Unspoken (The Woodlands)

by Jen Frederick

  “The guy who gave me the coin e-mailed me the next day and told me: Do the Corps proud, both in uniform and out. I haven’t been living up to that out here,” Bo admitted; this time his breath was deep and heavy. “But I’m trying.”

  “You’re too hard on yourself.” I rubbed my hand over his bare pectoral and smiled when I heard his breath hitch as my finger rubbed lightly over his nipple. I pushed up against him so I could look him in the face. “You’re an incredibly loyal friend. You don’t make assumptions about people. You fight hard for the people you care about. I think that all adds up to a pretty awesome Marine.”

  He brought his hands up to cup my face. “You still with me?”

  “Yes,” I said firmly. No hesitation in my voice. We’d weathered the storm, and I didn’t want him to think I regretted any of it. Bo was more vulnerable than he’d ever let on. I plucked the coin from his hand and held it up. “It’s nice that you have this, like a talisman.”

  Bo looked at me seriously for a moment, studying my expression. He pulled me down for a kiss, open-mouthed and wet. His hands dropped to my butt and drew me hard against his erection, which seemed harder and thicker than before.

  My hands tangled in his hair, and I deepened the kiss, wanting to cement the personal intimacies with a physical one. He broke the kiss and reached behind me to pick something up. It was his dog tags, the chain and tags mixed among the detritus on my desk.

  Bo turned them so the light caught the metal. “During Basic, sometimes you’re so tired you can’t even get up to piss. You’re pushed beyond whatever limits you had set for yourself. You realize that your body can do things that you never imagined. But there are times when you don’t think you can go on, and that’s when your brother is there to lift you up and push you forward. He yells encouragement when the drill sergeant’s shouting obscenities. You know that if you’re ever caught by the enemy, your brothers will never stop looking for you. If you’re hurt, they’ll help heal you. The Corps is a unit of many, not one, but dozens, thousands even, who have your back. You can smite one Marine, but a thousand will rise up to avenge him.”

  His voice was low, almost hushed.

  “That’s not the romantic notion that’s sold, but it’s the one that keeps you going. You don’t want to let your brothers down, and they won’t let you fall, either. Ten years from now, I could meet a Marine on the street, and he’d buy me a beer and lend me a hand. I’d do the same for him.”

  He let the tags fall from his hand until he was holding only the chain. Slowly, he lifted the chain and slipped it over my head. Too stunned to move, I sat quietly as he pulled my hair out from under the chain and moved the closure to the back of my neck. He lifted the tags to his mouth and then let them drop, the weight dragging the chain between my breasts. My hand came up involuntarily to clench the tags. He closed his fingers over my fist.

  “Now whenever you feel alone, know that I’ve got your back. No matter who’s against you, know that a thousand others wait to avenge you.”

  “But I’m not a Marine,” I whispered back, my voice catching on the tears threatening to spill out.

  “You’re a fighter, Sunshine. Plus, you belong to this Marine.”

  “What if you want these back?” I fingered the tags.

  He gave me a crooked grin and shook his head at me. “I’ll know where you are.”

  “Is that a threat?” I tried to joke, but the effect was ruined by the two big fat tears that rolled down my face and plopped onto our joined fists.

  “A promise. You aren’t ever going to be too far away from me.” He lifted me again, as if I were weightless, and carried me over to the bed. When he laid me down, I heard the clink of metal as the tags jostled against each other. “I’ve got other promises to make to you.”

  He laid his mouth against the chain at my throat and followed the path to the tops of my breasts. My tears were lost under a wave of desire, just as he’d probably intended.

  “With your tongue?”

  “With this body, I thee worship,” Bo said against my skin.

  And I surrendered to him and my sore heart began to lighten as it absorbed all the unspoken promises Bo made with his mouth, fingers, and tongue.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  AM

  “RANDOLPH,” BO BARKED INTO THE PHONE the following morning. I couldn’t hear who it was, but as the conversation went on, Bo tensed.

  He threw the phone on the nightstand and took in a deep breath.

  “What is it?”

  “Finn’s dad died.”

  I gasped. “Oh that’s terrible. What happened?”

  “Heart attack. Dude wasn’t even fifty. Shit!” Bo cursed and rubbed his face. “I need to get over to the house.”

  He quickly donned his jeans and shirt and shoved his sockless feet into his boots. I jumped up, gathered his books, and stuffed them into his backpack that Noah had dropped off the night before. Bo shrugged on his coat and pocketed his phone.

  I held his backpack out to him and he ignored it momentarily, crushing me to him instead. “I’ll call you later.”

  “No problem.” I shushed him. “Go be with Finn.”

  BO DID CALL, MUCH LATER. “Funeral’s going to be in a week. Can you come?”

  “Yes.” I didn’t hesitate. “How’s he taking it?”

  “Numb, I think. We’re just playing video games right now to keep his mind off it.”

  Bo stayed over at the house the rest of the week and skipped Friday class as well, likely comforting Finn. We talked every night on the phone. They had taken Finn out paintballing, and Bo had helped demo and rebuild a house that Finn was flipping. They were trying to keep Finn as busy as possible.

  I called my mom twice that week to tell her I loved her. On the second call, she confronted me and demanded to know what was wrong.

  “You never call this often, honey.”

  I gave her the truth. “A friend’s dad died. He was pretty young.”

  Mom made some sympathetic tuts. “That’s too bad, dear.”

  “What would you do if Roger died?” I’d never asked the question before, always scared of the answer. How would my delicate mother, who had never worked before, provide for herself?

  “Roger has taken care of me,” Mom swiftly replied.

  Ordinarily I wouldn’t press but I had to know. “How?”

  “He’s given me a nice insurance policy, honey, and I’ve money set aside from him. We’ll both be taken care of,” she reassured me.

  “What if Roger stopped coming by?” Once I had become aware of money and household payments, I recognized how careful my mother was with her money.

  I learned not to ask for expensive jeans or the name-brand fuzzy boots every other girl in my class wore. I took care not to overspend at school, not wanting to be a burden on my mother and not willing to go to Roger for more assistance. Maybe I’d judged Roger unjustly and my mom was just really thrifty. The phone call with Roger made me look at everything differently.

  My question generated a deep sigh from my mother. “I’ll be okay, honey, don’t you worry about it. The house is paid off and so is my car. I’ve got some money set aside just in case, but I’m not with Roger because of what he can provide, honey. We love each other.”

  They had been together, despite all the circumstances, for almost a quarter of a century. Roger supported my mother through all that time. I guess they did love each other. It might not be the love I wanted to experience, but I realized that part of growing up was accepting other people’s versions of happiness.

  BO CAME TO PICK ME UP a week later, on Thursday for the memorial service. He’d explained to the professor that there had been a death in his family, resulting in his absences. Bo didn’t explain which family. Professor Godwin adomonished Bo, but since Bo apparently had a good GPA, it would be overlooked. We were cautioned, however, to produce a stellar lab project.

  “You look nice.” He kissed me hard. “I’ve missed you.”

&nbs
p; “I’ve missed you, too,” I said, wishing he’d hold me longer, but he hustled me into the car.

  “The funeral was earlier today, and we’re going to the memorial service now,” Bo explained, maneuvering the car to the outskirts of the town until we arrived at an estate. I didn’t have any other name for it. White fences butted up against the road, providing a barrier between the pavement and the rolling pastoral land. We followed the white fencing for at least a couple miles before we came to an archway of trees covering a long drive, the spring buds just sprouting on the ends of the branches. I imagined that when the trees were in full bloom, the canopy of leaves was amazing. Instead, the trees looked almost macabre against the backdrop of the gray sky. Skeletal fingers reached out from one tree to caress its partner across the blacktop divide.

  I shivered and Bo reached over to clasp my fingers.

  “I don’t know what it’s going to be like inside. Finn told me his mom cheated on his dad with his dad’s brother,” Bo said.

  “Erm. That sounds terrible.”

  “No lie, so it might be awkward or something.”

  “That’s likely an understatement.”

  “I’d like to say we won’t stay long but—” He paused.

  “You want to be there for Finn?”

  He squeezed my hand tight and nodded, a sad smile of appreciation on his face. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to stay outside in the car avoiding this.”

  Hiding and avoiding was something I’d perfected. It was no way to live, though, so I just squeezed Bo’s hand back and waited patiently for him to open my car door. If I didn’t, he always look aggravated, and today I didn’t want to be a source of any unnecessary frustration. The house at the end of the drive looked like a farmhouse on steroids. The large, white wood-sided structure had a massive wraparound porch, and people were lounging on the railings, glasses in hand, making it look almost like a party.

  Inside, Finn stood stoically next to his mother, greeting each arrival. His angelic beauty looked haunted and empty, from his hollow eyes to the pained smile he attempted when he greeted me. Bo dragged Finn in for a back-beating hug. They clung fiercely to each other for longer than most guys would have. Then it was my turn and Finn’s arms wrapped around me, and I could feel the emotion in his rigid but tight embrace. Like always, I was without the right things to say. I could only murmur, “I’m sorry.” Inadequate words at best.

  He thanked us for coming and directed us to the living room, where a number of chairs had been set in groupings. It looked like a tasteful setting from Martha Stewart funerals. All the chairs had been swathed in black and tied with some kind of raffia. A tag in the middle said “In memorium of Matthew O’Malley” in swirling script.

  Bo escorted me over to a small group by the front windows, where the crew from the Woodlands sat with a few girls. Noah and his girlfriend. And a blonde so beautiful that people on the other side of the room couldn’t help but looking over at her. She was sitting between Mal and Adam, so I didn’t know which one she was with, or maybe it was neither. A tall, Finn-looking guy stood behind the group, looking out the window.

  He wore a white shirt, untucked and unbuttoned at the collar. A loosened tie hung around his neck, the whole effect broadcasting his disheveled despair. I hadn’t ever attended a funeral or memorial service before, and already I knew I hated it.

  Bo found me a seat next to Noah’s girlfriend but refused to sit, preferring to press both hands down on the top of my chair with enough force I was afraid it would become permanently embedded into the floor.

  “Callum, you guys need anything?” Bo asked, directing his attention to the guy standing in the corner.

  Callum shook his head, “Not today.”

  “We’re taking you on that fishing trip after classes are over,” Bo informed him. A ghost of a smile whispered over Callum’s face.

  “You okay that with Finn?” Callum asked.

  “It’s all good,” Bo replied, neither confirming nor denying that he’d checked with Finn.

  “You going to catch anything this time, Peep?” Callum asked.

  “Nah, I’m the keeper of the cooler. Someone needs to make sure we have enough to drink. Noah can filet ’em, so as long as y’all catch enough fish, we’ll be good.” Bo’s drawl was accentuated.

  Callum gave him a brief, pained smile and went back to looking out the window again.

  “Hi, AM, Grace, remember?” I did, from when we ran the mayonnaise experiment. At my nod, she introduced the beautiful blonde I’d seen around campus. “And that’s my cousin Lana.”

  Lana gave me a stiff wave. No one wanted to make small talk, so we sat there like the most miserable group of people ever, like we were all back in high school sitting outside the principal’s office.

  Finally Finn came over and said, “Anyone want a smoke out back?”

  The stampede to the door almost knocked chairs over. The porch actually did wrap around the entire house, but Finn led us down a path that led to a red barn. We stood around a picturesque white fence that overlooked large swath of pasture land and a pond beyond. The smell of hay and manure from the nearby barn was ameliorated by the sulphur of the matches used to light the blunts. Finn’s smokes weren’t cigarettes, but on a day like this, who could blame him. Bo, Noah, Grace, and I abstained, but the rest shared a few that were rolled in what looked like grape leaves; Bo told me later that they were cigar wrappers.

  I noticed as the blunt was passed around that Callum wasn’t with us. “Where’s the guy that looks like Finn?” I asked Bo.

  He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “I’ll tell you later.”

  But Finn heard us. “Callum feels like he needs to avoid me because his father is fucking my mother.”

  Adam exhaled a stream of smoke and offered a succinct response. “Cousins.”

  “My family’s fucked up,” Finn said, snatching back the blunt from Adam.

  “Mine, too,” I said. “My mom’s the other woman.”

  “My mom hates me,” Lana chimed in.

  “My mom’s dead,” Noah deadpanned, and for some reason the black humor of us one-upping each other about our shitty backgrounds relieved some of the tension of the day and we all laughed.

  Adam went back to the house and dragged Callum out. Someone rounded up some beer and chairs. We sat outside for a long time, even when the night got chilly, staring into the land behind Finn’s house. Bo’s arms were wrapped securely around me the whole time.

  He wasn’t afraid of loving me despite his past, and life was so short that I needed to stop being afraid, too.

  I AWOKE TO FIND BO SITTING at my desk and typing on my laptop, wearing his jeans and no shirt, impervious to the slight chill in the air. I lay there for a few moments and just enjoyed looking at his back, the one I’d spent so much time staring at during class last semester. Only now I got to look at what was under the near-transparent T-shirts he sported, and it was every bit as amazing as I thought it would be. He had a large black bird tattooed on his back, the wings stretching from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. On the right side, just above the wing tip, I could see an indentation, a little larger than a quarter but deep, like someone had carved out his skin with a spoon.

  Looking around, I spotted his t-shirt lying at the side of the bed, discarded late last night. I pulled it on, as well as a pair of panties, the metal dog tags lightly brushing my skin as I moved. When I reached him, I traced the top of the bird pattern on his back, the part that I could see above the chair back, dipping a finger into the depression in his back.

  “Bullet scar,” Bo said as I ran my finger around the edges, feeling the scar tissue bumpy against my fingertip.

  “My God,” I gasped. “Someone shot you in the back?”

  “We were on patrol and came under some fire. People scattered. They think the bullet may have ricocheted off a vehicle or something, because if it had hit me directly, I wouldn’t be here.”

  Fear swept over me, and I leaned down to
kiss it. “It looks so painful.”

  “I’m not going to lie. Hurt like a bitch, but not when I was shot. Then I was too hopped up with adrenaline. It was later. Then I was pissed because I was sent home to recover.” Bo recounted this experience as if it was no different than picking up a latte at Starbucks.

  “Just a normal day at work, right?” I said, and then I didn’t want to talk anymore. I kissed along his back, this time tracing the wings and head of the bird with my tongue and lips. His muscles bunched in response to my attention.

  Bo maintained a constant level of activity, whether it was sparring with me verbally or working out or driving too fast. He had to be doing something. I didn’t really understand why he was so afraid of stillness or quiet, but I knew he said provocative things in hopes that I’d provide some tart response to distract him. Or, as I had been doing for the last few hours, that I’d distract him in many wordless ways.

  With a growl, he swiveled in the chair and lifted me to sit on his lap, my legs hanging on the outside of his. With one hand placed on my bottom, he pulled on the dog tags’ chain until I was close enough to kiss. His wide mouth covered my own, his tongue rubbed along the top of mine, lapping at me like he was trying to capture my entire essence and swallow it. Other parts of his body brushed mine, and even though I felt sore from the overuse of parts that hadn’t seen this kind of workout, ever, I couldn’t stop myself from pressing down against Bo’s groin, stroking myself against the hard ridge of his erection as it pulsed with need between us.

  I pulled away, panting. “Ellie said she broke up with her last boyfriend because their sex was too good.”

  Bo’s response was to pull me closer and kiss me again. His hands swept my back, under the t-shirt and around the sides of my breasts, teasing me. This time he broke the kiss. “I always thought Ellie had a good head on her shoulders. I see now that I’m completely wrong.”

  “Yeah, she’s pretty deceptive. I think it’s because of her small size.” My words ended in a moan as he mouthed his way up and down my neck, giving me small bites and soothing them with his tongue and lips. Just when I thought he would pick me up and carry me back to bed, Bo leaned back. He dropped the dog tags under the t-shirt.