by Jean Stokes
Though a little roll in the hay with Private Foster . . .
I shake my head. No. Not only is there no reason for this sudden and intense attraction, but he's going to be a member of my team, which means I'll be his superior while he's training with me. I can already see the mountain of ethics violations something like that would cause if it came out.
I sigh again.
"Gibson! You lag behind any longer and you're all doing another ten runs!" I yell, making the newbie towards the end of the pack jump and stare at me in horror. I smile. "Move it!"
He swallows, and darts up the stands as fast as he can.
Chapter 6 - DWANE
They did change one thing in Witmer, I find out. The barracks are no longer one building where everyone is packed together like kids in a college dorm, but has been torn down and separated into houses. I get a house all to myself, which puts me at ease. I don't need people staring at me as I limp, or finding out about my injuries. I'll get enough of that on the base.
The house itself is small, with only one bedroom, a small kitchen, dining area, and a tiny living room barely large enough to fit the two-seated couch and old box television.
I bring my bags in. I haven't had to walk around this much for a while, and I'm sure if Sadie's training regimen is as tough as she is, I'm going to hurt for a long time as I get my strength back. But that's alright. I've never been someone who backs down from hard work.
The air conditioning is doing its best, but by the time I've hauled everything in, I'm sweating, and the house is way too hot. I open the windows in the front room so I can catch any hint of wind, and go out to sit on my porch. The night air is wonderfully cool and I sit on the front step with a sigh, wincing and stretching my bad leg out so it doesn't ache as bad.
I'm not sure how long I sit there for before bright headlights turn the corner, along with the rumble of a large pickup truck. I frown as the truck prowls slowly down the street, as though the occupants inside are searching for a specific number.
My lips press together as the truck stops right outside my house.
"Foster!"
I sigh, closing my eyes. I'd know that voice anywhere. The truck's engine dies and two of the Burchell brothers step out, grinning from ear to ear. There are four of them in total, and they're all carbon copies of each other—big, mean-spirited men who I would rather never speak to again.
"Michael," I greet, glaring at the oldest one, then the second. "Ethan."
"Heard you were back in town," Michael says, sauntering over to me like we're all good friends. We are most certainly not friends. The Burchell brothers bullied me relentlessly in high school, calling me 'mud skin' and other names not suitable for polite company.
"Heard you got all messed up," Ethan adds, coming to a stop beside his brother. "What happened? Trip and fall while you were sucking—"
"That's enough," I snap, glaring at them. I'm not a teenager anymore, and the military hardened me enough that casual jabs like that no longer bother me as much as they used to. I'm more confident than I used to be. "What do you want?"
"We just wanted to see how you've been," Michael says, his voice overly sweet and his smile resembling a coyote’s. "It's been such a long time."
Ethan huffs. "You shouldn't have come back, Foster," he snaps, clearly not in the mood to pretend to play nice like his brother is. "Your kind don't belong here," he sneers.
I lift my chin. "My kind?"
"You heard me. You don't belong here and you never did."
I glare at them both. I grew used to this kind of thing growing up. I'm by far the least white person in Witmer, and the Burchells are not known for their tolerance. It used to bother me a lot more than it does now.
"Well I'm here," I say evenly. "And I'm not leaving until I'm done being here. So, you can stow your threats where the sun don't shine."
Michael laughs. "The black bull grew horns!" he snaps.
"You're damn right I did," I reply. "Now get in your truck and leave before I report you for harassment."
"Like you would," Ethan scoffs.
I growl, pushing myself to my feet, and get up in Ethan's space. He's big, but I'm bigger, and I'm glad to see a small flash of nervousness in his eyes as our chests bump. "I would, and worse," I promise. "I'm here to start a new life and that shouldn't be a problem for you or any member of your family."
Ethan snarls at me, and pushes me back. I see a light come on in my periphery from one of the neighboring houses, and a small cry of alarm. "You didn't just touch me, you Goddamn—"
"Ethan," Michael warns, putting a hand on his arm. One of the neighbors runs up to me as well, holding me back. I don't try to fight, I don't want to cause trouble or someone report me to the sergeant.
"Don't come around here and don't you dare threaten me again," I snap. "I'm not afraid of you, any of you."
Ethan glares at me, but Michael pushes him back, and looks at me with a scowl of his own. "See you around," he says in a low voice, and herds his brother back into the truck to drive away
"You good?" my neighbor asks. He's a young kid, as fresh-faced as those I saw training today.
I nod, brushing him off. "Appreciate having eyewitnesses," I say with a grin.
He smiles back at me, and nods. "Any time."
Chapter 7 - SADIE
Monroe gives me Dwane's medical records before I leave for the day. I thank him, smiling as I head back to my car and perusing the notes. I raise my eyebrows at the detailed description of his injury, wondering how he's even upright and didn't lose his whole leg.
"Damn," I murmur, closing the file. "Got ourselves a cyborg here."
Despite my best efforts, I haven't been able to stop thinking about Dwane all day. It's distracting. He's cute, but our meeting was so brief, only long enough to give me a hint of his personality.
I appreciate a guy who can make me laugh. That's rare these days. But other than that, there's no reason for him to occupy my thoughts so much. We'd barely said two words to each other, and I'm supposed to be training him starting tomorrow.
Which is going to be difficult, if all I can think about is how strong he is, how he might be able to lift me up, or how his stubble might feel against my hands.
I check my phone and see another message from Aaron: "Gang's getting together at the bar."
"Alright," I reply. "I'm leaving Fort Bliss now. Be there in twenty and we'll go." He texts me another thumbs up emoji, and I put Dwane's file on the passenger seat. It's dark out, and my headlights are the only things illuminating the pothole-filled road as I head back into town.
When I pull up outside Aaron's house, I see him sitting on the porch waiting for me. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" I greet, grinning when Aaron smiles at me and clasps me on the forearm. I squeeze back. "Come on, I heard there was drinking and socializing in store!"
"Yes, drill sergeant!" Aaron replies with a roll of his eyes. He seems to be in a good mood, which I appreciate. He hasn't been his usual self lately, since he was put on leave to deal with his nightmares and PTSD.
I arch a brow, but he makes no move to rise, so I sigh, slouching down on the second seat on his porch. He's nursing a beer and offers it to me, and I shake my head. "Gotta drive," I reply, gesturing to my car.
"Alright! Free designated driver," he says, smiling lopsidedly at me, and takes another drink from his beer.
"You're in a good mood," I note.
"Yeah. Heard Dwane's back in town," he replies, voice going soft and fond.
I press my lips together. It's natural that Aaron would want to talk about his friend, but it just reminds me of how much I don't want to talk about him, or think about him—and how I can't make myself stop.
I consider Aaron my closest friend, truth be told. He and I have known each other for years, and we have an unspoken 'no judgement' bond. I know I can tell him anything because, frankly, he doesn't care that much, and he knows the same goes for me.
"Foster?" I say, pretending I do
n't know exactly who he's talking about, and he nods. "Oh, yeah. Met him on the base today." I hesitate and add, "He seems nice."
"Dwane's the best."
"Don't let Scott hear you talking like that," I tease.
Aaron smiles at me. Then, he tilts his head and takes another drink. "What's on your mind?"
I blink at him.
"Don't play coy, Holloway. You get a wrinkle on your forehead when you're thinking about something. It's gonna become permanent if you don't get it off your chest."
I roll my eyes and sigh, putting my arms on the rests of the chair and staring out towards my car with him. "Just . . . you know, that I met Dwane," I say. "And I'm having trouble stopping myself thinking about him. It's been distracting me all day."
"Because of his injury?" Aaron guesses.
"Yeah, kind of. I knew I was going to be put in charge of getting him back into fighting shape, but that's before I met him." I pause, trying to figure out how to pry for more information without giving myself away completely. Aaron likes to play dumb but the guy's got eyes like a sniper.
He hums, and doesn't answer.
"I saw his chart," I add. "Do you know how he was injured?"
"No," he says, shaking his head. "But I heard it was bad. Almost took his leg off."
"Understatement," I say with a grimace, recalling the details of the chart and his treatment. The fact that he can walk at all is nothing short of a miracle, or a testament to his determination and grit.
Aaron's phone chimes, and he takes it out, brows rising. "It's Dwane," he says. "Wants to meet up. You cool if he meets us here and we all drive to the bar together?"
"Sure," I reply, my heart picking up in my chest.
He smiles, and texts something to Dwane, setting his phone down again. He finishes his beer and puts it down on the porch next to his phone. "That forehead crease is still there," he adds playfully.
I roll my eyes. "I happen to think about a lot of things," I reply defensively. "I'm a lot smarter than you grunts."
"Ouch!" Aaron presses a hand to his chest, pretending to have been dealt a deadly blow. Then, he grins slyly at me. "You sure it's not because my pretty, damaged friend is in town and distracting you?"
I glare at him.
He laughs. "You're so obvious, Holloway," he says affectionately. "I didn't have to invite him out if you weren't up for it."
"I'm perfectly capable of getting along with people," I reply coolly, even as I freak out a little bit about seeing Dwane again. I wonder if he'll look any different. He had been dressed in civilian clothes but had the bearing of a soldier. What would he be like when around his friends?
Maybe he would be exactly what I expected: brash, loud, overconfident. Maybe he'd lose all his charm and I'd be able to move past this. I could only hope.
"I think I'll take that beer," I say. Aaron looks at me. "Just one."
He smiles knowingly at me, and rises to get one from inside.
*
Aaron is still inside when Dwane ambles up the sidewalk. He pauses when he sees me, frowning in confusion. Christ, he looks good in dark jeans and a polo shirt under a black jacket.
"Do I have the wrong house?" he calls.
"Aaron's inside," I reply, gesturing him up. "Come on, sit. Get off that leg."
He limps over obediently, settling with a sigh. "Guess I should have expected you to know what had happened, if you're going to be training me."
Before I can reply, the door opens, and Aaron comes back with two beers. He grins when he sees Dwane, and slaps him hard on the shoulder. "Hey, man! Good to see you." He hands me my beer, which has been opened, and offers the second to Dwane, who holds a hand up and shakes his head. I take two long gulps and pray it's enough to relax me.
Aaron leans against the wall between our chairs. "Did you drive here?"
"Yeah," Dwane replies, shaking his head. "More boring than I remember. Nothin' but desert."
Aaron laughs in agreement. "Well, it's good to have you back. You got a place or?"
"Temp housing," Dwane replies. I nod to myself, remembering the new individual housing. I try not to stare at Dwane too much, a nervous fluttering in my stomach whenever I do.
"So," Dwane says, with a cheeky smile and a nudge to Aaron's meaty shoulder. "What you got going on?"
"Ah, nothing," Aaron replies with a shrug. "Keepin' on, you know how it is." He takes a drink of beer. "Sadie here was just telling me she's going to be responsible for whipping your sorry ass into shape."
I click my teeth together, feeling my cheeks heating despite the cool air when Dwane smiles at me. His smile is perfectly straight, making his dimples show and his eyes crinkle at the corners.
"You've got a lot of work ahead of you," Aaron says. I'm not sure which of us he's speaking to.
I clear my throat and shrug in a cavalier way. "I've dealt with tougher," I say, and take another drink.
Dwane laughs. "The flesh is willing," he says. Yes, the flesh is certainly willing. It's all I can do not to get up from my chair and touch him. He hasn't shaved, he's still stubbled and it makes him look older and roguish.
I sigh and finish my beer. "We good to go?" I ask. "I don't want to keep the guys waiting."
"Sure."
I hurry to my car and hide Dwane's file in the glove compartment, so he doesn't see it. I don't want that to be a conversation I'm forced into. Aaron slides into the passenger seat and Dwane gets in the back, physically pulling his bad leg into the car.
I press my lips together, and angle my rearview mirror so I can't see him.
*
Our usual haunt is hopping by the time we get there. It's a small bar, but it's the only one worth a damn in Witmer, so it's a popular place for the locals.
I spot Scott immediately and smile at him as he waves us over, standing and greeting Aaron and Dwane with hearty back claps and handshakes. Scott is with a young woman I haven't met before, but I recognize vaguely from the town hall. She smiles shyly at me as I sit down at the table. "Hey," I greet. "I'm Sadie."
"Ava," she replies. She looks to Scott and bites her lower lip as the guys go to the bar for the first round. "Nice to meet you."
"You a friend of Scott's?" I ask, not missing how her eyes linger on his back.
"Yeah," she says, her round cheeks turning red. Ah. "And you . . . are you a friend of Aaron's?"
"I work at Fort Bliss," I explain. "I know all the guys. Dwane is new, but I guess he used to live here."
She nods, and the guys return with drinks. I smile gratefully when Aaron gives me another beer. "Last one I'm buying for you," he says with a wink. "You're still my designated driver, Holloway."
I roll my eyes.
"When did you get in, man?" Scott asks with a wide grin, sitting beside Ava. Aaron is beside him, forcing Dwane and I to sit next to each other. I fight the urge to glare at Aaron, unwilling to give myself away. I'm completely aware of how warm and big Dwane seems next to me.
"This morning," Dwane replies, stretching his leg out. I move mine to make room, mindful of his injury. He rubs at his thigh and sighs. "Left New Orleans early, wanted to beat the traffic. Fat lotta good it did me, and I remembered too late my cruise control doesn't work."
"Eesh, yeah, that drive wouldn't be fun for anyone," Scott says in sympathy.
"You're telling me," Dwane replies. "And the drive's not interesting anymore. I remember it being different."
Aaron snorts into his beer. "Witmer's always been in the middle of B.F.E., brother," he says, grinning.
Dwane smiles. "You guys should come check out New Orleans when you have a chance. Show you guys some culture."
"When are you going back?" Scott asks.
"Well, I might transfer to the 1st Armored Division here," Dwane replies. My eyes widen in shock. If Dwane transfers here permanently, he'll be on the base all the time. It'll be practically impossible to avoid him.
"Seriously?" Aaron says, smiling. "That'd be awesome!"
"Yeah, it's u
p in the air right now, depending on how my rehabilitation goes." He nudges me playfully at that, startling me into almost spilling my beer.
I force myself to laugh. "I'll make sure you earn it," I say, glad that my voice remains steady. The beer is helping me stay relaxed, even though my heart is racing in my chest. The thought of Dwane being around for a long time makes me feel fluttery and warm. And God, what would he look like in his uniform . . .
I'm only human, after all.
They keep talking. It appears Dwane is quite the talker—he dominates the conversation, and I can tell Scott and Aaron greatly admire him from the way they laugh at his jokes and seem so happy that he's hanging around them.
And before my eyes, he seems to come alive as well. His eyes crinkle when he smiles, and he laughs loud clutching his stomach whenever Aaron tells a stupid joke. It makes me think of brothers reuniting and being so happy to be with each other once again.
I can't stop myself thinking about what it'll mean if Dwane transfers here permanently. Training him was going to be bad enough, but if he stayed and we were working together? I might not be able to control myself.
I maintain my routine because I have a problem with impulse control. I see something, I want it, I go for it. That includes brief affairs with men I'm never going to marry, or a night out even though I wake up at the crack of dawn every morning. It's a problem for future Sadie, but if Dwane is going to be around, then he's my problem and my future problem if I do anything about this attraction I'm feeling.
He would be a distraction. I can already see mornings sleeping in, held in his big, strong arms. Unhealthy breakfast in bed. Late nights together beneath the sheets as I find out if that clever tongue is just as good between my legs as it is telling jokes.
And I want to. God, I want to. I drink more of my beer, hoping the flush on my face isn't too obvious. Hopefully, everyone will think it’s because of the drinks.