by Logan Chance
“Hey Lizzy, how are you? Figures you two would be here together. Always joined at the hip,” Timothy’s nasally voice says.
Timothy still lives at home, and I’m pretty sure his mother still does his laundry among other things. Never had a girlfriend that I can remember, because he’s rude. He used to tease me mercilessly when I had braces. Timothy isn’t all bad, but the moment they start talking about sports, I bail.
I head off down the path to the boardwalk, one of my favorite places.
It isn’t a boardwalk like Atlantic City or Daytona, just some slabs of wood that stretch out over the ocean. I take a stroll, passing by older men with their buckets of caught fish and poles in their retired hands.
Waves crash against the shore, and the salty air, coated with a hint of bait and tackle, fills my lungs. I love the smell of summer. My mind drifts back to the almost kiss, and as if I conjured him up, his voice startles me, “Lizzy,” he says.
I spin around, tightening the knot of my sarong around my waist. “Ryan.”
“You’re gonna pay for leaving me with Timmy boy.” He tries to tickle me, and it brings me back to being a kid. Let me explain something, I’m so ticklish, you can point a finger at me and I will laugh. And if you tickle me, I will cross over into that zone of laughing so hard no sound comes out. Ryan knows this and used my Achilles heel to his advantage on many occasions to get what he wanted or to punish me. It’s tickle torture. I hate it, but here I am laughing because it’s uncontrollable.
I laugh and squeal, trying my hardest to get away before he can make contact with my ribs. “Stop. Ok, ok, please,” I beg, swatting at his large hands.
He doesn’t let up until he’s moved me down the walk, and we end up at the railing at the furthest spot from the beach. Finally, he stops his playful torture, and we both turn to gaze out at the endless ocean.
“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he breathes. He grabs my hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb over my skin.
“You do realize I totally won, right?”
He drops my hand, and I instantly miss the touch. “What? No way,” he protests. “I had high score,”
I raise a brow at him. “You cheated.”
“Did not.”
“Did too, Ryan. Oh wait, are you going to cry? You’re going to cry, aren’t you?” I tease.
He picks me up, hauling me halfway over the side, his hands firm against my skin. “Take it back, or into the water with you foul wench,” he says in a pirate’s voice. More like a Captain Jack Sparrow voice, but all the same.
“Ryan,” I scream, and he wiggles me slightly, dangling me over the edge.
“Admit defeat,” he says in a deep voice.
“Never,” I shout.
He sets me down, but his hands still hold my hips, his fingers pressing into my skin ever so gently. The wind whips at my hair, and the only thing rooting me to the weathered, wooden boards beneath my feet is my pounding heart. Clouds drift over the sun, blocking it out, and I study his shadowed face. His eyes are beautiful. A soft shade of green, like a meadow on a warm summer’s day. What must they have seen at war? They’re scarred with the memory he tries his hardest to cover up.
Something else is there, too. A twinkle of desire with an underlayer of fear.
Without thought, I reach my hand to his stubbled jaw, caressing his taut skin with my shaky fingers.
The world around us quiets in the moment. Gone are the giggling children down by the shore. Gone are the chattering ladies, begging their husbands to go home after a long day of fishing. The only thing here and now are the beating hearts of two friends. Two friends who mean the world to each other.
It’s with that thought I drop my hand and step away. I just got him back in my life. There’s no way I’d be an idiot and ruin that. Sure, it’s all about the friendship and has absolutely nothing to do with the sinking feeling he doesn’t feel the same. If I put my heart on the line and he turns me down…I’d never be able to cope with that.
So, I push myself off the ledge my back is welded against and make my way down the boardwalk and onto the beach.
Ryan follows closely behind, and we spend the next few hours in friend mode, once again pretending things are as they’ve always been. When the sun goes down and night falls, we decide to head home. He turns to me in the lot before I hop on my trusty little Vespa. “Ok, you win,” he surprises me by saying. “I’ll pick you up Saturday night.”
“Oh ok. I, uh, yeah ok.”
“You don’t have a date, do you? I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I’m a jackass. I shouldn’t have assumed you were free. It’s ok, we can hang out another time.”
“I don’t have a date,” I say, firmly. Not anymore. Connor doesn’t even register on the Richter scale of people I want to spend my Saturday night with.
His boyish grin graces his face, and oh how adorable it is. “Ok, I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“I’ll be ready.”
Before we can get any further, a group of guys walk around the corner into the dark lot, lit only by a single small light pole.
I’m not afraid until they are right on top of us, four guys all asking us for spare change.
“Here you go.” Ryan pulls out a dollar from his pocket.
I watch the exchange, quietly, and my heart races.
“Is that all you got?” the guy sneers.
Ryan grabs my arm, moving me behind him. “Yeah, that’s it. Have a great night. “ He then turns to me. “I’ll take you home.”
“Ok,” I whisper.
Ryan moves to open his truck door, and I step closer to him.
“Where you going? We just want to talk to you,” another man says, stepping closer to Ryan.
“Not tonight. I need to get my girl home.”
My face grows hot. Could be fear or it could be the fact that Ryan just called me his girl.
The man charges at Ryan, and I scream. In the flash of an eye, Ryan has him on the ground. Agony twists the man’s face. And then I see it, Ryan has his finger twisted into an unnatural position. The look on his face is one I’ve never seen before. It’s the look of a trained killer.
“I’m a marine.” Icy wintergreen eyes challenge the others in the group. “Trust me, you don’t want a part of this. Now back the fuck off.”
The man on his knees gapes up to Ryan in fear, while the other guys inch forward. Oh hell no. If they think they’re about to jump Ryan, they’re mistaken. As the saying goes, I might be little, but I’m fierce. Sort of. I think? We’ll find out. I take my keys, and let the sharp point stick out between my pointer and middle finger. Seems like I read that somewhere.
“You heard him,” I say.
Ryan releases the man’s finger, and he stands. “Back the fuck up,” Ryan warns.
I swear Ryan grows three sizes larger while he squares off with these guys. The more I stare at them, I realize, they’re young.
Probably fresh out of high school. I could definitely have taken these fuckers.
They all run off, and Ryan waits a while making sure they don’t come back.
“What exactly were you going to do, Lizzy?” Ryan asks, spinning around to face me. A muscle ticks in his chiseled jaw.
“I don’t know,” I tell him, “but surely you didn’t think I would just stand there and let them hurt you.”
“You were going to protect me, huh?” he says, crossing his arms.
“Yes, actually,” I reply, crossing my arms.
“Protect yourself if you’re ever in that position,” he says with such force, it nearly moves me from spot. “You kick, you scream, go for the eyes, their dick. Whatever you have to do. But do not,” he grits out through clenched teeth, “put yourself in danger for me. Because if something happened to you, I don’t know what I would do.”
My breath catches. “Same here,” I say, softly. He’s still pissed, but I’m not going to lie and say I wouldn’t do it again. I mean, it’s not like anyone even pai
d attention to what I said anyways. “Glad we settled this,” I say, climbing on my Vespa.
“I’ll follow you home,” he says as I strap on my helmet.
“Ok. And thank you.”
“Lizzy, you’re always safe with me.”
I nod. After seeing what he did, I’d say that’s pretty damn accurate.
7
Cryin’
Stand up for something, even if it means standing alone.
Therapy is a drag, even if I get to spend time with my favorite person. When I left the service with an injury, it was non-stop doctors’ visits and treatment centers. And, of course, you can’t forget the psych evaluations.
My time in Afghanistan is a never-ending reminder to how fragile life truly is. Making my way up the steps of the physical treatment center, Lizzy’s blonde hair flowing in the breeze on the beach the other afternoon is the only thing I can think about. When did her hair become my obsession? Not until recently did I view the untamed waves as sex hair.
There were so many times I wanted to lean in and kiss her. Grip the long strands in my fist and tug. Hell, I’d have been happy just brushing the hair away from her face while we stood on that busted old boardwalk.
Continuing to put myself in her tempting presence is probably not a good idea. My shoulder feels much better since her deep tissue massage, and I wish that could be the end of therapy.
I pull open the glass door and step inside, letting the air conditioning cool my overheated skin. Going anywhere in the dead heat of summer is always a drag here in Florida, but the AC makes it all better when it hits your body. I spot Lizzy by the reception desk.
There she is. The little nurse who could. She’s adorable in scrubs. Today they’re a soft blue, matching the summer sky.
The office buzzes with senseless chatter from patients in the room awaiting their turn.
I sign in with the nurse upfront and take a seat.
Lizzy waves and then heads through a door, lost from my vision.
I’m not in the mood to be here today. I have a slight headache again, and my irritability from the dull ache is something I don’t want to deal with anymore.
I rub at my temples, easing the pain away.
Lizzy calls my name, and I stand, cracking my neck to the side to ward off the headache that is getting worse by the second.
“How are you feeling?” she asks, once we are tucked away in her little room.
“Fine. I guess.”
She scrunches her nose, her eyes narrowing. “You’re tense.”
“Maybe.”
She looks down at my chart, making notes. “Lie down. We’ll start with a massage. Then, maybe we’ll do some ROM exercises.”
“ROM?” I ask.
“Range of motion. Don’t worry, you’ll feel better when you leave here today. Maybe surfing wasn’t the best idea.” She sets my chart down, gazing up at me with her soft brown eyes.
“Surfing is always a good idea.” I take off my shirt and toss it onto the nearby chair and get into position on the table. Soft music filters in the room, and I close my eyes. The minute her hands make contact with my skin, I moan. Fuck. I’m sure that’s frowned upon, but the way she touches me feels so damn good.
She continues on as if the moan was perfectly normal, and I relax as her hands work into the muscles aching in my shoulder.
The music take me away to a different time.
The dust settles around me as I gaze out into the nothingness of the desert. The sun barrels down on me, making it impossible to think clearly. A loud whistle sounds through the air. RPG. Fuck.
My commanding officer shouts, and the boom of the impact sounds in the distance.
“Down, Wagner,” he yells.
My head is foggy, and there’s a distinct smell in the air making me nauseous.
My buddy, Davis, comes up from behind me and tackles me to the ground as another rocket makes impact. This time it hits a nearby Humvee. Shit. I lift my head. Sand in my eyes makes it hard to see before Davis’s hand presses my head firmly back down.
We set out this morning for a routine drive into another camp. When our Humvee blew a gasket, our platoon had to stop.
Now, here we are, fifteen men, stuck on the side of the road, surrounded by rockets launching and exploding.
I lift my head once more.
My friends are everywhere—some screaming, some running.
“Dude, we need to get to the Humvee,” Davis says.
I don’t need to be told twice.
We move fast as gunfire in the distance sounds off.
“To the vehicles,” Sergeant Haines shouts.
Honestly, I’m not sure if the vehicles are a good idea. One Humvee broken down, another blown away.
But, I obey orders, no matter if I agree or not.
Davis and I run. One false move and we get taken out. I won’t let it happen today. Not on my last week here.
My tour here in Afghanistan is almost over. Getting my ass stateside is my primary goal.
Davis opens the door, and I hit the steel floorboard.
“Ryan?” Lizzy’s voice echoes from far away.
I shake my dizzy head, my vision blurring slightly. “Did I fall asleep?”
She smiles, warm and friendly. “You did. I guess you were really tired.”
“I guess so. I feel better though. My headache is practically gone.”
“Good. Let’s move you to another room to do some exercises.”
I hop off the table and put my shirt back on, following her out of the room.
A while later when I’m home, I debate telling anyone about the headache I experienced today. It was most likely just the summer heat getting to me.
My phone buzzes with a text from Devin.
Mom said to get your ass over here if you want to eat, pretty boy.
Knowing she’ll just show up if I don’t, I make my way to their house.
Walking into my childhood home, memories assault me of wrestling with my brothers and playing board games late into the evening with my family at the coffee table. Things have changed. Instead of the giant lace doily covering the top when I was a kid, surfing magazines and remote controls adorn it. My mother used to shudder at the sight of magazines draped all over the large house. Now, it appears she’s finally given into the madness of living with a house full of men.
The aroma of pasta sauce enters my nose, and I breathe deep, loving my mother’s secret ingredient she uses to make the best sauce I’ve ever had. Definitely beats any meal I ever had in the mess hall while in the service.
I kiss my mother’s cheek, then grab a beer from the fridge. Everything has changed so much since I was kid. All new stainless steel appliances decorate the space, and gone are the yellow curtains that hung over the window showcasing the back yard. In their place are white blinds which remain shut.
My brothers chat away at the large, oak table off to the end of the kitchen.
I grab a seat across from them at the table.
“This wave was astronomical in size, dude,” Lance tells Devin, and I zone out.
My mind strays to Lizzy, wondering what she’s doing and thinking about her quirky habits. Like the way she can only eat three jelly beans at a time. Oh, and they all have to be red. The way she belts out the wrong lyrics to songs. Her complete passion for anything pertaining to celestial bodies in space.
For years, I’d sit with her in her backyard gazing through a telescope at a bunch of tiny white dots in the night sky. She’d go on and on about the constellations and even tell me the names of each tiny speck.
Does anyone know these things? Does anyone else know that when she sleeps she has to be bundled with covers from head to toe? Or that she eats one thing at a time on her plate?
I know these things, yet, I don’t know her like I used to. Maybe she no longer eats only red jellybeans and has graduated to other colors.
“Earth to Cryin’?” Lance says.
“Don’t call me that,” I gri
t out.
“You coming to hear me play tomorrow night?” Devin asks.
“Yeah, sure. We’ll see.”
Only the next night I don’t go see him play. I lie in bed with a headache that could move mountains.
A migraine of all migraines and I close my eyes tight wishing the pain away.
I peer at my cell, knowing if anything will help soothe this ache, it’ll be Lizzy’s sexy voice. I dial and wait for her to pick up.
“Hey, soldier,” she coos.
Already my headache eases. “Hey.” I think back to her skimpy pink bikini and reposition myself flat on my back on the bed. “What are you up to?”
“Just getting into bed. I have a busy day tomorrow.”
“Oh yeah?” My dick twitches at the image that forms in my mind of a scantily clad Lizzy in bed. “Well obviously I have to ask what you’re wearing now,” I tease her. But I’m fucking serious.
She laughs. “A pink tank and sleep shorts with stars.”
My pulse quickens. Fuck. Why did I ask? That might be sexier than the bikini.
I change the subject. “Sorry to be calling so late.”
“It’s ok. Are you alright?” she asks.
Sitting up, I take off my shirt, lying back down in nothing but my boxer briefs. “Yeah. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Well, I’m glad you called. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
My ears perk up, like a dog in heat, and my body reacts in sort of the same fashion. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
“I was thinking about the other night, with those guys. How badass you were.”
I smile. “It was nothing. In the military they trained us for everything.”
“Were you ever scared over there?” Her voice drops, and I imagine her lying in her bed, her wild hair splayed all over the pillow.
“Sometimes. When we went under attack, I really thought I’d never make it home.”
“I’m so glad you did,” she says, softly. “I’d miss you too much if you didn’t.”
She’s turning me on. It isn’t even the conversation, just her sexy breaths and voice that’s doing a number on me. “Why?” I want to bring her to the point of saying she wants me, even if I know she doesn’t. There’s safety in the night with her on the other end of the phone.