Duty: A Secret Baby Romance

by Lauren Landish

  What the hell was she doing, not telling me? Did she not think I could handle it?

  Fuck! A kid? How the fuck? I mean, I know how the fuck it happened, we never did use protection, but . . . FUCK!

  Aaron rubs his hands through his hair, squatting down, and I lose sight of what he's saying. Still, I can read the tension in his back, and I worry. Did I make a mistake coming here? I get up. Perhaps this has been a bad idea. There's too much time, too many long nights between who we were and who we are now, and I don't know if that gap can be bridged.

  I go out to the back yard, where Aaron is still squatting, and I see that he's clenched his hands so tightly his knuckles are white. I keep my distance. I don't want to have him lash out and do something we'll both regret. “Aaron . . . maybe I should take Lance and leave.”

  “No . . . don't,” Aaron says, looking up at me. “Lindsey, you owe me an answer. I asked you why, and I've been out here trying to figure that out. Why? Why didn't you tell me?”

  He gets up and walks toward me, the anger being replaced with uncertainty and hurt. I've hurt him, and I never understood just how much until right now. I reach out, and for the first time in four years, I take his hand. He's still strong and gentle, and part of me yearns for more already. He goes tense, but he doesn't pull away, something that eases my fears a little at least. “Because you’re a great man with a bright future. I knew that four years ago, and seeing you this afternoon with Lance, I know that you haven't changed. Because I can see in your eyes the same crazy, noble thoughts that were running through your head four years ago in New York outside the museum.”

  “And what thoughts were those?” Aaron asks. I can still tell he’s trying to control his anger. His cheek is twitching like he does when he's pissed off and trying to control it. “Was it all that bad? Was being with me all that bad?”

  I shake my head, then nod. “Yes and no. I knew we were playing with borrowed time. A fantasy. And I couldn't destroy your life over that fantasy. You never asked for Lance, and while I know you'd never have denied him, I couldn't hurt you.”

  Aaron sighs, looking down at our hands. “I guess that's one way to look at it. But Lindsey, seeing you in the commissary the other day, I had a thousand questions and none at all. It was hard for me not to just hug you right there, our uniforms be damned. I wanted the fantasy back.”

  “And since then?” I ask, hopeful but at the same time scared. “A lot's happened in just those few days.”

  Aaron nods, then looks up into my eyes, his anger mostly replaced with the look that I've missed so much, the look that says he's here, and that he's focused on nothing but me. “Tell me. Tell me everything.”

  There's an intensity in his eyes, and I feel that old familiar twinge inside me, and I clamp down on it tightly. I can't let it happen this time. “Well, you know the big point. I started feeling ill during my trip across country on my move. I took an extra few days to see my family. When I got to Lewis, they found out that I was pregnant. My CO was a little pissed when I didn't say who the father was, but they respected my choice. So Lance was born with the father's space left blank, and I've never told him. For the three years after he was born, I've been juggling being a soldier with being a mommy. Five thirty drop-offs for PT, swapping weekend duties around within the company or working deals with the neighbors to watch Lance when I couldn't do that. Picking him up in the evening, getting him home, and loving weekends and Sergeant's Time Thursdays when I could get off work with the sun still up.”

  I don't mean to sound bitter, but it comes out that way, and I see Aaron ready to snap back when I finish, his voice still showing the hurt I inflicted on him. “Lindsey, I know it must have been hard on you all by yourself, but that wasn’t my choice. You didn’t give me that choice! I know why you did it, but I deserved to know.”

  I squeeze his hand. “I didn’t mean to come off as bitter. You’re right. That was all on me. I’ve both looked forward to this day and dreaded it at the same time. I knew you deserved to know, but I was scared how you’d react. Not to mention Army regulations.”

  He seems to ignore everything I said, and I think he’s trying to keep this conversation from getting heated. Maybe it's for the best. I don't want to yell at Aaron. The closest thing we've ever had to arguments were the first time we had sex and the night he found out I was enlisted. I don't want a third. “I noticed he has my eyes. Maybe my chin too,” Aaron says with a wistful smile. “I think that shocked me as much as seeing you with a little kid.”

  “So what about you?” I ask, turning the conversation around. “I mean, I read your uniform, and you've got your diploma hanging in the living room. Nice piece of paper, by the way.”

  “Just paper,” Aaron replies hollowly. “But after you left, I did Airborne. I got to be a platoon sergeant first semester, and I worked on the regimental staff second semester. It’s gone well in terms of work since then.”

  “And how was the social life?” I ask, trying to be teasing but at the same time curious, but he isn’t amused.

  Aaron doesn’t smile and has a serious look on his face. “I’ve kept my head down and focused on work. I dated a little, but nothing serious. I never found anyone right.”

  I swallow, stopped by his honesty. I give his fingers a squeeze and try to just change the subject. “I lied to you for so long, and I did it only because I didn't want to break things off with you. I was lonely then, and I took advantage of you.”

  Aaron shakes his head. “You never took advantage of me, Lindsey. If anything, I took advantage of you. Even after I found out, other than being a bit scared and pissed off that first time we talked about you being an enlisted, I never felt like we were doing anything other than being two people together. In fact, I was hoping that this, here and now, wouldn't be a one-time thing.”

  “Aaron, think about what you’re saying,” I whisper, shaking my head. “Four years ago, we shouldn't have, and now even more, we can't. I told you about Lance because you do deserve that much, but to be part of our lives? What do you think is going to happen, that we're going to sneak off like we used to? That can't happen anymore, Aaron.”

  He looks crestfallen, and he nods, swallowing. Looking around, he lets go of my hand and goes inside, me following him back into the kitchen area, where he speaks up again. “I know . . . and I'm not saying that, but Lance deserves more. I'd like a chance to get to know him. I'm not saying I have to be his father, at least, not yet. But . . .”

  “What?” I ask, and I can see Aaron's wheels turning in his head. He's got an idea. More than his body, it was that look that I came to fall for, that constant whirring in his head that said he's seeing what he wants, and he's going to get it. Knowing that I'm what he wants is such a turn on it's scary. “Come on, I know that look, spill it.”

  “My battalion, it has a Big Brother and Sister program, where we so-called 'adopt' a kid on post. I haven't done it so far, the system normally tries to match within ranks, and there aren't too many junior officers with children. Especially on an infantry heavy post. What if, well, what if I were to be Lance's Big Brother? It'd give you another option for taking care of Lance when you have to work late or have weekend duty. And it'd give you a chance to have some private time too. What do you say?”

  I can tell that he wants this, and I want to say yes, but I don't know. Just being here feels risky to me, and seeing him again . . . it's so dangerous. Still, I go over and take his hand again, giving him a kiss on the knuckle for some crazy reason. “I don't know, Aaron. Let me think about it?”

  “Deal,” Aaron says, giving me one of his quirky, pulse racing smiles. He knows that I want to say yes, but he's giving me enough time and space to come to my own conclusions and to be comfortable with it. “I can live with that.”

  Lance groans on the couch, and I look over, letting go of Aaron's hand. “That's his signal that he needs to go pee,” I tell him, getting up. “I'll take care of it.”

  “And us?”

  I�
��m careful with my words, knowing what the repercussions could be. “We have to be careful, Aaron.”

  Driving back to our quarters, Lance is giddy in the back seat. “He let me use a knife!”

  “Yes, I saw, honey,” I respond, smiling at the memory. Lance and Aaron were in total connection, cutting up the cake that Aaron surprised us with. It wasn't some butter knife either. It was a real kitchen knife, which worried me until I saw how careful Lance and Aaron were being together. Lance understood the importance of using a big boy’s knife. “You did great, too.”

  With all the excitement, Lance goes down early even with the sugar from the cake running through him, and as I kiss his forehead after tucking him in, I watch him sleeping softly, reminiscing. I could tell in his answer, Aaron's been lonely. I could see it in his decorations, in the fact that he has only a basic four plate set, four knives, four spoons, things like that. They sell a set just like what he has at the PX. I was tempted to get one myself when I was moving into enlisted housing. I ended up inheriting a set from one of the other enlisted at Lewis, who gave me their old stuff as a housewarming gift. Aaron didn't get any housewarming gifts, it looks like.

  I could see it in his bedroom, which I saw through the door when I took Lance to the toilet. A full-sized bed is nowhere near big enough for a man Aaron's size with any sort of active sex life. You can't even fit two people in it comfortably. The sheets looked crisp but also mostly unused, unlike the comforter Lance slept on, and the couch already looks well broken in. He probably sleeps there more than in his bed.

  I've been lonely too, though. I love Lance, but the chance today to talk with Aaron, even the painful parts, I felt a part of me awaken. It was the adult, non-military side. Other than talking with Petie, nobody really ever talks with me that way. Even other soldiers, off duty, still have that Army-ness about them. The topics of conversation always drift to Army things, there's too much talk filled with foul language and Army speak. With Aaron, the only things that said Army were the diploma on his wall and the haircut.

  There's a bit of regret that I didn't tell him about the nights waking up, wishing I had arms to hold onto. I didn't tell him about the afternoons where I cry in exhaustion and shame at how little time I spend with my son. I didn't tell him about the two months at Lewis, right after Lance started talking, where he called the senior daycare worker at the center Mommy instead of me, or the times he wasn't sure about hugging me because I felt like a stranger to him. Talk about making you feel like the world's shittiest mother.

  And I won't let Lance be hurt again, and that includes not getting a chance to know his father, even if he doesn't know that's who Aaron is for now. I bend over and give Lance a kiss on the forehead, wishing him sweet dreams and go out to my living room, where I grab my phone and send Aaron a text.

  You can be Lance's Big Brother. When can you make the arrangements?

  Aaron responds within minutes. I'll need to do it after the field exercises. But then we can do a first get-together on the weekend. Maybe next Saturday or Sunday?

  I tap my lip, thinking quickly, then reply. I don't want him to feel like I'm being too eager. I want Aaron to understand that this is focused on Lance, not us. No good. Plans. But . . . I've got weekend duty the next Saturday. Think you'd be willing to watch Lance for a long stretch then?

  Totally. I'll call you when it's set up. Thank you, Lindsey.

  Remember, you're his Big Brother. Let’s start there, okay?

  Chapter 13

  Aaron

  “Hey, Sergeant Pillman?”

  We're covered in dust. They don't exactly clean the forests out here. After four days in the woods, all of Delta Company looks like we've been lightly floured, except for the darker lines around the collars of our tops where we scrubbed our faces quickly with some splashed water from our canteens and created major rings where the water dried.

  “What's up sir?” Pillman asks, tired but happy. It's his last FTX with the platoon. He's rotating out to join another battalion soon, and come my next exercise, the Regulators are going to have a new platoon sergeant. I should have just enough time to get him broken in and the platoon adjusted to him before it's my turn to roll out. It's the way the Army works.

  “You've got two kids, right?” I ask, and Pillman raises an eyebrow. We're on a little bit of a break for the moment. The platoon perimeter is set up for the night, and most of the troops are digging their positions right now. The goal of the FTX is to get everyone a little bit of throwback training, back to light infantry work instead of rolling around in vehicles. Other than the supply truck, we haven't seen a 'friendly' vehicle since jumping off our trucks and humping our gear five miles into the woods on Monday afternoon. “If you don't mind.”

  “Not at all, sir,” Pillman replies, the two of us walking under the trees. We keep our eyes open, checking that each position is set up right with one person in four providing perimeter security while catching a breather. Pillman and I will be in the middle of the perimeter, and I've got the radio operator scratching out a shallow position for each of us now. I'm a Lieutenant. It's my job to be under fire, not safe in a cozy foxhole. I don't need much more than two feet deep. “What's on your mind?”

  “I ran into someone that I knew back at West Point,” I tell him, leaving as many details out as I can, “and she's got a kid. Cute kid, and I told Captain Bradley during some of the slack time in the Monday schedule that I'm going to put in for the Big Brother program. Mom's happy, I think, especially since she's got Saturday duty next weekend, and I agreed to watch the boy then. He’s three, though. To be honest with you, Sergeant, I have no fucking clue what to do with a three-year-old for a full-duty shift on a Saturday. Got any advice?”

  Pillman chuckles, then goes serious. “No shit, LT, for a kid at that age, you’ve gotta be on your toes. When my son was three, he had two speeds. Full-on go and dead stop. Kids around three, they're hyperactive psychopaths half the time. Are you having him come to your house or are you going to theirs?”

  “Ah, I don't know. I just agreed to do it the Saturday before this,” I tell him, lifting my helmet and rubbing at my head. I hate the helmet. It's hot and it itches, and you always end up with a 'donut ring' in the top of your head afterward from the way the webbing presses against your head. Then again, I guess if it saves my brain from getting separated from my skull, I'll feel differently. “Advice is appreciated.”

  “If the kid doesn't know you that well, and it's a long time like it sounds, I'd recommend doing it at his house. He'll have games and toys there, and you can still take him somewhere to play if he gets fidgety. When we get back tomorrow, remind me to give you a list of good parks in the area, places you can take him. Avoid anything like Chuck E. Cheese's, no matter how much he might beg you. The food is shit, and the ones around here are dirty as hell.”

  I laugh, grateful for his advice. “Now, did Top give you any hints at the pow-wow about what might be coming down the pipe tonight?”

  “Just that if you want any sleep, sir, you might want to get some before the sun goes down. Munch an MRE and grab a dirt rack, because we're in for a long night.”

  Sounds like a proper Regulator end to a good exercise. “Okay then. Make sure everyone's got a full belly, full canteens, and full magazines. We'll take care of business as we can.”

  “On it, sir. And sir?”

  I'm walking away, getting ready to check the other side of the platoon area, and stop, turning back. “Yeah?”

  Sergeant Pillman gives me a quirky grin, trying not to laugh. “Have fun next Saturday. It's going to be harder than the bad guys tonight. Just warning you.”

  Parking my car outside of Lindsey's house, Pillman's words come back to haunt me as I stand outside her door. I realize that in the four years since Lindsey and I first met, I've never been to her living space before. We were always meeting up outside of cadet area, on bikes, or someplace else. Our “bed” was made of grass, except for New York City that created Lance.
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br />   Lance . . . my son, but not my son. I didn't tell Lindsey when they came to my house, but every time he and I were working together or playing, it felt like something missing from my life had come back, and that for a while, my life felt complete. I had my son and his beautiful mother, and I had to remind myself twice that I was just daydreaming. Yeah, I was angry about having it kept from me, but when she said I could come over today and take care of Lance, I haven’t been so happy in years. Even with Pillman's warning, I'm kind of excited. Nervous, but excited.

  I knock softly on the door. It’s only six thirty, and I figure that Lance is most likely asleep. Lindsey opens the door, and I'm struck again at how beautiful she is, even when she's in her ACUs. “Aaron, you came right on time. Come in.”

  I step inside, and my first impression is that her house is both new but strangely familiar to me. Part of it is that she lives in enlisted housing, and as part of my platoon leader duties, I've been to the houses of the three guys in my platoon that are married and live in base housing for E-5s and below. I know where the bathroom is, where the kitchen is, and even how to adjust the ancient fucking air conditioner if we need it. I know that the tile that makes up the floor feels cold to bare feet even in the summer, and that there's a good chance Lindsey has a rug already in her living room to take care of that chill for Lance. Still, the details are different, and I look around, taking it all in.

  She's done her best, I can see. The furniture is all in decent shape, considering that a three-year-old boy lives here, and Lance himself is sleeping comfortably on the couch. “There he is. Lindsey, this is . . . it's a nice home.”

  Lindsey smiles, and I think she even blushes a little. “Thanks. I'd talk more, but I have to make formation. His cereal's in the cabinet, and he'll normally wake up on his own by seven thirty. If not, it's okay. I let him sleep as long as he wants on Saturdays. Secondary car seat's in the kitchen too. If you want to take him somewhere, I'm cool with that. Also, I left you a little list of things he's okay to do and a few things not to do on the fridge. It's pretty basic. I'll have my phone. They won't mind that, but I may not reply right away unless it's an emergency, so if you have a question, send me a text message. Oh, and you've got free range on the kitchen for yourself. That's totally cool with me. Just tell me what you decide to eat.”