on the way over, but the week plus of exhaustion caught up with him about five miles outside of Fayetteville, and he's been snoring at various volumes ever since. By my phone's GPS, we're about fifteen miles from Oak Island, so he's been down a while.
“Aaron? Hey, Aaron!” I say, shaking his knee. “You doing okay?”
He hums and smacks his lips, almost exactly like Lance does when he's waking up, but he opens his eyes, looking at me sleepily before smiling. “Yeah . . . that was a nice nap. Thank you.”
“You snore loud,” Lance says, and Aaron chuckles.
“Yeah, my old roommate at West Point said the same thing. Sorry.”
“You weren't too bad, and you slept right through the music, so I'd say you were fine,” I reassure him. “Next time, I'll just crank up the Skrillex a little louder.”
Aaron groans, and I can't keep up the deception. I laugh. He realizes I'm joking and gives me a little heart-stopping grin that makes me turn my attention back toward the road, or else we're going to crash. Aaron yawns and stretches as best he can, then turns his attention back to Lance. “So buddy, are you ready to hit the beach?”
“Uh huh. Can we build a sandcastle?” Lance asks, and I know why. In Washington, the sand at the beaches was normally too gritty to make them, and Lance wants to build one like in one of his picture books.
“You know what? Today, we’ll try to build one. Did you pack a shovel?”
Lance shakes his head sadly, looking down. “I don't have one.”
“Then we'll just have to stop before we get to the hotel and get us a set.”
We chat for the next forty-five minutes while we make our way to the hotel, including a stop for beach toys. The hotel is a block from the beach, and to keep up appearances, we did rent two rooms, side by side. I'm hoping that once we tell Lance, Aaron and I will have a little bit of privacy at some point, but who knows?
We get checked in quickly, hurrying up to our side by side rooms to change in a rush, the scent of the ocean putting an extra bounce in our step. I barely take a moment to look around the room other than noting that the king-sized bed looks luxurious while I hurry to change. Lance takes a total of thirty seconds to yank his pants off and pull on his little trunks before he's hopping from side to side, anxious.
I take out my swimsuit, which I just bought two days ago at the PX. It's not the sexiest thing out there, a simple white top and slightly conservative boy short style bottoms, but I hope Aaron likes it. I tie the wrap I bought, a multi-tone blue thing, around my waist and pull on a sleeveless t-shirt, hoping to surprise Aaron a little bit on the beach.
I put my sunglasses up on my forehead and grab my backpack, heading out with a still hopping Lance to see Aaron waiting for us outside his room, leaning against the wall with his own little backpack and t-shirt, already changed into his trunks. “Ready?”
“Love the t-shirt,” I tease, noticing that it has Bugs Bunny on the front. “Where'd you get it?”
“I wanted something as far from the military as I could find, so I bought it on leave one time at USMA. Come on, I've got the beach tools all ready. You ready, Lance?”
“Uh-huh!” Lance grins.
Lance takes our hands and we walk the one block to the beach, and I'm happy to see that the sand is nearly sugar white, even if the waves are smaller than on the West Coast. Lance looks happy though. He's not ready to do more than splash in the water, so the calm Atlantic is actually more inviting to him.
“Can I?” he asks.
I look at Aaron, who looks at me intently. He knows what's coming. “Just a moment, honey. Have a seat with Aaron and me, right here, please. I have something I want to tell you.”
Lance stops and sits down, curious as I look at Aaron, who nods in support. This is something that I have to do myself first. “Lance, you've never known your Daddy. We've never talked about it.”
Little man nods his head. Aaron swallows, and I know what he's thinking, but his eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses, and he takes a deep breath. I shake my head, looking at Lance. “Lance, I never told you, and your birth certificate doesn't list it because . . . well, when Mommy and Daddy were together, we weren't supposed to be. There were rules, rules put in place by the Army that said that we couldn't be together.”
“You broke the rules?” Lance asks, surprised and a little confused. “You said I'm not supposed to.”
“Sometimes, there are rules that are good, and sometimes, there are things more important than the rules,” Aaron says softly. “And this was one of those times.”
Lance looks confused, and I take his hands. “I'm sorry, buddy. But . . .
Lance, Aaron is your Daddy.”
He looks at Aaron, who nods. “Your mom and I were together back when I was a cadet. The rules say that we can't be together. Even now. So, I was like you. I didn't know either. But . . . but we talked, and we decided that we can't let that rule stay between us anymore. I love you, Lance. I love your mom. And I want us to be a family.”
Lance looks at both of us, and I squeeze his hands. “Lance? Honey?”
Lance pulls back and storms off. I start to get up to go after him, but Aaron puts his hand on my shoulder, stopping me. “Wait. He probably doesn't know how to react.”
I sink back onto the sand, not letting Lance out of my sight. He plays with the water a little, then comes back. “You lied, Mommy!”
I stop and blink back tears of shame at the disappointment in his face. “I . . . I know, honey. I'm sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing at the time, protecting you and protecting Aaron. I'm sorry.”
Aaron looks at him and speaks up. “Lance, the problem is, the rules still say that I can't be with you and your mom. They say that since I'm a Lieutenant, and she's a Sergeant, I can't love you two. Now you see why I said sometimes there are rules that I don't agree with? And why we still have to keep this a secret?”
Lance nods, and even though he’s smart as a whip, he definitely doesn’t understand the seriousness of it all.
I take Aaron's hand. “So what do you think, buddy?”
Lance holds his arms up, and I hug him. Aaron joins in, and I feel totally, wonderfully happy, kissing Lance and then Aaron.
* * *
Lance goes down after dinner, hugging to his chin Aaron's t-shirt, a smile on his face. Today's been a dream. “You know, the first thing I noticed when he was born was that he's got your eyes,” I tell Aaron, smiling. “It comforted me during those days when I thought I'd never see you again.”
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