"Jas, I can't wait."
"Yeah, you can. I want to savor this."
"Please, Jas. I want you, now."
Of course I give her exactly what she wants. I couldn't deny her if I tried. My life's mission is to make her 100 percent happy, 100 percent of the time. So, without warning, I pick her up and guide myself into her, while pressing her back against the shower wall. Even though we've been going at it like rabbits for the past two weeks, we go hard, as if we've been without each other for months.
It isn't until we've both caught our breath that I realize I didn't use the condom I put on the shelf. "Shit!"
"What's wrong?" Her voice is timid and small. I hate that I made her feel that way.
"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. I just forgot to put the condom on."
"It's okay. We were both caught up in the moment. I'm on the pill, so I'm sure we're fine."
That memory never gets old. I knew I'd cherish that day, but I never expected the news she gave me ten weeks later. I could hear the excitement in her voice when she told me I was going to be a daddy, and I have to say, although it was unexpected, I was just as excited. It was all I could think about some days, getting home to my girl and our baby. It sucked balls that I couldn't be there with her to watch her belly grow, but she sent me regular pictures. She was even able to Skype me so that I could hear the baby’s heartbeat and watch the sonogram where we found out we were having a girl.
Waking up injured sucked, but I was so happy to be going home, and I looked forward to seeing my baby girl come into this world. Never having that chance consumes me. It's overwhelming to know I couldn’t help either of them, that they didn't stand a chance.
Going into the military was supposed to make our life together better. We both came from nothing. Amelia had two working parents. She was left to fend for herself and her siblings most of the time, and they still barely made ends meet. I was raised by a single mom who worked her ass off to just make it each month. The military was supposed to be my ticket. The training that would give me a career to give Amelia and me a good life. Turns out it got us nowhere; she's gone, baby's gone, and I'll never be the same again.
Knowing that if I don't leave this cabin and go look for a job I'll go crazy, I clean up and head out. Instead of heading into the town I passed through, I head the opposite way in hopes of finding something a little farther away. As I head out of the resort, I pass Edwin's cabin and he's outside talking to an older couple. He waves to me, causing the couple to turn and look my direction. Great. More people to be curious about me. I just throw my hand up acknowledging him, but not wanting to look friendlier than need be. Not that my unfriendliness the other day deterred him at all.
Just when I'm starting to think finding a small town on this side of the resort is hopeless, I come across a quaint little town. There are people out and about, strolling through the town and enjoying the beautiful weather. There seems to be plenty going on here, and now I have a little hope of finding a garage here that will be interested in some help.
As luck would have it, there is a rather nice sized garage called Milliken’s. It’s just on the other side of a little shopping center that has a diner, a salon, and some retail shops. As I drive past slowly, I hope that all the people I see milling around in the center equate to lots of business at the garage too. Let's hope everyone around here isn't the do-it-yourself type. The area I grew up in had lots of those. They couldn't afford to have their cars fixed in a shop, so they learned to do most things themselves. I have to hope that this area isn't like that too.
Pulling up to the garage's parking lot, I'm optimistic when I see that there are three bays inside and all are occupied. The lot on the backside of the garage also looks pretty full. When I enter the lobby, there is an older man working on the computer while answering phones. He looks tired and overwhelmed. The waiting area is empty, but with a shopping area next door, I'm sure anyone who has to wait for their car to be finished is killing time over there.
It takes about ten minutes before the phones settle down and the man is able to give me more than the "I'll be right with you" attention. When he finally has a break, the fatigue is obvious around his eyes. He's got to be in his late sixties, and used to working hard.
"Sorry about that. Sometimes I can't catch a moment to breathe around here." Although he's tired, his smile meets his eyes and you can see that, not only does he love this place, but he's a kind man as well.
"Not a problem, sir."
"I'm Brandon Milliken. This is my place. What can I do for you?" He glances out toward the lot where I'm parked, appearing to survey the vehicle I drove here.
"I'm Jason Reynolds, fresh out of the military, and new to town. I'm staying at a friend's place down the way at The Happy Endings Resort. I am a mechanic, and am looking for work."
"Well, son, first of all, thank you for your service. We here appreciate the sacrifice that our servicemen make for our country. Secondly, you are in luck. One of my guys is moving in a few weeks, and we're in need of some more hands. Can you come in tomorrow with all your paperwork and get started?"
"Sure can. I appreciate the opportunity, sir."
He laughs. "No need to call me sir. Brandon will do just fine. See you tomorrow, son."
I shake the hand he's offered, and leave. Not wanting to go back to the resort where I'm sure Edwin and that older couple will be waiting to try to socialize me, I decide to give the diner next to the garage a try. At least I can sit here and just be, without people trying to get to know me. I have a feeling that now that I've made contact with Edwin, he's going to be sending all the residents over to make friends. Just what I don't want or need.
Inside it's like a blast to the past, and not my generation's past. It's way into the past, a throwback to the 50s. The booths are covered in red leather, with shiny white tabletops. They stand out against the black and white checkerboard tiled floors. Even the waitresses look like they're from the 50s, in light pink button-up dresses with white aprons. As strange as it is, it's got a nice homey feel to it. And it's packed, so the food must be pretty good.
After seating myself at the bar, I open the menu and see that it's similar to one at a soda shop. I love a good burger, but my stomach does flips when I see the list of malts they offer. I haven't had a good chocolate malt in ages.
Ready for some good ol' American diner food, I wait patiently for the waitress to come my way. When I hear her voice, I don't even bother looking up. It doesn't matter who it is, I just need my food. Gruffly, I place my order, "Burger, medium, with everything, fries, and a chocolate malt."
My attitude doesn't faze her. She just replies, "I'll get it right out for you," and walks away. I didn’t notice it the first time she spoke, but her voice has a song-like quality, just like Amelia’s; sweet, yet expressive. I take a moment to swallow down the lump in my throat. I can’t believe anything here reminds me of Amelia. It shows me I made the right decision in not going home, since everything would remind me of her.
After a few minutes, she drops off a glass of water without a word. Curious about the woman who would gladly ignore me in return, I look up as she walks away. I can't see her face, but the sway of her hips and that tight ass make my cock take notice.
I hear the easy rapport she has with the people around me. Her laugh is contagious. Every time I hear it I find myself smiling. A genuine smile that I haven’t had in a long time. When I turn around to see the people she’s talking to, you can see the joy on their faces as they engage with her.
When my food arrives, I make a point to look up. Although I know I'll never give myself the chance to love again, I'd be foolish to think that part of my body will get on board too. What I don't expect is to look into her eyes and feel that electricity deep into my stomach. She is a vision, with big bright eyes that match her straw-colored hair. She's on the shorter side, but in good shape. I can't believe the pull she has on me.
It's too much. I throw a twenty down on the count
er and practically run out of the diner without so much as a word. I won't be able to go back in there. She could be trouble for me and my life of solitude. Her eyes were hypnotic. I'm pretty sure I could be drawn into them and never escape.
I throw the truck into drive as quickly as possible and get the hell out of there, making a mental note to steer clear of the diner when working. I try to rationalize with myself that it was just hunger, but I know deep down it was more than that. Fuck! I can't believe I let myself feel that. It's only been a few weeks since I lost the love of my life, so there's no excuse for feeling like that now.
I only make one stop on the way back to the cabin—the liquor store. I thought I’d be able to keep from drinking more, but today is just too much. I can't let myself feel for someone again. I know it’ll never compare to the feelings I had for Amelia, but I don’t want any feelings. All it leads to is pain and emptiness. Not wanting anything fancy, I grab a bottle of Jim Beam, pay, then head home. Tonight, I want to forget everything. And the only way to do that is with this bottle. I’m sure I’ll regret it in the morning.
I DRIVE THROUGH the resort without looking at anyone, and doing my best not to speed since there are children around. I'm hoping that if Edwin sees me, he'll notice that I don't want to be bothered and actually leave me alone. Once I'm parked, I jump out of the cab and get inside the cabin as quickly as possible. I rush through the entire place, closing all the blinds and pulling the curtains. I don't want to see anyone. I'm ready to be isolated for the day. I need to be, really.
It's too damn early to be drinking, but I can't bring myself to give a fuck about the time or the fact that I haven't even had lunch. Maybe for one day I can get lost inside this bottle and forget how shitty life is.
Satisfied with my isolation from the outside world, I sit on the couch and drink straight from the bottle. It goes down rough at first, but after a few drinks, my throat is numb so it slides down easily. The silence in the room is too much. I can hear my heart beating. For all I fucking know, it will lead to hearing my thoughts next. More drinking, that's what I need. And television, that will help, though I don’t want to watch anything that will cause me to think . . . or remember . . . or feel. The Food Network is the first channel with mind-numbing stuff on. That will work. Stupid shows about making fancy food that nobody will try anyhow.
Not sure how long I sit there just drinking, but half the bottle is gone and I feel nice and numb, when I hear someone knock on the door. Son of a bitch! Why can't these people leave me the fuck alone? I don't make a move for the door, I just let them keep knocking. They finally give up after a few minutes, but I know they'll be back.
God only knows when I fall asleep, but when I wake before the sun with a pounding headache, I know it's going to be a long, shitty day. And what horrible timing on my part. The first day with a new job and I'm going to be hungover. How much did I fucking drink last night? The bottle on the coffee table is half empty. Shit. And I didn't even eat the rest of the day. Stupid. That can't happen again.
Bottle in hand, I make my way into the kitchen. It's a —dump the rest down the sink so I can't be this stupid again. Next, food and aspirin. Oh, and water. Lots of water. Thankfully, the refrigerator is fully stocked and I can actually make a large breakfast in hopes of soaking up some of the residual alcohol in my system. Shit, I haven't been this hungover in years. In fact, the last time was my first deployment when we were in Germany and had the weekend off.
The guys were excited to be off for the whole weekend. We'd been there for a few weeks and had finally gotten used to the time difference from our base in the Midwest. Our unit was working with the unit that we'd be taking over for, and this was the first weekend we were off together. Time to party, like all those soldier movies showed. Of course we all drank too much—shots of anything that we could get our hands on, beer, and plenty of stuff we'd never thought of before. We spent hours drinking and shooting the shit. Women were buying us drinks, flirting, and there were even a few hook ups in the bathroom. It was every young man's dream. Of course, I kept my hands off. I enjoyed the time with the boys and the drinks, but not one of the women could hold a candle to Amelia. I wasn't about to let some need for a little action screw up what I had waiting at home. But the drinks kept coming, and I kept drinking them. At some point, a few locals weren't happy that all the women were paying attention to the American Soldiers, and it was my big mouth that started the fight. "Of course they choose us. Do you see what you look like?" It was that damn alcohol talking. I'm not even sure what was said after that, I just know that fists flew, more guys got involved, and when the bouncers finally broke us apart, I had been stabbed in the right wrist and forearm. One of the other guys was stabbed too, near his shoulder. Man was our commanding officer pissed.
Once we got back to the base, one of the medics fixed us up and explained how lucky we were to only really have surface wounds. With any luck, we'd be able to get by without any modifications to our jobs.
The next morning, though, was when the true misery set in. Killer hangovers for all. Every time I went out with the guys after that, I limited my alcohol intake. I didn't want to fuck up and make any bad decisions. There was plenty of regret after each time we went out. It never failed, but there was always a new guy, young, and away from his girl for the first time who couldn't handle all the women throwing themselves at them. And it always ended up the same way. A boyfriend that cheated and regretted it. Some fessed up, others learned how to ignore the guilt and enjoy all that being a soldier away from home had to offer.
Damn, today's hangover reminds me of how much I hated feeling out of control. Not that there is anything keeping me from making bad decisions anymore, but that's not really the point. I like being in control. I can't allow the alcohol to take control, or the memories. Fuck! I hope the garage is nice and busy so I won't have time to think, to remember. It needs to exhaust me so that I'll just feel like eating, showering, and sleeping when I get off.
Thankfully, I remember all of the paperwork I need for employment and make it on time to the garage. With all the remnants of the hangover being internal, I’m hoping to be able to function without it showing. I head inside to see Brandon and see if I actually get to work today.
"Thank God you came in early." I hear Brandon's voice from behind the counter, but I don't see him. "We've been crazy this morning."
As I start to respond, he pops up from the other side of the counter. "What can I do to help, sir?"
"It's Brandon, not sir. Remember that, son."
"Sorry. Some habits are hard to break. I'll do my best."
"That's all I can ask. Now, you think you can handle doing some oil changes today? We can take care of the paperwork later, but we are swamped, and one of the guys that's usually here on Saturday had to go to a wedding. I didn't think it'd be a big deal, but clearly it is."
"Oil changes are no problem.”
"Let me take you out there and introduce you to the guys, then you can get started and hopefully we'll get back on track today."
"Let's get started, boss."
Brandon leads the way through the shop, pausing in each bay to introduce me the guys. I'm shocked to see how much work is actually being done. There are already five guys inside, making it appear that they work two guys per bay. I guess Brandon must always work the desk. I'm sure he's put in his fair share of hours in getting his business off the ground. As I look around, it seems like he's done quite well for himself. Both times I've been here, they've been busier than they are able to keep up with.
"Where ya from?" Brady, the guy who I'm working with today, asks.
"Originally from Arizona. Went into the military right out of high school, and now I'm in Endings for the time being. You?" If you can get someone to talk about themselves, I've come to realize they won't care about you anymore.
"Yep, here all my life. Although not from Endings, but a very small town a little north of here." The happiness in his eyes as he speaks tells m
e he loves his small town life and everything about it. He definitely doesn't want to hear my story; it'll just tarnish his joy.
He brings the car on the lift down, now that he's completed it, and asks me to drive it around the corner for a test drive. Everything looks good to go. I pass off the paperwork and the keys to Brandon inside the lobby, and get back into the shop to help Brady with the next car.
Oil changes aren't the most complicated or exciting thing to do in a garage, but they keep me busy, and keep my mind off all that I've lost. Every time Brady tries to get me to talk, I move the conversation back to him. He either doesn't notice, or doesn't mind. By the time we close the shop up, I'm pleasantly exhausted and ready to go home.
"Jason, come on inside before you go so we can get the paperwork done," Brandon hollers from inside before I leave the shop.
I grab my papers out of the locker I was provided, and head inside. Twenty minutes later, I'm finally on my way home, dirty and tired, but pleased. Not even the thirty minute drive back to the resort brings on the memories. Hopefully working hard all day will chase them away for good. The only depressing thing is there aren't any good looking food places on the way back; except that diner, and I'm not going back in there again. Tomorrow after work, I'll have to stop at the grocery store so I can make lunches and dinner. I'm sure I have a little crap left at home for tonight.
My mood goes downhill quickly when I realize there isn’t much in the house. I’ve got bread, cheese, and butter though. And there happens to be a can of tomato soup in the cupboard, so grilled cheese and soup it is. Not my favorite thing to eat after a long day of work, but I don’t want to go out again. Eating, showering, and sleeping are all that’s on my agenda tonight. It feels good to be exhausted again. This may be just what I needed to move past this nightmare of a life.
A Soldier's Dawning (The Happy Endings Resort Series Book 8) Page 2