Her Invisible Soldier: A Military Romance with a Twist

by Grace Risata

  “No.”

  Shit. I had no questions remaining, since he hadn’t asked me anything. We stared at each other in some bizarre standoff, him lying comfortably in bed while I stood naked and shivering.

  “So…” What happened next?

  He rolled out of bed, opened the closet, and grabbed a t-shirt off the floor.

  “I think this is clean,” he said, throwing it to me. “You can sleep in that.”

  “Okay,” I squeaked, turning and going into the bathroom to gain some composure and figure out what the fuck was happening right now.

  Let’s take stock of the situation. I just had more mind-blowing sex with a man who actually cared about my failures in the ‘woman-on-top’ position and took the time to make sure I enjoyed myself. That same man used my own calming technique to soothe my anxiety. But most importantly, we appeared to be having a genuine conversation and he didn’t want me to leave.

  Did I even want to stay? Hmm. Go home to a cold, empty bed or sink into Dixon’s fluffy pillow for a few minutes until he came to his senses and kicked me out. I don’t have a coin to flip, so I’ll have to go with my gut here.

  I threw the shirt over my head, abandoned all hope of ever finding my underpants, and calmly went back to bed.

  Strong arms wrapped around my waist protectively, pulling me closer, and I sighed inwardly while his body heat warmed my cold, dead heart.

  “Ask me a question, Dixon. I need to earn one more from you.”

  “What’s your question?” he asked suavely, giving me the opportunity to ask one of my own.

  “Why don’t you want me to leave?”

  “No matter what I do, I stay awake, Alyce. Friday night was the first solid rest I’ve had in a long, long time. Even my short nap yesterday was enough to take the edge off. Something about you puts me to sleep,” he admitted with a lengthy yawn.

  Isn’t that exactly what every woman longs to hear?

  Chapter Twelve

  For some reason it felt like I was doing a walk of shame, even though it was five o’clock in the evening when I entered the veteran’s center and not well past bar time returning home from a half-naked illicit encounter. Not that I frequently crawl home disheveled after a drunken bar rendezvous. Okay, once. But in my defense, that was some mighty powerful vodka and the bartender had some epic tattoos. It was nothing even remotely close to sex because he couldn’t get it up due to aforementioned vodka, and thus no penis entered any vagina. There was definitely some pretty hot and heavy making out though.

  But I digress.

  I had no idea where things stood with Dixon, and no clue how he might react when he saw me today. We hadn’t left each other on bad terms…or good terms…there just wasn’t any farewell scene at all. I tossed and turned all night long because I don’t sleep well unless I’m in my own bed. It didn’t help matters that Dixon kept clutching me and murmuring in his sleep. The man had a death grip around my waist and I couldn’t make out any words…it was just random mumbling with an occasional snore thrown in for good measure. Once four o’clock in the morning rolled around, I couldn’t handle it anymore so I snuck out of bed and went home.

  I did wake him up long enough to tell him that I was leaving, so he wouldn’t feel abandoned or anything. I’m not totally heartless.

  I half expected a text, but I got nothing but silence from the man. Would he be relaxed today because he slept like a log for most of the night? Will I get a dirty look because he regrets having me stay over? Dixon doesn’t really seem like the type to get attached to one woman for very long.

  He’s such a wild card.

  “Hi, Alyce,” Debbie happily called out and waved as I walked into the room. “Have you talked to Kassie lately?”

  “No,” I replied, coming to an abrupt halt and looking around for the missing woman. “Is she not here today?”

  Smiling devilishly with an evil grin that would put a villain to shame, Debbie merely shook her head.

  “Your buddy never showed up and didn’t even bother to call in with a lame excuse like she usually does. The boss was pissed! I get the feeling that this is her last chance because everyone is fed up.”

  “I haven’t spoken to her in a few days.” Friday to be exact. That was the day she was a bitch to Dixon and I let her have a piece of my mind. I wonder what I missed. “Did something happen at work?”

  “Kassie was fine yesterday. She acted like her usual ass-kissing self when anyone was looking, but I noticed some extra strange activity involving her phone.”

  What the hell was ‘extra strange phone activity?’ Was Kassie speaking Russian to some KGB spies now? I think Debbie might have a flair for the dramatic. Not that I was opposed to solving a mystery. Let’s dig deeper.

  “Can you explain further?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Every three minutes, Kassie kept pulling out her phone even though we’re expressly forbidden to have them at work. The bosses want all of our undivided attention on the task at hand and not occupied with whatever messages are beeping on our phones. Every time her phone vibrated in her pocket, she tapped furiously at the screen and then looked around to make sure no one saw her. Then she doesn’t come in today and we get a phone call from her sister! Can you imagine that? A grown woman needs her sister to handle things for her. What’s next? A note from her mommy?”

  “What did her sister say when she called?” I asked curiously. This was definitely out of character, because my co-worker did not like to lie for her sister. Sure, she would jump in and defend Kassie in a fight, but Kennedy was constantly lecturing her twin about the importance of keeping a job and getting a steady income. I suppose that was mostly due to the fact that Kennedy didn’t want to pay all the rent by herself.

  “I wasn’t the one who spoke with her, but rumor has it that some dire family issue came up and Kassie was needed at home. I figured you might know what it was…if it was really an emergency… because you two are such good friends.”

  Why the hell did everyone think I was joined at the hip with Kassie and Kennedy? We weren’t triplets!

  “We’ve known each other a long time,” I admitted, “and I work with Kassie’s sister, but it’s not like I get regular updates every time one of them gets a period, Debbie. Let me do some sleuthing and see what I can find out.”

  “Uh…uh…okay,” she stammered, most likely taken aback that I mentioned the monthly curse in proper conversation. Whatever. I don’t mince words. I have no qualms discussing bodily functions the way most people talk about the weather.

  I pulled out my phone with the intention of texting Kennedy, but I paused when Debbie gave me a few words of warning.

  “Alyce, you might want to seriously think about taking another day off from Dixon. He’s particularly riled up today. I mean…worse than usual. There are several levels to Dixon. I’ve experienced the normal hatred, rage when he has to talk to his psychiatrist, and I would assume there’s some massive tantrum close to defcon five that none of us have seen yet. Today seems to be hovering close to defcon four. So be careful.”

  What the hell was his problem today? Between Kassie’s drama and Dixon’s angst, this place seemed to be falling apart.

  I sent a quick text to Kennedy to ask what was up with her sister, and then I went over to check on the angry giant.

  Whoa. Debbie was not kidding when she assessed his threat level. If he was a cartoon, steam would have been shooting out of the man’s ears.

  Red in the face, one hand clutching the desk while the other held an envelope, Dixon positively seethed. I noticed his whole body remained tense and stiff as a board as I got closer to him.

  “Why are women such fucking whores?” he asked, not even bothering to greet me with a ‘hello,’ or the simple ‘get the fuck away from me,’ that I’ve come to expect.

  Taking a deep breath, I dove right off the deep end. Clearly there was no tip-toeing around with this dude.

  “Who exactly are you referring to?” I responded, bi
ting out the words very slowly as a warning that he should be careful when replying to that question.

  “Carrie,” he spat, waving the envelope as though that would explain everything.

  I narrowed my eyes and stared at him. While I was somewhat relieved not to be the whore in question, I was also massively jealous of the bitch that got him so worked up. Dixon had never mentioned having a girlfriend. Is that something I should have asked? It’s true that I’m not looking for a commitment, but I’ll be damned if I’m sharing that cock with anyone else. I’m an only child…sharing is not in my vocabulary.

  “Am I supposed to know what the fuck that means?” At this point, I was unable to hold back the venom.

  Dixon blinked a few times as if finally realizing I didn’t live inside his head and needed to get caught up on things.

  “Jack…my best friend…my brother in arms…we enlisted at the same time…he’s…gone now…” Dixon admitted, breathing heavily between words as if it was painful to speak them aloud. “Carrie is his…was his…”

  He couldn’t finish and looked at me helplessly.

  “His sister? You had sex with his sister?” I guessed.

  “NO!” he yelled, smacking the envelope on the desk with a loud whack. “Fiancée! Jack loved Carrie with everything he had. The fucker was so pussy whipped that I teased him about it all the time…” he explained, trailing off as though picturing some happy memory with his buddy.

  “Okay…” I prodded, still having no clue why he was freaking out.

  Unable to speak, he simply handed over the envelope and gestured for me to open it.

  “You are invited to a wedding joining the lives of Carrie Green to Alexander Moore at the Bridgeport Country Club. Let this perfect couple be blessed with today’s happiness, yesterday’s memories, and tomorrow’s dreams…”

  It went on to list the date and time of the vows.

  I gently set the invitation back on the desk and Dixon promptly ripped it in half. So…I guess that means he’s not going to ask me to be his date.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, knowing damn well he was about the furthest thing possible from that word.

  “No, Alyce. I am not okay. I don’t think I explained this well enough for you to understand. Jack was supposed to marry Carrie. I was there when he proposed to her at the airport while we were on leave. It was a short weekend break before…before we had to go back overseas. He planned everything down to the last detail and I had to listen to him talk about it a million times to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. Her fucking ring cost him a fortune. Everything had to be perfect for that bitch. Of course she said yes, and that was the happiest I’d ever seen the poor bastard. They were supposed to have a future. Carrie was meant to have a life with Jack…not this ‘Alexander’ piece of shit.”

  I didn’t say a word. Now felt like the time to keep quiet and let him finish the story. This was honestly the most he’d ever spoken to me at one time and I could sense it wasn’t easy for him. Yet it felt like he needed to get this off his chest. There wasn’t much I could do to ease his pain…but I’d be damned if I wasn’t a good listener.

  “Alyce…if everything hadn’t gotten fucked up…Carrie would be marrying Jack. Instead…he’s gone…and I’m here…and it’s not fair. Jack died and it’s my fault…and I don’t understand how I’m barely surviving from day to day, yet that heartless bitch has already moved on to the point of marrying someone else. Someone that’s not Jack. She accepted his ring and promised to love him forever. It’s not right, Alyce. It’s not right.”

  “How long…how long has it been?” I whispered. Maybe Carrie realized she was a young woman with her whole life ahead of her and she couldn’t sit at home and mourn for the rest of her life. Maybe she didn’t love Alexander the way she loved Jack…and she was trying to replace her deceased fiancé because she couldn’t process the profound loss.

  “We buried him seven months ago…and she’s four months pregnant already. After I got the invitation, I went on Friendbook to try and make sure this Alexander guy wasn’t an asshole. I felt some sort of obligation to Jack…you know…to make sure his girl would be safe. I didn’t know her well at all…only the stories I heard from my best friend. Do you know what I saw?”

  I simply shook my head, unable to respond.

  “This guy she’s marrying was her high school sweetheart. They broke up when she went to college and met Jack. Now that my friend is gone…this prick swoops in to ‘comfort’ the bitch and the next thing you know she’s having his baby and acting like everything is fucking perfect. It’s like she just erased Jack from her life completely…like he never even existed at all.”

  I stood there, stunned. Who does that? But it begs the question…

  “Why did she invite you to the wedding?”

  “I don’t know. Out of a sense of duty, I called her a few times to check in and see how she was holding up. All I wanted was to talk about Jack and share memories of my best friend with the only other person who knew him as well as I did, you know? By telling stories of the crazy shit he did, it’s like he wasn’t really gone…like he might walk through the door at any moment. The first time I called, she burst into tears and hung up on me. The second time, she brushed me off and said she was busy. The third and final time, her dad told me to lose her number. I think the wedding invitation was their way of telling me to go fuck myself and not bother them anymore.”

  “Those heartless sons of bitches!” I grunted in outrage at the disgusting way he was treated. “She sounds like a whore. You were right. I’m sorry I thought you fucked her.”

  He stared at me in confusion.

  “Why did you think I did that?”

  “I don’t know. You were taking too long to finish your sentences and I jumped to conclusions. The point is…I’m sorry that everyone is a giant asshole. And, to answer your original question, all women aren’t whores. If my fiancé was no longer here amongst the living, I would mourn him properly and not get knocked up four months later.”

  “It was only three,” he said, correcting me.

  “That’s even worse.”

  “What would you do?”

  “What would I do for what?” This conversation was harder to follow than the pregnancy math.

  “What would you do if you lost your fiancé?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” I said with a shrug. “I lose everyone else. Why not him too? Not that I ever had a fiancé so I don’t know how it would feel. Not that anyone ever proposed to me. Sometimes I wonder if people just deal with me out of a sense of obligation and they don’t even like me at all.”

  After that most embarrassing of confessions, I turned my head to stare out the window as Dixon often did. It was a lot easier than thinking uncomfortable thoughts and trying to work through complex emotions.

  “We’re kind of fucked up, aren’t we?” he asked quietly, as though not wanting to hear the truth.

  “Maybe. Probably.”

  I turned to look at him and shrugged.

  “So…does that mean you aren’t going to ask me to be your date for their wedding?”

  “Fuck you, Alyce.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Dixon rose from his desk chair and came within inches of my face.

  “These walls are closing in on me. I need fresh air. I’m going home.”

  Was that an invitation to join him? I don’t want to be presumptuous but…

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Alyce.”

  Okay. Guess I read that situation wrong. What was he going to do at home? The man was a ball of tension with no outlet to release it.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” I warned, sounding like his fucking parole officer.

  “Such as?” he questioned warily, cocking an eyebrow at me.

  “Anything to get arrested. No drugs, no alcohol.”

  I really, really wanted to add, ‘no sex with anyone else that’s not me,’ but I didn’t for obvious reasons. We had
no claims on each other. Not that I wanted that. I liked my freedom. Yeah. Woohoo. Freedom.

  “What makes you think I’m going to do anything like that?”

  “You’re really pissed off and have nowhere to go with all that anger.”

  “Yes, I do. I’m going to beat the shit out of my friend, Dan.”

  Wait, what? Did I just hear that correctly? If Dan was his friend, why is he kicking his ass?

  “Huh?” I asked, sounding like a moron.

  “Dan the dummy. I ordered him on Amazon. He’s a life-size fight training dummy. It has the same feel as a punching bag, but it looks like a person and I have way more fun kicking the living shit out of him. Maybe I should rename him ‘Alexander’ instead.”

  Should I be relieved he wasn’t seeking comfort in the arms of another woman or taken aback at his obvious glee with the prospect of inflicting violence on the dummy?

  “G’night, Alyce,” he murmured while nodding and beginning to walk away.

  “Wait…this feels wrong. Shouldn’t you be storming out of here after telling me to go fuck myself? This new side of you is freaking me out.”

  Dixon actually cracked a genuine smile and then realized he was displaying a positive emotion which caused him to scowl.

  “Go fuck yourself, sweet cheeks. But if you do…record it on your phone so I can watch tomorrow.”

  Ah, yes. Much better.

  *********

  I sat comfortably cross-legged on my oversized brown love seat while sucking down a bag of potato chips and deciding which movie to watch. I had several options including a romantic comedy, a sci-fi horror film, or some porn. Let me explain that I don’t watch X-rated movies with any regularity, but sometimes their plots are so hilarious that it really cracks me up. Life without laughter really isn’t worth living.

  BEEP.

  My phone made a noise to alert me to an incoming text.

  “What’s your favorite color?”

  Why the hell is Dixon texting me a random, meaningless question?

  “Black like my cold, dead heart.”

  I waited for him to reply, but he didn’t. That was strange. Oh, well. Where was I? Ah, yes. Did I want to watch the porn movie with the hitchhiking man who gets picked up by a vampire and they fuck all night long? Or should I choose the award winning cinematic masterpiece about the billionaire business man who nails his cleaning lady? Decisions, decisions.