“It’s not like that, Mac.”
“Please. I’ve been around military guys my entire life. You may not have a family in the military, but if this is how you treat your female friends, you’re well on your way to climbing the ranks.”
“Look, we didn’t come to fight, Mac. Matthews treats you like shit. Everyone sees it, but you know we can’t say anything. We came to help,” Bekah says, folding and placing the blanket on top of the bed. “And to see what Matthews was pissed about.”
Gritting past the annoyance at being thrown to the wolves, I try to get the conversation back on track. We can’t be up much longer. I give them a rundown of what happened over Parents’ Weekend with the tours and Jonathan, including what Jonathan said about Matthews’s charges.
“There’s no way your brother could believe that.” Bekah grabs the socks off the floor and begins rolling them to put in the drawer.
“Clearly you don’t know my brother. He’ll believe whatever he wants to believe and nothing I say is going to convince him otherwise.”
“Your brother’s a dick,” Kelly says unapologetically.
I hold my hands up in surrender. “No arguments from me.”
An uneasy peace fills the room and the three of us work in silence to get everything back in order. When Kelly leaves, I’m ready to tell Bekah good night, too.
“Can I tell you something?” She’s almost vibrating with electricity.
I sit down on my bed. “Sure.”
“I’m dating someone.”
“What? Who? When did this happen?”
“This weekend at track’s big get-together. There was alcohol, dancing. It was amazing. It felt so good to be human again.”
“Please tell me this is some townie and not a cadet.”
She at least has the decency to look a little ashamed. “He lives three floors below us. Shawn Evers.”
If I were drinking something, I would spit it out all over the table. “You’ve got to be kidding. He’s a freaking junior.” Not to mention a complete asshole.
“I know, I know. But he’s gorgeous.” She can’t keep the smile off her face.
“You know what he said about me during morning calls, right? I did tell you that story?”
“Yeah, but he’s just—”
“You’ve got to end it. You saw what they did to me out there tonight. Matthews is trying to prove that I have the hots for him to get me kicked out. They’re going to eat us alive, Bekah. Please . . .”
“Shawn’s not going to tell anyone. He knows how it’ll look. He’s going to keep it a secret. Besides, he and Matthews are friends. Matthews was at the party—”
We’re going to get to her another way. It’s what Matthews had said about her. If they’d gotten Evers involved, Bekah might not even see it coming. “Matthews can’t be okay with you dating. He’s the one who won’t even let me blink wrong and he’s going to let you break a major rule? Not to mention, I have no idea how you’ll even pull this off. You’re going to . . . what? Email each other?”
“We’ll be together whenever we have practice. And, somehow we’ll find time. Near Christmas we’ll be Recognized, right? That gives us a little more freedom.”
“Not enough to date upperclassmen.” My arm, where Drill’s hand rested for just a second, burns at the memory. “It’s late.” And I’m frustrated. “We can talk this through tomorrow.”
“There’s nothing to talk through, Mac. I like him and he likes me. I hope you’re okay with it, but even if you’re not, please don’t say anything.”
“Of course I won’t,” I sigh.
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TWENTY
KATIE SHOWED UP TWO DAYS AFTER PARENTS’ WEEKEND leave was over and got sent to the infirmary three days after that. It’s two weeks into November before she moves back into our room. Her doctor’s note says she’s still not allowed to do company training or PT, either. I resist the urge to point out how unbelievable her injury and the doctor’s note are when she seems just fine walking to and from classes.
I’ve gotten used to having the room to myself and am still trying to adjust to life with a roommate again. “Sorry,” I say as I bump into her shoe polish.
“It’s okay. I think I’m doing this all wrong anyway. At the infirmary, someone did it for me.”
Of course they did. Everyone knows the staff at the infirmary does everything from polishing to starching. Even sick and injured cadets have to adhere to military standards, whether they can do it themselves or not. “Here, let me help.” I shouldn’t have to do this by now, but I ignore the grumbling I want to voice and pick up her boot instead. Besides, if she’s going to go along with whatever Matthews wants to say about me, I need to be as nice to her as I can.
“Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I don’t meet her eyes—I’ve always been a bad liar.
“You just seem . . . distracted. I know I haven’t been around, but if you want to talk. . . .” Her words drop off.
“It’s just my mom.”
She gives me this look of sympathy. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to see her on Parents’ Weekend. Thanksgiving is only a week away, though.”
“I’m staying here over Thanksgiving.” The email came earlier today. It shouldn’t surprise me, not after the past eleven months of coming in last place with Mom, far behind mourning Amos and her daily pills. “Jonathan and I have plans.” Or, we should.
“So you guys are talking again? I’m surprised you want anything to do with him after the KB incident. That was a jerk move on his part.”
I hadn’t even bothered to tell her about what Jonathan had said about her over Parents’ Weekend. “I know, but we’re still family, right? And it’s a holiday.” I’m ready for a break, but if Jonathan won’t speak to me, it’s only going to cement the fact that Platoon McKenna is dysfunctional.
She nods encouragingly. “I’m sure you guys will get to do something fun together.”
I drop her boot to the floor when I’m done polishing and pick up the other one. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
“Attention on deck!” Matthews yells. “The cadet colonel is in the hallway.”
“Speak of the devil,” I mumble, meeting Katie’s wide-eyed gaze.
The door to our room slams open. Katie bumps into her wall locker.
“Room! Attention!” I yell at the top of my lungs, even though Katie and I have already snapped into position.
“At ease,” Jonathan says, glancing at Katie as she slides into a parade rest stance that’s still not correct. “Glad to see you’re back in the barracks, Recruit Quinn.”
“Colonel McKenna, this recruit is glad to be back, Colonel McKenna.” Her voice shakes when she talks. If she’d been with the company more than in the infirmary, she’d be over the nerves by now.
Matthews hovers in the doorway, a grin on his face, which means whatever is coming will likely not be good. I brace myself as best as I can.
“Recruit McKenna.”
“Colonel McKenna, yes, Colonel McKenna?”
He swallows hard, then continues, his eyes on my face but not meeting my gaze. “I’m going away for Thanksgiving.” He glances at Matthews and then back at me.
I don’t know how to respond without getting chewed out by Matthews, so I remain still and silent.
“So, anyway, that’s what I came to say. Have a good Thanksgiving. . . .”
When he turns to leave, I snap to attention. “Room! Attention!” My voice doesn’t waver, but the room blurs when Jonathan disappears around the corner.
Matthews is still standing by the door, the grin changed to a full-fledged smile now. “Aw, sorry to hear that, McKenna. Guess you’ll be about the only one on campus next week.” His laugh hangs in the room even after he leaves.
“So that does it,” Katie says, turning
to me when we’re alone again.
Blood rushes in my ears and I sit down at my desk, not sure my legs will hold me up anymore. “What?”
“You’re coming home with me for Thanksgiving.”
But that’s the last thing I want. “No. I mean, thanks for the invitation, but no.”
“Sam, you can’t stay here alone. That’s ridiculous. It’s a holiday.”
“I know it’s a holiday. And I’m going to spend it alone.” I can’t go to a house where I don’t know anyone—not this time. Not when it’s the first Thanksgiving without Amos here. . . . I thought at least Jonathan would understand. “Just go home and have fun. We’ll hang out when you get back, okay?”
I turn back to my desk, trying, once again, to focus on the paper that’s due this afternoon that I don’t even care about anymore. But to make sure Katie knows I’ll be okay, I blink away the tears, pick up my pencil, and begin writing again.
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TWENTY-ONE
I PULL ANOTHER HANDFUL OF CEREAL OUT OF THE BOX I’D bought at the school store before everything shut down for break. Only about sixty-eight hours until everyone starts showing back up on campus. Not that I’m counting or anything.
It’s my own damn fault, really, feeling this alone. I’d sworn Katie to secrecy—she wasn’t allowed to tell Kelly that I’d be here by myself. I didn’t even email Jax. If no one in my family cares enough about me to want to spend time with me, I’m not going to force my crappy mood on anyone else.
I close up the cereal box—it’s the second one I’ve gone through since everyone disappeared—and stretch. I promised myself I would go for a run after my afternoon pity party and the light is fading fast.
A big crash outside my door makes me jump. I wish there was a peephole, but there’s not. I grab my rifle from the rack. It’s not loaded, but I could still leave a mark if someone’s sneaking around.
When I open the door, though, Drill is standing outside my door. “Sorry,” he says.
I’ve got to keep my smile at bay and my heart calm. “Drill Sergeant Stamm, this recruit—”
“We’re on break, Mac. Quit with the third person.” He smiles and I feel my face go red. “And don’t you dare sandwich my name.”
“Thanks, Drill. But . . . how did you know I was here?” I let out a relieved breath and slip the rifle back into its place against my wall. He notices, though, and laughs.
“Rev might have mentioned you’d be here all alone over the break.” He gestures at the broken glass on the floor. “This was a plate of dinner for you.”
My heart almost stops. He thought about me and brought me Thanksgiving dinner? That’s not something a drill sergeant would normally do . . . is it? “Oh.”
“But it’s obviously not anymore. At least the pie didn’t get ruined. I’ll run out to my car and get it.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and starts to walk away.
“Wait. You brought me pie?”
He stops and turns back. The grin on his face is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. “I come from a military family, too. I know what it’s like to not have family around at the holidays.”
I let him think that everyone is just away—not that they don’t want to spend time with me. It’s nicer than the truth. “Thanks.”
“I’ll go get the pie.”
“I’ll clean this up.”
By the time Drill is back, I’ve swept the remains of the broken plate into the trash and mopped up around the spill. He stands in the doorway, looking strikingly different in civilian clothes. It’s just jeans and a green T-shirt with an old-school video game character on it, but tonight he looks like he’s just a guy coming to visit, not someone I’m not allowed to be friends with.
“I can just leave the pie here,” he says, though he’s holding two plates, and the words come out slowly. Had he brought dinner for both of us, too?
“Stay. I can’t promise to be good company, but you’re more than welcome to hang around.”
He comes in and hands me a plate with whipped-cream-covered pumpkin pie wrapped in Saran Wrap, the smile back. I’m glad I invited him in. My mouth waters and I sit down at my desk, ready to dive in. “Did you make this?”
“If you count taking it out of the box and slicing it, then yeah. I did.” He pulls Katie’s desk chair out and slides it over in front of mine.
I pull the wrapping off and hold it up to my mouth, licking off the whipped cream. “God, just this little bit is better than anything I’ve had since I got here.”
He laughs again. “That’s pretty sad. . . .”
I like the way he laughs, solid and strong, like he’s not worried about anything, least of all the fact that my knee is touching his or that my hair is piled in a ridiculously unsexy bun on top of my head. “Yeah, well, you know what the mess hall food is like.”
He hands me a fork, his eyes on the wrapper that I’m still cleaning off. “For when you’re done licking the plastic.” He meets my gaze, his cheeks blushing a beautiful shade of red. “I mean, the pie itself is probably pretty good, too.”
“So, pie,” I say, stabbing a forkful, reminding myself that Drill is totally off-limits, even in his civvies.
“Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “Pie.”
We eat in silence for a few minutes. It’s the most comfortable I’ve been on campus since Dad dropped me off months ago. I don’t want it to end, but it does, too quickly. “Why didn’t you tell me about your KB?” He sounds hurt, like I’ve betrayed him somehow.
I’m guessing Matthews told him. “Gee, let me see,” I say around a mouthful of pumpkin pie. “You’re my drill sergeant. I screwed up and didn’t want you to know how bad.”
His fingernails are white where they press against his fork. “I told you to come to me with problems.”
“It’s fixed now. It’s okay.”
“So you can totally read through all the words marked in black?”
“I don’t want to cause waves, okay? You’ve already done too much to keep Matthews away. I just want to get through this year and—”
“You shouldn’t have to stay quiet to survive the year. This shouldn’t be happening.”
I stop the fork halfway to my mouth, my eyes snapping to his face. “It’s nothing worse than what I expected. I knew things weren’t going to be easy.” He’s obviously angry and I’m scared that it’s directed at me. “I’m sorry I’m not better—”
“And now you’re apologizing. You haven’t done anything wrong, Mac. You’re . . . you . . .” His eyes rake over my face, searching for something. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, and when he opens them again, he seems calmer, the Drill I trust completely. “You have some whipped cream . . .” His eyes are on my lip again and my heart speeds up, galloping along at a dangerous pace.
Reaching up, I wipe the edge of my mouth.
“No. You missed.” He leans in, his face a breath away from mine. His thumb grazes the corner of my mouth, the rest of his fingers reaching out and brushing the hair at the nape of my neck.
I’m frozen in place, unable to breathe because his hand feels so strong, so right. My jaw fits perfectly in his palm. If he asked, I’d stay like this forever. Forget family drama, forget the Corps and their rules about fraternization, and just stay right here, hovering over pie, linked by whipped cream and losing myself in his crystal blue eyes.
He clears his throat. “Sorry,” he whispers, dropping his hand like I’ve burned him, like he did after the Parents’ Weekend parade. “I shouldn’t have touched you.”
It’s hard to speak with my heart pounding so fast, but I try anyway. “I didn’t mind. . . .” My face gets warm.
He laughs, but it’s a disgusted humorless sound. “I’m in charge of you. I can’t put you in that position.” He scoots back. “Also, I’m kinda scared your dad would kill me.”
/> A smile tugs at my lips. He’s thought about me—about what kissing me would mean, about how Dad would react. I slide forward on my chair, closing the space between us that doesn’t feel like it should be there in the first place.
Slowly, like I’m a hummingbird that would flit away with the smallest movement, he reaches out, his fingers brushing mine, just slightly. Doing this is wrong. So incredibly wrong. But I don’t stop him and I don’t pull away.
Then his phone rings.
I jump, and he jerks his hand away from mine. “Saved by the bell,” he laughs nervously. He stands up and clears his throat, pulling the phone from his jeans pocket. “Yeah?” His voice is rough, scratchy, and he won’t look at me. He rubs a hand over his head.
I can’t take my eyes off him. The way his T-shirt stretches across his shoulders and wraps tightly around his biceps. When he turns back around, I drop my eyes, but then look away completely because staring at my drill sergeant’s crotch is definitely not a way to ease the tension in the room. My face is on fire. I close my eyes and take three deep breaths.
“I can get her a message. What is it?”
His eyes meet mine, turning from sultry to sorry in zero point two seconds. The room is suddenly cold. Who would be calling him about me? I try to read something, anything, in his face, but I can’t.
“I’ll get the message to her tonight. Yes, sir. Happy Thanksgiving to you, too, sir.” He ends the call and stands still, not turning to look at me.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
He moves toward me awkwardly, like he’s not sure where he should be. He keeps meeting my gaze and looking away, almost like he’s nervous, though that’s ridiculous. Drill doesn’t seem like he could be nervous about anything.
I move to my desk, organized to military regulations, notes written in small regimented handwriting. I focus on that so I don’t have to meet his eyes.
“Sam.” He looks frustrated, his forehead crinkled like what he’s got to tell me is too much.
I try to swallow but can’t make myself. I don’t know if he’s ever called me Sam before, but the way he says it now makes me scared. “What . . . ?” I have to clear my throat and start again. I’d give anything to be five minutes in the past, where we were about to cross a completely forbidden line.
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