Sol (Love in Translation Book 1)

by Leslie McAdam

  Somehow I knew she was telling me the god-awful truth. That we had fundamentally different ways of viewing the world. No matter how much I liked her, this core belief would keep us apart.

  I wanted to put her in a cage and guard her. And she only felt safe if there were no cages in sight. Would she ever want to be with me? Were my lustful thoughts about her stupid?

  But this wasn’t a kind of argument we should have. Not right now. Not when Degan and I were leaving for the army. Not when I wouldn’t see her again for a very long time.

  Glancing around the room and letting her lower lip out with a pout, she continued, “So even though I don’t like it, you’re still gonna take my little brother with you?”

  Her airy tone told me that maybe we didn’t need to have this fight now. That maybe things were the same as always. Because while she and I hadn’t discussed this at all, her brother and I had planned on enlisting our entire lives, and she knew it.

  Get out of high school, join the army, travel the world, be badasses. Simple.

  With a half-smirk, half shrug, I replied, “There’s no reason for us not to go.”

  But I was wrong. The reason for me not to go stood right in front of me, so close, so enchanting. Little strands of hair fell into her eyes—those eyes—and she gazed up at me.

  Her words came out quietly, her breath barely escaping her lips. She radiated a heat and a sweetness. I wanted to touch her, to taste her. So badly.

  “And there’s nothing I can do to stop you?”

  This pixie was gonna be the death of me. I couldn’t handle being this close to her. After spending my entire teenage years lusting after my best friend’s older sister, to have her six inches away from me, I couldn’t deal. I couldn’t say anything other than, “Yeah.”

  Her next words came out so low, I could barely hear them. I had to lean close, and her lips brushed my ear. Like a butterfly kiss or a wing of a bird. So soft and gentle.

  After all these years.

  It wasn’t just my imagination.

  She liked me too.

  With a smile, she ran a finger up my arm. Her touch spiraled through my body, setting a blaze off under my skin. While I’d been close to her before—and fantasized about her for years—this was the first time she’d ever shown that she saw me as anything other than her brother’s friend. That I was something other than a kid.

  Of course I wasn’t a kid anymore.

  “Anything you need before you go?” she asked.

  And I saw. I just knew.

  It was an invitation.

  “Absolutely, yes,” I said, and her eyes lit up as I leaned in, our lips met, and I kissed her by the Star Wars pinball machine. I kissed her the way I’d always wanted to kiss her, the way she should be kissed.

  Tongue, lips, teeth, mine.

  Our lips fused together, pressing so hard it hurt my heart. This was the touch I’d craved so long—her plump lips pressed to mine. Our tongues danced together, tasting of basil and Parmesan and sticky soda.

  Ignoring the fact that we were in a public place, I hoisted her up on the game table and she hitched her skirt back, wrapped her legs around me tightly, running her hands up and down my back, tugging me into her.

  Her T-shirt shoulder slipped down again.

  My goddamn dick hardened. I wanted her. I’d always wanted her. I held her so tightly, desperately, one hand on the back of her neck, the other joining her waist to mine. I pressed into her, longing for the friction, feeding off of her heat. I knew she could feel my burgeoning erection, and she grabbed my ass, pulling me closer to her, clasping me like she didn’t want to let me go.

  Our lips broke apart and she sucked down my jaw to my neck. I groaned and kissed her ear. Her hands clutched at my hair. It would be shaved off the following week, but for now there was enough to grab hold of.

  I’d known. I’d just known that we had an attraction that neither one of us wanted to admit. Her reaction proved it. And now, for fuck’s sake, I had to leave.

  This kiss was a goodbye when we’d never said hello.

  And my kiss said that I was sorry her dad had passed away, and that I was sorry I was taking her brother away too.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t do that sooner.” The words tumbled out as I let her go. She slid off the pinball machine.

  Her stunned eyes gazed up at me, her lips swollen, her breath coming out in pants. “I wish our first kiss wasn’t a goodbye kiss.”

  Before I could say anything back, Degan found us, holding refilled drinks. Thankfully we’d separated, but we probably looked guilty. His eyes flashed, but didn’t comment, although I’m sure he guessed. I’m sure he knew, actually. One of many reasons why he was my best friend.

  “Keep an eye on each other, okay, guys?” Dani asked. “When you’re over there? Keep each other safe. And come home in one piece when you’re done.” Her eyes went from mine to his, then back to mine.

  “Sure thing.” I wanted to touch her again, but I couldn’t, so I hoped she knew what I said with my eyes.

  “I promise,” said Degan, grinning.

  She beamed, then took a sip of the drink Degan handed her. Pointing to a photo booth in the arcade, she said, “Let’s go take a picture.”

  As I piled behind them on the bench in front of the camera, I thought that kissing Dani once wasn’t enough. But it would have to be enough to last me the next four years.

  2

  Trent -- Search terms

  Four years later

  “She’s off-grid. We ran the usual searches, but they came up with nothing. No active bank accounts. No social media. We know in the last six months she’s been to Peru, Japan, and Italy. The last passport scan was Spain, so we’re launching a search there. Still, we don’t know where she is.” Hernandez, the private investigator, sounded awed. He was retired JAG Corps and a family friend, so it took a lot to impress him. But Dani was impressive.

  “Then why did I hire you for a skip trace?” I snarled into the phone, pent-up irritation making me forget my manners. “Fucking do your job. This is so frustrating.”

  “I know, Trent. I’ve never had anyone so slippery. She has a large bank account in the United States that she never touches.”

  I knew what that was.

  He continued, “We think she’s operating on a cash basis and buys burner phones.”

  “Yeah, no shit,” I said. “If she wanted to be found, she would be.” I just fucking wished she’d check her email, but I knew from Degan she only did that once a month or so when she had good Wi-Fi and when she felt like sorting through hundreds of messages.

  I’d sent her a generic email asking her to get in touch with me, but she hadn’t responded. The news I had to give her wasn’t what I wanted to put in an email anyway. No, I’d tell her in person. The only honorable way to do it.

  I stared at my childhood bedroom ceiling. “What’s the next step?”

  “Through my network, I know people. We have men on the ground in Spain right now. She may have been teaching at a language school in Salamanca.”

  Putting the phone on speaker, I opened up my laptop and Googled, “Danika Anderson Salamanca.” As always, when I hit enter, my heart leapt that maybe, just maybe this time I’d find her.

  Nope.

  Nothing.

  The hits weren’t her or they were stale as the air in an unused broom closet.

  Fuck.

  If a world record existed for number of times Googling her name in a week, I definitely held it. But I found nothing but old links.

  I wasn’t a man of internet search terms.

  Action. I wanted action.

  “Just find her, okay?”

  She didn’t know what had happened. I’d handled all the paperwork. With my parents listed as next of kin, the army had done its duty. Now it was up to me to do mine.

  Two days later, I leaned against the back of the hard wooden bench.

  My Class A’s didn’t fit me anymore, but I hadn’t had time to get alterat
ions done or get a bigger size, and honestly it was the last thing on my mind. I’d gained twenty pounds of muscle since I last wore this jacket, and the fabric stretched across my back, around my biceps, binding me in my place in the church pew. No way could I lift up my arms even if I tried. Sweat soaked my back despite the air conditioning assaulting my face. The black tie choked my throat, but I couldn’t loosen it until this was over.

  While this was pretty much the definition of hell, I had to be here for him. To say goodbye to him again.

  Although I’d flown home with him and made all the arrangements, and I knew we hadn’t been able to tell her, I still arrived an hour early on the wispy hope that she’d somehow got the message. This was crazy. I knew the army hadn’t delivered the mandatory death notice to her because she was overseas and the army required a stateside address. Instead, it had been given to my parents, freaking out my mom on the sight of two uniformed soldiers walking up her steps within four hours of the news of his death. When my mom saw me come home, I thought she’d never let me go.

  I’d scanned the full room when I walked in, but my heart dropped to my shiny black shoes. So many people present, all in black, honoring the local hero. Everyone here except the one person who should be here.

  No haphazard mane of wild, blond hair caught my eye in the rows of bowed heads before me.

  No Dani.

  With a painful sigh, I sat back. I didn’t know why I kept scouring the audience, seeking her tiny body, expecting to see her perched like a delicate house finch about to take flight. It was because she should be here, even if she abhorred tradition.

  I sensed the absence of her as strongly as I always felt her presence. Even after all this time. If she were here, I’d know it by that light she gave off. The way she radiated energy. But no, not here.

  The woman in front of me turned around and did a double take before she recognized me. It took me a second to identify her, too—my parents’ neighbor. “Hello, Trent. I’m so sorry about Degan.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Carr.”

  “It’s such a shame. So young.”

  Here was the part where I gulped, my heart heavy. I managed out, “Right.”

  “Where’s Danika?”

  I shook my head. “We don’t know. Spain, maybe.”

  Mrs. Carr gasped. “Oh no! Someone needs to tell her!”

  “Yes, I know,” I said in a flat voice. She gave me a pitiful expression, like she wanted to say more, and I prayed to a God I didn’t believe in anymore that she wouldn’t, because I couldn’t say much more than that or I’d lose it. I determinedly stared at the dark blue industrial-grade carpeting, avoiding everyone.

  But I still heard the sniffling. All around me, women pulled Kleenex out of their purses. Men pretended not to cry but didn’t breathe either, holding it all in. I winced and rubbed the heel of my palm against my chest.

  My mother, sitting between me and my father, reached out to hold my hand. My heel scuffed the floor, and the wooden seat creaked as I shifted and slumped. The service was about to start.

  “Dearly beloved,” began the pastor. “We are gathered here to celebrate the life of Degan Christopher Anderson.”

  A sob caught in my throat as I heard the words. So final.

  I should have saved him.

  No. I couldn’t go there. Fuck you, traitorous brain.

  It should have been me, not him.

  No. Fuck no. My body got cold at the thought. I couldn’t think like that. I needed to carry out his wishes. Give her his letter.

  I stretched out my fingers and slid my hands down my thighs. The perfect crease on my dress pants momentarily fascinated me. Anything to avoid breaking down. I didn’t dare move more than I had to. I couldn’t.

  “Degan was a brave and honorable soldier, who served our country with pride.”

  God, Dani was right. A traditional funeral wasn’t the way to honor Degan. No way would this pastor get his personality right. Degan was remarkable. Exceptional.

  This guy probably wouldn’t even mention the Cocoa Puffs.

  My eyes focused on the seam of the black suit jacket of the teenager in front of me sitting next to Mrs. Carr. Was that her son? Jeez, he’d grown up. It was so much easier to focus on the back of his neck, staring straight ahead, than it was to listen to the service.

  “And now, Sergeant Trent Milner, will give a few words.”

  I rose, back straight and shoulders squared, my military training automatically taking over. I strode to the podium and stood behind it, eying the microphone.

  The flag-draped coffin lay to my right.

  My best friend was in there.

  “Degan,” I began, but my voice broke.

  Fuck.

  Regroup.

  Would this ever end?

  I began again, “I wish I could tell you all what Degan was really like.” In the crowd, my mom’s eyes locked with mine, shining, but encouraging me to talk. “He was the best friend I ever had. When we were little, we would play UNO, and he had all these crazy house rules. Like if you put a Draw Two down, you could trump it with another Draw Two, so the person had to draw four. But he’d put down a ton of them at a time, so it would end up, like Draw Twenty-Two. No one would ever win, we’d just have to keep drawing cards.”

  God, I’m babbling. I’d written down what I wanted to say on a card, but when I pulled it out, it seemed all wrong.

  “But the thing was, he really didn’t want to spite you. He just wanted to keep playing. He was the kind of guy who in the mess hall would never let anyone sit by themselves. Kind of annoying, really. But he’d reach out, make sure that you were doing okay. He’d make a triple decker peanut butter sandwich and share it. Anything to get you to know you weren’t alone.” I scanned my index card. I hadn’t said anything I planned. Oh well. “I don’t know what else to say. Degan died so I could live. He’s a real hero.”

  Unlike me. I’m no hero.

  “But more than that, Degan died so our country could live. We talk about peace and freedom. He really believed in it. He believed in protecting it. He staked his life on it. He believed in being a soldier, in the discipline and sacrifice, but he always did it with a smile. He took joy in serving others. Honestly, the only thing I think he ever did for himself was eat too much cold cereal.”

  I got a few chuckles.

  “But if you want to know the meaning of a true soldier, one who lived by his code and died by it, you don’t have to look any farther than Degan Anderson.”

  I was so grateful I’d already told Degan everything I wanted to tell him on that street in Afghanistan, because my words now weren’t enough.

  When the ceremony was over, I approached the coffin of my best friend. Placing my hand on it, I whispered, “It’s okay, buddy. I got her.”

  With seven others, I helped carry the coffin out to the hearse. It was surprisingly light. Or maybe I’d gotten stronger.

  My parents and I followed the procession to the cemetery and sat in white chairs, while the coffin was readied.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  I startled, sweating, reaching for a gun in my nonexistent holster to react.

  Keep it together, Milner. No one’s being shot at. This is just to honor Degan.

  Fuck, I’d forgotten about the gun salute. Sweat dripped into my collar.

  At the end of the service, I walked up on the wet grass, slightly sinking into the ground because of last night’s sprinklers. Someone handed me the flag, folded, which had been draped on Degan’s coffin. I set my hand on the wood as it was lowered into the ground. Then I turned and hurried out, my heart heavy.

  That night I cried myself to sleep.

  The next day, a beam of sunlight sidestepped through the small shower window up high at my parents’ house and smacked me in the face while my mind raced.

  Soap bubbles popped on my thigh as hot water streamed down my body. Propping myself against the tiled wall, I grasped the handheld nozzle, and aimed the spray at the top of my head
, then my tight shoulders, rinsing off, relieving the tension from my six mile run this morning, but not from my mind.

  Working my way down my body, top to bottom, left to right, I scrubbed each part five times. Not four. Not six. Five. In the proper order. That way, my shower would take precisely three and a half minutes, and I could get on with my day.

  (Unless I got distracted by thoughts of her, then it took longer.)

  Today, no distractions. I needed to do something.

  Someone had to tell Danika Anderson that her brother had died.

  But I didn’t know where to go from here. She’d been blowing like a fall leaf in the wind for so long now. I knew from Degan that one month she was building schools in Uruguay, then I’d learn she was teaching English in Peru. The less technology, the happier she was. She’d send him a message every month or so, telling him of problems with SIM cards, Wi-Fi, and cell reception. Adding technical difficulties of traveling around the world to her natural slacker attitude about keeping in touch, and I was trapped in a Bermuda Triangle with no communication.

  I hustled back to my old room in my towel, dressed, sat down at my old desk, and exhaled.

  In boot camp, Degan and I had filled out powers of attorney, medical forms, and all kinds of other important papers, which were now in a file on my desk next to my laptop. We also prepared two letters in case something should happen to us. He wrote his to Dani, and I carried it. I wrote mine to, uh, Dani, and he carried it. They were sealed, with no stamps. No return addresses. Now I had them both. I set them out in front of me.

  After we wrote them, and I handed mine to Degan, when he saw who I’d written on the envelope, he’d crowed, “I knew it! Dude, I knew it all along! I knew you had the hots for my sister.”

  “Shut it, douche,” I’d said good-naturedly.