Just Drive

by L. A. Witt

“Oh.”

  My emotions were threatening to get the best of me—my chest was tight, and the ache tightening in my throat wasn’t getting any better—so I picked up the bag I’d packed and slung it onto my shoulder. Without a word, I walked out. Dad moved aside and didn’t try to stop me.

  I needed a goddamned cigarette.

  Sitting in my office, drumming my fingers on my desk beside reports I couldn’t comprehend, I hadn’t itched for a cigarette like this in a long time. Deep down, I knew I didn’t really need it, and I didn’t really want it, but the craving was a powerful one.

  I shook myself and looked at the reports in front of me. I had work to do. Responsibilities. Everything from disciplinary issues that needed review to more bullshit about the squadron that may or may not have been transferring to NAS Adams. I needed to be Captain Richards right then, but God, all I wanted to be was Paul, the idiot who’d gotten himself in over his head with someone he couldn’t have, and really, really, really needed a cigarette.

  Fuck it.

  No one needed me for at least another hour. I had meetings all afternoon, but this morning was mercifully quiet. So I muttered an excuse to my secretary and walked out of the office.

  I drove over to the Shopette around the corner from the building and bought a pack of Marlboros. I was halfway to my car before I realized I didn’t have a lighter anymore, so sheepishly went back in and bought one of those too.

  Outside, I smacked the pack against my wrist a few times, then opened it. I leaned against the car as I freed a cigarette, then froze. The quiet creak of the shocks flooded my mind with memories, and damn it, I couldn’t get the smoke into my lungs fast enough.

  Hands unsteady, I finally got a cigarette free. It felt weird between my lips. Like something comfortingly familiar and completely alien at the same time.

  I cupped my hand around the tip, flicked the lighter, and lit the end. Then I took in a long drag.

  Instantly, the smoke burned the back of my throat, and I coughed like I had the first time twelve-year-old me had tried this. My lungs itched and burned, but I took in another drag. On the third try, I didn’t cough at all, and slowly released a cloud of smoke into the air. The next drag was slightly more pleasant, but it tasted terrible.

  I didn’t feel any better. Even the rush of nicotine barely registered. My head spun a little, and my heart sped up, but my mind was still on the reason I’d bought the pack in the first place.

  I didn’t need a cigarette. I needed Sean. I just wasn’t sure which habit was worse.

  Didn’t matter. Both habits needed to be broken.

  With the cigarette dangling between my lips, I fished Sean’s business card out of my wallet. I held it up, flicked the lighter under its corner, and watched it curl up into flames. I let it burn to my fingers and dropped it to the pavement. Once it had been reduced to ashes, and there was nothing left that I could possibly use to contact Sean, I smothered the remaining flames with my boot.

  Then I finished my smoke and got the fuck out of there.

  In my office, I shoved the cigarettes into my desk drawer and told myself I wouldn’t touch them again. Yeah right. If that were the case, I’d’ve thrown them in the trash, just like I should have tossed Sean’s card when we’d gone our separate ways the first time.

  I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my stiff neck.

  I wanted to tell myself these were all unfamiliar thoughts and feelings, but it was the same shit, different day. In fact, it was the DADT era all over again. When I’d married—and hurt—two women because I’d needed to be straight. I hadn’t set out to hurt them. I’d known it was a risk, and I’d gambled with the possibility that I could fool them and the Navy into believing I was a respectable straight man who could be trusted as a lieutenant, a lieutenant commander, a commander . . .

  I sighed into the silence of my office. It had made sense at the time. I’d desperately been trying to hold on to my career because I couldn’t shake the identity that threatened to destroy it, and I’d regret until the day I died how much I had hurt both of those women in the process. I’d even told Sean how much of an idiot I’d been when Mary Ann and I had split up. How it had taken me way too long to realize that the damage to my career and my no-really-I’m-straight façade shouldn’t have been more important to me than how she felt, and how much I was losing when she walked out that door.

  This time, I was well aware of how much Sean was hurting. Even though he’d been the one to call things off, he wasn’t doing it because he wanted to. He had to. For his dad, and for me. And then there had been the added blow of asking me point-blank if I’d choose him or my career, and I hadn’t been able to say I’d choose him. The hurt in his eyes had been palpable. Could I blame him?

  But what else could I do? This was two and a half decades of my life. No matter what I felt for Sean, or how much it hurt to lose him, there was simply too much riding on this.

  I looked up at the dozens of certificates and plaques on the wall. There was a photo of me shaking hands with the president when he’d visited Yokosuka. An older photo of my RIO and me in front of our bird about six months before the landing that grounded us. A group picture of my squadron on the flight deck before one of our missions into Iraq.

  I still had my certificate from crossing the equator—seemed like everyone displayed those until the end of time, even if they’d earned it as a lowly lieutenant like me. There was my diploma from the Academy. A couple of awards for shit that didn’t seem to matter now. Tucked into boxes in my garage and my attic, there were dozens more.

  When I retired, I’d pack this shit up, move it to wherever I decided to put down roots, and put everything back up on the walls. And . . . then what? What would all of this mean at the end of the day? All those years of pretending to be straight. All the time and energy wasted on two marriages—one of which had left me broke and bitter, the other broke, bitter, and estranged from a woman who deserved better. All the boyfriends who’d felt temporary, guys it wouldn’t hurt as much to say good-bye to.

  I rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. As I thought back on all the time I’d devoted to the Navy, I was tired. Drained from twenty-four years of being everything I’d ever dreamed of except happy, and leaving behind a trail of casualties made out of the people who’d tried to love me.

  And what was left? A star if I played my cards right and finally got command of a ship and the planets aligned perfectly? Maybe two if I stayed on for another five, ten, fifteen years? When was it enough? And what was left when it was over? Sure, there was the pride and accomplishment of serving my country and doing it—I thought—pretty damn well. My retirement pay would keep me comfortable for the rest of my life. If I stayed on for six more years, I’d get even more retirement—three-quarters of my salary instead of half.

  But was it worth it?

  And . . . did I really want to be an admiral anymore?

  I’d spent most of my life aiming for that rank. The more the Navy pushed back, the more obstacles I had to get over, the more I wanted that star so bad I could taste it.

  But thinking about it now, weighing it against everything I’d sacrificed and would continue to sacrifice to reach that coveted rank, the thought of being an admiral exhausted me. For the first time, it looked less like an ultimate prize after a long career, and more like an extension of all that work. Something that would take what energy and optimism I had left and wring it out of me until I was too gray, hunched, and tired to enjoy my hard-earned retirement.

  I leaned forward, elbow pressed on my desk as I massaged the side of my neck. Funny how I’d been feeling that injury more since Sean left than I had while we were having sex every five minutes. Contorting myself to kiss him or go down on him didn’t put nearly the strain on my neck as working myself into a stressed-out frenzy over losing him. Being with him had not been for the faint of heart or the weak of body, but it had been amazing. It had been right. And now that he was gone, and the only thing left was to contin
ue on that long career climb, that coveted star had lost its luster.

  Is that still who I want to be? Do I want to be anything that isn’t with you?

  My mind drifted back to the Academy, and one of my mentors there. Commander John Henderson. I’d admired his single-minded ambition. He’d said he wouldn’t retire until he was a three-star admiral, and five years ago, he’d done exactly that. He was one of the most decorated officers I’d ever personally met, a fantastic leader, and a legendary pilot.

  Less than a month after his retirement, John was wearing those three stars when the casket lid was closed. He’d been healthy and fit as a recruit fresh out of boot camp, and dropped dead of a heart attack while he was out jogging.

  I stopped rubbing my neck. With my hand paused where it was, my pulse prodded at my palm.

  Was I next?

  I flicked my gaze from the reports on my desk to the awards on my wall.

  Then I turned to my computer, pulled up my letterhead template, and began typing.

  After I was done, I read and reread the words. Jesus. I hadn’t sent it up to the admiral yet, and it already felt liberating. There would still be some time yet before I actually retired, especially since another commanding officer would need to be brought onboard, but as soon as I sent that message, the ball would be rolling.

  A million emotions knocked into each other and tried to cancel each other out. I didn’t feel much of anything right then. That would come later, I guessed. After the admiral had given me the “I’m sorry to see you go” and “I’m disappointed—you had so much potential” talk that I gave most of my personnel when they retired.

  Or maybe I wouldn’t feel anything other than how I’d walked in this morning. Retiring was fine and good, but I was still sleeping alone.

  The phone on my desk rang, startling a few curses out of me.

  Of course it was ringing. No rest for the captain who was ready to leave the base and never come back.

  When I answered, my secretary said, “Sir, Senior Chief Wright is here and would like to speak to you. He says it’s urgent.”

  I closed my eyes and bit down on a string of profanity that would’ve made my Sailors blush. Then, “Thank you. Send him in.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I braced myself and held my breath as the door opened.

  He kept his eyes down and shut the door behind him.

  “Sir.” He gave a slight nod.

  “Senior Chief.” I gestured at the chairs in front of my desk. “Have a seat.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He took a seat, and as he did, he slid an envelope across my desk. “I wanted to give this to you personally.”

  “Oh.” I picked it up and opened the flap. Neither of us spoke while I unfolded the letter.

  Instantly, I zeroed in on one word: retirement.

  My heart sped up. I read the letter, which sounded eerily like the one I’d just written. Enlisted personnel followed different procedures at this stage, but the letter declared his intention to retire at the end of his current enlistment.

  I lowered it and looked at him across the desk. “Looks like we’ve both been on the same wavelength this afternoon.”

  His eyebrows rose. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m, uh, sending a letter like this—” I held it up, then laid it down beside my keyboard “—to the rear admiral.”

  Wright stared at me incredulously. “You’re . . . Are you retiring because of Sean?”

  “I’m . . .” I chewed my lip. “I don’t have to explain to you how taxing this career is.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “So you probably understand what I mean when I say I’m exhausted.”

  Wright nodded.

  I took a breath. “No, retiring is not a hundred percent because of Sean, but he’s basically the battleship that broke the camel’s back.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I’ve spent the last twenty-four years choosing the Navy over everyone and everything. I was going to make admiral if it killed me. And when I realized there was no way I could have both him and the Navy . . .” I rubbed the bridge of my nose, then dropped my hand into my lap. It wasn’t that simple, but I didn’t have the energy to explain it all. “I guess I decided it was too much. One sacrifice too many.”

  “Does he know about this?” Wright barely whispered the question.

  I shook my head. “No.” With a soft laugh, I added, “Knowing him, he’d try to talk me out of it.”

  “Yeah. He would.” Wright dropped back against his chair and exhaled hard. “Wow.”

  “What?”

  Wright fixed his gaze on the floor in front of my desk. “You’re . . .” He met my eyes. “You’re willing to walk away from the Navy after all these years. Without a star. For him.”

  I nodded. “I wouldn’t have risked my career if Sean hadn’t been worth it. I will happily give up that star if it means I have even a fighting chance of having him back in my life.”

  The senior chief’s lips parted. “I don’t even know what to say.”

  I muffled a cough. “Would you object to me reconnecting with him?”

  Without hesitating, he shook his head. “No. An hour ago, yeah, I . . . I might have. I don’t know. But what kind of father would I be if I stopped someone who’s willing to do this much for him?” He laughed humorlessly. “Hell, I’m his father, and I wouldn’t give up my career for him.”

  “Before today, you mean.”

  Wright flinched. “Kind of seems like too little too late at this point.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. We sat in silence for a moment. I wanted to be relieved to the point of giddy over his blessing to be with Sean again, but would Sean even take me back? Was it too little too late for us?

  Out of nowhere, Wright broke the silence. “I always knew this life was hard on him. When I started really thinking about it last night, I . . .” He exhaled hard. “You ever regret your career?”

  “No,” I said without hesitation. “If I had it to do over, I would. All of it.” I leaned back against my chair and sighed. “It’s everything outside of work I would have done differently.”

  The senior chief nodded. “Yeah. Me too. Especially when it comes to Sean.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “The last twenty-five years have been one sacrifice after another from him. I mean, when I made chief, we had just settled into a new duty station. Sigonella. Sean had been looking forward to living in Sicily ever since I’d gotten my orders. And not three months after we got there, he met this boy in class and hit it off.” Wright’s shoulders sank, and he pressed his elbow into the armrest as he rubbed his eyes. After a moment, he dropped his hand. “We’d been there six months when I was selected, and six months later, we were on our way back to Norfolk.”

  “Damn.”

  “He finally got to go somewhere interesting,” Wright went on. “And he met a nice boyfriend. And then he had to give it all up.”

  “Jesus.”

  Wright sighed. “It’s not the first time or the last time I’ve made him give shit up for me. And it’s not just him.” He shifted, eyes losing focus. “I love my girlfriend. We’ll probably get married, and we’ll be happy. But between you and me, I’m pretty sure Sean’s mom was the love of my life. The thing is, the military life . . .”

  “It’s hard on people,” I said.

  Wright nodded. “Some people can handle it. Some can’t. Sean’s mom . . . she couldn’t. If I’d been a civilian, and we’d stayed in the same town, and . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t think she would’ve left. I mean, I don’t know. Maybe I would’ve found some other way to screw things up with her, but . . .”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re not the only divorcé in the military who can say that.” I sighed. “If not for the Navy, I never would’ve married my first wife. Well, I wouldn’t have married either of them. But at least Mary Ann and I might still be friends.”

  He grimaced. “That’s brutal.”

 
; “Yeah.” I drummed my fingers on the armrest. “There are people in this line of work who stay happily married the whole time. Maybe I should’ve been asking them their secrets instead of finding mentors to help me get promoted.”

  He chuckled dryly and nodded. “Yeah. I hear that.” He rubbed the back of his neck, then folded his hands in his lap. “Well, you still have a shot at someone.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  Wright swallowed. “Look, I don’t have a clue what you two have in common, or how any of this even works. All I know is, he’s happy when he’s with you, and now he’s miserable.” He sat a little straighter. “So, I think you and I should both sit down with Sean.”

  Returning the smile, I said, “I guess we should give him a call, then, shouldn’t we?”

  Could you come by the house? We need to talk.

  I glared at my dad’s text message. What was left to talk about? It wasn’t like anything could change the situation, and I really wasn’t interested in hearing him apologize again.

  Or hell, I thought, maybe he had some more good news for me. Like some orders to God knew where. I’d settled into Anchor Point and knew my way around, so that was the perfect time to uproot everything and send us to Pensacola or San Diego or whatever godforsaken bases were still out there.

  Gripping the wheel tight enough to make my hands hurt, I followed the familiar streets, and at the stop sign before the cul-de-sac, I paused. Then didn’t move. I stared down the road. From here, I could see the front of Dad and Julie’s house. The bumper of Dad’s pickup stuck out just beyond the end of the privacy fence.

  If he had orders, I’d find out sooner or later. If he wanted to talk, or bitch at me, or “apologize” again . . . fuck, I did not want to hear it. I was done.

  What was the point? I’d broken up with Paul. What more did Dad want from me? A confession to the Pope?

  Letting the engine idle, I blew out a breath. The fact was, as much as I wanted to hate him for pushing me and Paul apart, he hadn’t had a choice. And whether or not I could have Paul—which I obviously couldn’t—I didn’t want to lose my dad. Regardless of why he’d called me over here, we did need to talk and clear the air.