by Lizzy Ford
“What do you mean set you straight?” I ask. “You had to have been born like this.” I wave at him.
“Not exactly.” He doesn’t seem to want to answer for a minute but finally relents. “I was in a gang for a few years as a teen, on a life path that would’ve put me in jail, if he hadn’t stepped in.”
I don’t want to, but I feel bad for Sawyer Mathis. I don’t envision a dark upbringing when I look at him. My family is my world. I can’t imagine what it would’ve been like to grow up without my brothers and parents, to resort to a gang life. He doesn’t say it, but I’m pretty sure that means he grew up pretty poor, too.
We’re nothing alike and even more of opposites than I initially thought.
“What about you?” he asks. “What’s your story?”
I shrug. “Your story is interesting. Mine is kind of boring.”
“I doubt that. You seem to cause trouble everywhere you go. I’m sure you’ve got some good stories.”
“You heard Brianna,” I reply. “Spoiled trust fund baby with no plans for the future who likes to club.” The sarcasm in my words is heavy enough, I expect him to move on. He’s easy to talk to and listens intently, but I’m ready to retreat into my shell once more. I’m not here to make friends, especially with him.
“I don’t see any of that,” he says.
Eyeing him, I lean back. “Not so detail oriented?”
The flare of anger is in his gaze but disappears quickly. I’m starting to think I can get more of a rise out of him than he wants to acknowledge.
“I imagine that’s what you want people to think about you,” he replies. “Katya Khavalov is passionate, a woman with a big heart that makes up for her complete lack of discipline in any area. She’s creative and smart enough to do anything she wants with her life, loyal to the death, and beautiful. There might or might not be a sweet center beyond her crunchy exterior. Most people are too afraid of her to find out, which is the way she likes it.”
Crunchy? My face is hot by the time he’s done. Uncertain what to think about anything he’s said, I clear my throat.
“Sawyer Mathis likes to hide behind an icy exterior, to replace emotion with discipline and routine. He knows he can’t lose anyone or anything, if he doesn’t get attached, and if he does lose someone, it won’t hurt as much as it could. He’s brave and strong but alone. Always alone.”
We gaze at each other, neither speaking. The others are enjoying themselves around us. Every one of my interactions with Sawyer somehow skirts the shallow end of the pool and plunges into the middle of the ocean. I can’t help wishing I hadn’t proposed straying from the instructions. Maybe then I wouldn’t have learned a thing or two about the man I need to hate that makes me think of him differently.
I have a feeling he won’t be the first to break the thick tension this time. I rack my brain for a topic so benign, even we can’t mess it up.
“So …” I say. “Do you have a speech for tonight?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good.” This is so awkward. I’m not even certain why it is. Do we have a connection or did we piss each other off more? Shouldn’t I know one way or the other?
He pulls out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to me. I unfold it and start to read. I’m not surprised he’s gotten it down word for word. He’s not the kind of person to wing it, the way I would.
Frowning, I reach the end. “This is awful.”
“Really?” He eyes me, as if suspecting I’m picking a fight again. “Why?”
“This is so impersonal and … I don’t know. Canned. Like a report or something. The Iceman thing might work in combat, but you’re talking to a bunch of kids who lost a parent. You should try to connect to them more.”
He’s quiet. I wish I could read him, at least a little. Is he remotely open to what I’m saying?
Like I care. I tend to act then think about whether or not I should have.
I take a pen and flip the paper over. “Maybe you should start with your own background. You’re an orphan. You know what it feels like.” Hearing my words, I look up. “Sorry. I don’t mean …” My face flashes hot.
“I understood,” he says with the half smile. Resting his elbows on the table beside me, he’s too close again. I’m starting to like his scent more and more, the combination of pure male and coconuts.
Heady and sweet. It makes me hungry for chocolate dipped macaroons.
“Maybe you can talk about that a little and the guy who inspired you to join the Marines. I mean, these kids all understand military stuff.” I make a few notes on the paper. “They probably need a bit more of warm and fuzzy.”
“Because I’m the warm-fuzzy type.”
I roll my eyes. “You can connect with normal people without going all gooey.”
He chuckles.
“And without ordering them around,” I add.
“It bothers you.”
I glare at him. “Really? You’re just now figuring that out?”
He doesn’t answer, but there’s amusement in his dark gaze that makes me think he’s messing with me this time. I’m not sure what to think about him teasing me.
I finish making notes then hand it to him.
“Thanks,” he says, reading it.
Whatever. “It’s fine if you toss it.”
“Why would I?”
“People don’t like listening to me.”
“Because your delivery sucks. Not because you don’t have something worth listening to. If you stopped nagging and yelling, you might find people listen better.”
My mouth drops open.
His attention is on the paper.
“You are such an ass,” I manage, unable to come up with a better line.
“I’m an honest ass.”
I lean back, too angry to respond. I’m not sure how else to show I care for Petr and help others, other than to nag. It’s the only thing that works on people like my brothers and father. Crossing my arms, I turn my gaze to the ceiling.
Captain Mathis scribbles a few more notes into the outline I created for him. I’m sorta surprised he’s considering it. He seems too … rigid to be open to change.
When he’s finished, he replaces it in his pocket. We return to the weird quiet and thick tension, simply staring at each other.
I really hope the rest of today passes faster. I’m pretty sure these team-building exercises are going to kill me.
Chapter Seven: Sawyer
My first day at the camp probably couldn’t be stranger. At least it’s quick. After our exercises, the kids start to arrive. There’s a big dinner with the families, and then my speech. By the time the evening reception is over, it’s lights out for the kids.
I’m almost grateful when Katya goes to bed early, too, leaving me with the guys for a couple hours of poker and talking. I don’t have to admit to her that she was right about the speech. Maybe she’s right about me being too detached. I never thought of it that way, but there is a great deal of distance between me and pretty much everyone else.
I guess it’s my comfort zone. I never really thought of it as an issue before she pointed out that I’m always alone. Is that really so bad, given my line of work? I’ll never be able to forgive myself for the four guys I lost a few months back. If my guard was lower, how could I live with myself, if it happened again?
Like every other conversation with her, Katya somehow manages to make my head spin in a direction I’m not used to. I spend an hour with the guys before heading back to the barracks. Being with them leaves me relaxed, the opposite of Katya’s effect on me. Being around her leaves me oddly energized yet also unusually drained, as if our mental grappling is taxing our bodies as well.
Stepping out of the warm night into the barracks, I’m pleased to see that the kids are out cold, and so is she. Silently, I prepare for bed, irked to discover her lotion on top of my dresser when she’s got space on hers. Her shoes are in the middle of the floor, her suitcase open at the
foot of her bed. She’s taken over the bathroom, too. Everything I need is confined to one small bathroom bag.
Katya’s shit spills over the tiny sink area, and there are fluffy pink towels hanging beside my military issued olive, sandpapery one. The bathtub is littered with no less than five bottles and one of those pink scrubby-loofa things.
One week, I remind myself. Seeing the disaster that is our room makes me itchy. Clean, neat and orderly – it’s how I like to live. Battle is messy, a place where adapting is a matter of survival. Here, at home or wherever I’m sleeping at night, I can control my immediate surroundings, even if that’s nothing more than keeping my weapon at my side or a canteen by my head.
“Civilians.” I survey the bathroom again then decide that no, I really can’t live like this.
Within five minutes, I’ve got her shit straightened or put away, the towels folded correctly, and the bottles in the shower corralled in the basket hanging over the showerhead. When it’s neat once more, I automatically relax. I can pretend the rest of the room isn’t an issue in the dark.
I go to bed mostly satisfied but also too aware of the woman sleeping six feet from me in her fluffy comforter. She’s the kind of complicated I don’t need in life. I’m not sure I want to know more about her, though I’m not sure I’ll have the choice after a week with her.
If there’s anyone I should keep distant from, it’s her. That much I know, even if I’m not yet sure why.
***
My alarm goes off at five, an hour before sunrise. It’s the time I always get up. From what I’ve read about kids, controlling them is dependent on managing their energy levels. Which means, before our day officially starts, we’re going to do some drills.
I roll out of bed, refreshed and ready for the first full day of camp.
“Katya,” I call quietly. “Lights on.”
I give her a minute and go to the bathroom to change and get ready. When I return, I flip on the lights.
She hasn’t moved.
“Katya,” I say more loudly. “Time to get up!”
“What?” she replies sleepily, and pulls a pillow over her head. “What time is it?”
“Five.”
“We don’t have to be at breakfast until eight.”
“Come on. We’ve got work to do.”
“No way.”
Why do I have a feeling she’s going to be harder to manage than the six kids we’re assigned?
Rather than arguing, I go out to wake up everyone else. The light going on wakes half the kids. Pulling out my phone, I flip through my music files, turn up the volume, and blast Reveille.
The piercing, quick-paced bugle song can wake a man from the dead. Its effect is immediate.
The kids bound up.
I hit pause. “Good morning, team,” I start. “You have ten minutes to get ready and be outside in a line, tallest to shortest. Understood?”
They’re staring at me. A few nod.
“Understood?” I repeat in sharper tone.
“Yes, Captain Mathis,” two chirp. Their words are echoed by others.
The team gets up, grabbing their clothing and bathroom bags in varying degrees of urgency and head out of the barracks to the community bathrooms located at the center of the barracks.
Except one. We have a range of kids in our group, from the sixteen-year-old girl and boy, to the six-year-old girl still sitting in her bed. She’s blinking back tears, and I wait.
“You, too, Jenna,” I tell her firmly.
“I can’t.”
Clasping my hands behind my back, I approach her bed.
“Why can’t – oh, Jesus.” Her bed reeks of urine.
The tears start.
I sit down on the bed opposite her, frowning. “You’re six. You’re too old to be wetting the bed.” At least according to my research she is.
“I d…didn’t mean t…to.” She sniffles pitifully.
“We may need to call your mother. I’m not sure this is going to work out,” I say.
“My mother is … dead.”
Fuck. I read the list of kids and their issues last night five times. I don’t remember her mother being mentioned as the one killed in battle. In fact, I know it wasn’t on the sheet. Her father died last year in Afghanistan.
Jenna’s wail makes me jerk. I sit, frozen, debating how to handle her. I know how to deal with Marines who get scared in battle or those who have medical issues. But they’re not six.
“Holy hell, Sawyer. What did you do?” Katya hurries into the bay. Blinking but awake, she’s in a t-shirt and underwear, eyes on the screaming kid. Without waiting for a response, she crouches down in the space between me and the kid, her long, wild hair brushing my forearms. There’s something insanely sexy about her mussed state.
Jenna points to the bed and keeps sobbing.
I grimace.
“C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Katya’s voice is cheerful, and she stands, picking up Jenna. Immediately, the little girl starts to calm.
“Ten minutes,” I call after her. “Workout attire.”
Katya shoots me a dirty look over her shoulder but doesn’t respond. She walks back towards our room, completely unaware of how fucking sexy she is in her underwear. My eyes travel down her body, lingering on the rounds of her ass, visible beneath the boy short-style underwear, and down her shapely thighs. She’s toned in a way that says she does yoga or Pilates, definitely not in the way of a hardcore athlete.
She has a small limp, one I hadn’t noticed before, either. I don’t see anything wrong with her shapely legs but don’t wonder about it too long, because I’m not the only one staring at her.
The sixteen-year-old boy, the oldest on our team, is frozen in the doorway of the barracks. His jaw is slack, his eyes wide as he stares at her ass.
“I forgot my … my …” He stops.
“Turn around, and go to the showers,” I order.
He’s still staring.
“Now,” I bark.
The kid stumbles away from the door. I watch, understanding exactly what he’s thinking at the moment.
Within about fifteen minutes, all five of them are outside, standing in a line as directed. A little antsy – or maybe cold – they don’t seem to be capable of standing still.
Not that I care at this point. I don’t need perfection from a bunch of untrained civilians, just effort. I walk around them and send in those who forgot water or in one case, meds, to retrieve them.
At the twenty-minute mark, Jenna dashes out of the barracks and assumes her spot at the end of the line. She’s clean, dressed and carrying her water like she’s supposed to.
“Where’s Ms. Khavalov?” I ask her.
“She’s not ready yet.”
How does a bed wetting six-year-old show up a full-grown woman?
“Tanner, move out to the pit,” I instruct the oldest boy. “Stay in a line. No one leaves the trail. Understood?”
More yes, captain and yes, sir mumbles. The kids turn and begin walking.
I trot inside. The door to our room is closed, so I knock. “You almost ready?”
“Yes!”
By her tone, I’m in for a hell of a morning. I can’t help smiling at the amount of resentment I hear.
“We’ll be at the pit. Don’t forget your water. Grommets out,” I respond. I don’t stick around to learn how well she can throw shoes but join the kids and continue walking with them in the dark to the pit, a large area with a soft layer of woodchips. In the Corps, we use a place like this for any number of drills, from combat arms training to morning push-ups to accountability formations.
“We’ll start with some jumping jacks,” I tell the kids. “Ready? Start!”
“Starting them young and early, I see,” a female voice teases from behind me.
I turn to see Captain Harper, dressed for a run. We’ve worked together for about six months, and she’s never failed my team, no matter what I’ve asked of her. The opposite of Katya, she’s dis
ciplined and motivated. I always enjoy talking to her. It’s easy to be around someone with similar priorities and values.
Something I didn’t realize until trying to understand Katya more. The friction I feel dealing with Khav’s sister isn’t here, and it’s kinda nice not to have it hanging over my head.
“You want me to give you a hand?” Captain Harper asks.
“Sure.”
Chapter Eight: Katya
Have I ever voluntarily been up this early? I stayed up with Petr for days straight in the hospital, but this is different. This is camp. I need coffee and a hot shower before I’m ready to start my day. I’m not sure why I’m staggering around the room getting dressed as quickly as possible. I’d like to think it’s because the kids might need me.
But I’m pretty sure it’s because my sleepy mind is listening to Captain Mathis’ curt order.
With a sigh, I sweep my hair up into a ponytail and walk through the dorm, emerging into a chilly morning. In shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt, I’m shivering by the time I make it to the place he calls the pit.
The kids are doing laps. I slow and stare, surprised to see them running around the pit while Captain Mathis stands with someone else in the center. He’s dressed similarly in short shorts that reveal the long, thick thighs of a swimmer.
He had to have nice thighs.
More irritated at him, I fold my arms across my chest and approach. The easy smile on his face fades when he catches sight of me. I can almost see him tense. The woman with him, who I recognize from yesterday, turns to face me.
“Good morning,” Captain Harper says with a smile. Perky and alert, she looks the opposite of how I feel.
“Morning,” I respond.
“Now that your partner’s here, I’ll take off,” she says to Captain Mathis. “Have fun!”
She leaves, taking with her the cheerful atmosphere.
Captain Mathis and I gaze at each other.
“Five o’clock,” he begins.
“If you have coffee ready at that hour, I’ll consider it.”
His jaw clenches. “Do you have any self-defense training?”