by L. A. Witt
So I stuck to the coast.
Eventually, I parked in a deserted gravel lot with a trailhead leading down to the beach. Once I’d reached the sand, I walked as aimlessly as I’d driven.
Of course, my mind wasn’t so aimless. It hadn’t been far from one particular subject since the night I’d left Will’s apartment.
We’d done the right thing and called it quits. Now I could continue with my Navy career, with at least eleven—probably more like twenty-one—years between me and retirement.
I wanted to fucking cry. I damn near did. If I’d had a little bit more energy, I probably would have. Because I was done. I couldn’t cope anymore. It didn’t feel like a straw had broken the camel’s back. More like my back had broken a long time ago, and I’d only just gotten around to noticing.
Slowly, the truth sank in. The tears I was fighting back weren’t because Will was gone. I missed him so bad it hurt, but what I was feeling right now was something completely different.
The thought of doing another eleven years in the Navy was excruciating. Twenty-one?
Fuck. I’d rather spend it in prison.
I wiped at my stinging eyes. Kind of felt like I was in prison. Like I’d been there for the last nine years, and there was no parole in sight for at least that long.
Except that was stupid. No one ever said life in the lower ranks was a walk in the park.
I’m paying my dues so I can get where I want to go. That’s all.
Right?
So why didn’t those higher ranks feel like such an appealing carrot on a stick anymore?
I found a huge piece of driftwood and sat down. Staring out at the ocean, I tried to muster up the enthusiasm I’d had for my career. I’d . . . I’d had some, hadn’t I? I’d been proud when I’d been accepted into Annapolis, and prouder still when I’d graduated. Even then, as my family had congratulated me and taken dozens of pictures of me in my uniform, there’d been a distinct feeling of That’s it?
I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting. If I’d suddenly feel like I’d made it after all that hard work, or what. Of course the hard work had been just beginning, and I’d known it, but as I sat here now on a beach, trying to escape the base where I was stationed, I couldn’t remember when this disillusionment had started. Or if it had been there all along and I’d written it off as being tired or annoyed by the shit cadets and ensigns had to do.
I tried to think back to a period of my career when I hadn’t been miserable. I’d had my moments at the Academy. Port calls were fun. Couldn’t complain about the pay even at this rank.
But all along, there’d been this distinct feeling of Get through this part, and it’ll get better.
And . . . had it? Was it better than my days as a cadet or an ensign?
I couldn’t say. All I knew was that throughout my childhood, the Navy had been gleaming brass, but at some point, that brass had tarnished.
And not only did I not know how to bring back the shine, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to.
I tapped gently on Commander Wilson’s office’s doorframe. “Sir?”
He looked up from some paperwork. “Hey, Lieutenant. What can I do for you?”
“I, uh . . .” I hesitated. “Do you have a minute? To talk about something kind of personal?”
His eyebrows flicked up a little, and his lips tightened. I wondered if he thought this was about Will.
If he did, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he put his pen down and sat up, wincing slightly. “Sure. Have a seat.”
I shut the office door behind me and took one of the chairs in front of his desk. “When you were a lieutenant, were you . . . I don’t know . . . Did you like being in the Navy?”
He seemed to mull it over for a second before he shrugged. “It’s been a long time. But I was a pilot, so . . .” He cracked a smile. “Yeah, I enjoyed my job.”
“Oh. Do you ever regret your career?”
He thought about that too, then shook his head. “No. Do you?”
I gnawed my lip. “I . . . I don’t know.”
Wilson studied me. Then he folded his arms on the edge of the desk and watched me intently. “What’s going on?”
I swallowed and stared down at my wringing hands.
“Is this about Senior Chief Curtis?”
I flinched. “It . . . Kind of.”
“You’re not thinking of giving up your career for him, are you?”
“Not exactly.”
“You either are or you aren’t.” There was a hint of warning in his voice, kind of like when my mom was letting my dad know he needed to watch his step.
I sat up a little. “Permission to speak freely? Off the record?”
He nodded. I still had the distinct feeling I was on thin ice over hot water, but if there was anyone in this building I could trust with this conversation, it was him.
Sitting straighter, I pulled in a deep breath. “I know dating him is against the UCMJ. And I’m not asking you or the Navy to overlook that. The reason I’m in here right now is that I think dating him has . . . put a few things into perspective. About myself. And . . . my career.”
Wilson cocked his head, offering no reaction except curiosity.
“It’s not that I want to throw away my career over a man. But I’ve . . .” I chewed my lip as I tried to pull my thoughts into some semblance of order. Finally, I looked Commander Wilson in the eye. “I guess being with him has gotten me thinking about my career and if this is what I really want. Or if . . .” My throat tightened, and I coughed to push some air through. “The thing is, I don’t know if I’m just disillusioned because what I’m doing now isn’t what I envisioned myself doing in the Navy, or if maybe joining the Navy is the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”
The words tumbled out, and as soon as they did, a weight slid off my shoulders. The thought had been bouncing around in my head for a while now, but saying the words was beyond liberating. Like now that they were out there, I couldn’t take them back if I wanted to, and I didn’t want to. They weren’t necessarily true, and I wasn’t necessarily going to resign, but at least I’d fucking admitted it was a possibility.
A little slower now, maybe a bit more collected, I went on. “The Navy is all I’ve ever wanted to do.” I swallowed hard. “Just like it’s all my brother ever wanted to do. And part of me is wondering if I ever actually decided it was for me, or if . . .”
“Or if your father decided it was.”
Exhaling, I nodded. “Yeah. So every time I think about resigning, I freak out about what my family will say and how disappointed they’ll be. Not . . . not about what I’ll do next, or how much I’ll regret it if I don’t stick with this.”
“Do you think you would regret resigning?”
I was surprised by the lump in my throat and the hint of a sting in my eyes. Why the fuck was I getting this emotional?
Avoiding Wilson’s gaze, I shook my head. “I don’t know. And I guess the decision would be easier if he wasn’t in the picture. Will, I mean.” I paused. “Senior Chief—”
“I know who you mean,” he said softly.
“Right. But, I mean, that way I’d know if I’m thinking of resigning for me or for him.” I rubbed my eyes. “Except he’s the reason I started thinking about this, so . . . I don’t fucking know.”
Wilson was quiet for a long time. I couldn’t tell if he was waiting to see if I had more to say, or if he was pulling his own thoughts together. Eventually, he folded his hands on the desk and spoke.
“I’ve been doing this for a long time. I’m proud of what I’ve done and where I am, but I won’t blow smoke up your ass—it’s been hard as fuck, and it’s taken a toll. There will never come a time when I’m not in pain. My husband and I will both have PTSD for the rest of our lives. Our jobs have cost us each a marriage, strained our relationships with our kids, and—hell, my kid even has PTSD as a result of my job.”
I gulped. “Whoa.”
“Yeah. Do I regret it? No. Because I
wanted to fly, and I wanted to be in the Navy. For me.” He leaned in a little closer, inclining his head. “This isn’t a job you can do for someone else. It’s going to be hard, and it’s going to be fucking miserable at times. Sometimes for a long time. If your heart isn’t in it, it’s going to be a lot worse because you’re not getting anything out of it except a paycheck. You’re smart and a hard worker—there’s no reason you can’t get a damn good paycheck in the civilian world if you decide this job isn’t for you.”
“But what if I get out and there isn’t anything on the civilian side that’s any better?”
Wilson shrugged. “That’s a risk you have to take.”
Damn it. He was supposed to have answers that made me feel better.
I rubbed my forehead. “I don’t know what I should do right now.”
“Right now, I think you need to take a good long look at your career and what you want. Not what your father wants for you or the rest of your family expects of you. What you want.”
“I know.” I sighed. “You said the old CO retired because of his husband, didn’t he?”
Wilson nodded. “His situation was a bit different from yours, though. He’d probably gone as far as he’d ever go in his career.” He paused. “On the other hand . . .”
I watched him for a moment. “On the other hand, what?”
“One of the things he told me after he put in for retirement was that choosing between his man and his career made him realize just how much his career had already taken from him. And after over twenty years of that, he decided he wasn’t willing to let the Navy take Sean from him too. He’d had enough.” Wilson’s eyes lost focus for a few seconds before he looked at me. “I think what you need to consider right now is how much you’re willing to give the Navy if you want to eventually make captain or admiral. Because your boyfriend isn’t the biggest thing this job is going to take from you—just the first.”
I gulped, startled by his candidness.
Wilson went on. “At this juncture, you’re not deciding between the Navy and your boyfriend. You’re deciding between the Navy and you. Which I guess means you’re kind of at a crossroads. Are you throwing away the last decade of your life by resigning? Or are you throwing away the next one by staying?”
I pushed out a breath. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I think that’s what you need to think about. If this really isn’t what you want to do, then with every year you spend doing it, it’s only going to get harder to justify leaving. You’re young and you’re bright. If you stay in, I have no doubt you’ll be an amazing leader. If you get out, I’m completely confident you’ll find your way.”
What I wouldn’t have given for his confidence.
But I just nodded. “Thanks for the pep talk, sir.”
“Anytime.” He smiled. “Good luck.”
Yeah. I was pretty sure I was going to need it.
“How you holding up?” Noah’s brow was creased with sympathy as he sat down across from me at the E club.
“Still making it to work every day.” I thumbed the edge of the menu I’d long ago memorized. Nothing sounded appetizing. I needed to eat something if I was going to make it to the end of the work day, but damn if just the thought of eating sounded like way too much physical effort.
Noah sighed. “I’m really sorry about how it played out.”
“Me too.” I laughed bitterly. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised, right?”
He offered a subtle shrug. “Doesn’t make it easy.”
“No, it doesn’t.” I pushed the unopened menu aside. “The thing that kills me is that this shouldn’t hurt worse than it did to lose Vince. But it does.”
“Nah, I’d say it makes a lot of sense.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because getting rid of Vince was a long time coming, and letting go of Brent was . . .” He paused. “I mean, Vince treated you like shit. Brent didn’t do anything except get his commission.”
I rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. “Yeah. That’s a good point. Fuck.”
“And, I mean, I know it’s not much of a consolation, but you did the right thing.”
“I suppose eventually it’ll feel like I did. Right now . . . it feels all wrong.”
“I believe it. I’m sorry, man. I wish there was more I could say.”
At least he spared me the lecture about how stupid I’d been to get involved with an officer in the first place. With as much hell as I’ve given him for his drinking problem, any other guy probably would’ve seized the opportunity to turn the tables and enjoy his time on the moral high ground.
Noah wasn’t like that, though. And right now, I was more grateful than ever that we’d wound up on the same base again. Without him to lean on, I’d have probably lost my mind already.
The waitress came, and I forced myself to eat enough to carry my sorry ass through the rest of the day. After lunch, Noah and I walked in silence back to the precinct. The whole way, I kept my gaze down, inspecting the sidewalk and the dirt path like I was checking a runway for debris that might get sucked into an aircraft engine. That wasn’t my usual MO, but I was irrationally sure if I looked around, I’d see Brent, and I couldn’t cope with that right now.
It wasn’t all that irrational, really. If this were Norfolk or San Diego, we could easily coexist without ever crossing paths. Here? Not so much.
Thank God I’d be up for orders soon. I was stuck at NAS Adams for at least another eighteen months, but after that, I’d go overseas again. It was a perk of being an MA—instead of going back and forth from sea to shore, we went back and forth from stateside to overseas. I didn’t know yet where I’d be going, but I couldn’t get there soon enough.
A knock at my apartment door raised the hairs on my neck.
It was almost nine thirty, and no one ever came to my apartment besides Noah. He would’ve texted unless it was a dire emergency. Or he was drunk, and that had been a nonissue for months now.
Which left either a neighbor or . . .
I warily approached the door, and when I looked through the peephole, I swore. Then I turned the dead bolt, opened the door, and waved Brent inside. “Come on.” I looked around in case anyone was watching.
He kept his gaze down and stepped past me.
“What’s going on?” I dead bolted us in and turned to him. “You can’t be here. We’ll—”
“I know.” He put up his hands. “I won’t stay long.”
I gritted my teeth. I was about to shoo him out and be done with it, but he pushed his shoulders back. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him this bold and determined before, and it gave me pause.
“Listen, I know I shouldn’t be here and . . .” He exhaled. “I’ll go. But before I do, can I say something?”
I didn’t want this to drag out longer than it had to. It was risky to be in the same place, and besides, I already hurt enough from trying to move on after letting him go. Why pour salt in the wound?
But I couldn’t ignore the earnestness in his eyes.
“Okay.” I swallowed. “Go ahead.”
He set his jaw. “I’m resigning my commission.”
I nearly choked. “You’re what? Brent, are you—”
“I’ve made up my mind. And . . . it’s happening whether we stay together or not.”
I stared at him. “What the hell?”
“I can’t keep doing this. I just can’t.”
“Brent, you’ve got your entire career ahead of you. You’re an Annapolis grad, for God’s sake. You’ve got so much potential to—” I shook my head. “I don’t want you giving that up for me.”
“I’m not.” He looked me right in the eye. “I’m giving it up for me.”
I blinked. “What?”
He pushed out a breath, and that confident, borderline confrontational posture melted to something much less so. No, that wasn’t it. It wasn’t a lack of confidence. Shoulders sinking, hip resting against the counter like he needed help staying upright
, gaze down—he looked fucking tired.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“What’s going on is that being with you made me realize what I want. Or more to the point, what I don’t want.” He lifted his gaze enough to meet mine. “And I don’t want this career.”
“But . . . you’ve been working at it for years. Since you were a kid.”
“I know. Because everyone told me this was what I wanted.” He paused as if he needed to collect himself. “You remember when you asked what I’d be doing if I hadn’t joined the Navy?”
I nodded.
“When I said I didn’t know, I meant it. Not because I always wanted to do this, but . . .” He hesitated. “I was told this was what I was doing. That’s how it’s been from the time I was too young to even think about my future. And I just accepted it because . . . because, fuck, I was a kid, and I wanted to make my parents proud.” He ran an unsteady hand through his hair. “You know when all the other kids were talking about being astronauts and firefighters? It was all Navy, all the time for me. I wasn’t allowed to think about doing anything else. The one time I ever brought up the idea that I might want to be something other than a Navy officer, my dad tore into me for an hour. You want to know how old I was?”
Mute, I lifted my eyebrows.
“Nine.” He closed his eyes. “I was fucking nine.” Brent was silent for a long moment, and I was too stunned to speak. After a while, he rolled his shoulders, met my gaze, and went on. “So it’s never been an option, you know? Doing something else? But now . . . I still don’t know what I want to do, only that this isn’t it.”
I cleared my throat. “And you happened to figure this out right when we had to split up?” I tried to keep my tone gentle and without any accusation.