by Annie Stone
Maybe it has something to do with my past, but I can’t have sex with someone if I don’t have feelings for him. Or maybe I could, but I wouldn’t want to. I wouldn’t want to sleep with a man I don’t love. And I never have. I was in love with everybody I’ve ever slept with. Of course, Carter’s only the third man I’ve slept with. I mean, since I left my past behind me, that is.
I drive up to Rage Mountain and sit down in the dust. I’ve been up here more in the past three months than ever before. Things haven’t exactly been easy.
Should I tell Carter about his son and my friend? Or not? Would it change anything for him? Would his feelings toward me change? I don’t know.
But one thing I do know now: I cannot be friends with Brittany anymore. Not because she slept with Hunter, but because we obviously have different values. She’s been a good friend for a certain phase of my life, but now that I’m changing, now that I’m growing into my life more, she can no longer be a part of it. We haven’t seen each other in six months, and obviously, she didn’t miss me. She never tried to call or anything. So I’m not sure how else I should read this situation. I guess our time as friends is over.
It makes me sad that, as this thought crosses my mind, I feel relieved. Maybe Brittany just wasn’t really my sort of person after all. I lean back and stare up at the cloudless sky, letting the sun shine on my face. I love the warmth, the feeling that the sunbeams are caressing me.
I wonder how Hunter is spending his time off. Or how he has spent it—the ten days are almost over. Next time, I hope he’ll come home. How can I fix things between Carter and him? They used to have such a good relationship.
But, if I’m being honest, I know I can’t do anything about it. If they don’t want things to change, I can’t help them. I’ll keep encouraging Carey to get in touch with him, and we’ll see if that does anything. Hunter can be pretty stubborn.
Carey’s going back to school soon. It’ll probably be strange for him to go to school without Hunter. He just has to be in touch with his brother.
My thoughts wander from one subject to the next, but most of them are about Carey and Hunter. I think about how much has happened in one year. A year ago, I never thought I would end up loving those boys so much. They truly have become family for me. And Carter is wrong. Families are not just connected by DNA. Families are made of love and trust. Hunter and Carey are family to me. Forever. Even if it’s not always easy.
After pulling into our driveway, I look for my phone. Without reading any, I delete all messages from Brittany and move on to deleting her number. Maybe my reaction is too harsh, but Hunter means a lot to me. And the idea of her hurting him is just too much.
When I step into the house, Carter surprises me by being home early. He’s been spending more and more time in New York, and sometimes I wonder if he’s having an affair with some woman there. But then, every time he’s here with me, he’s sweet and caring and nice. Even if jealousy is eating him up inside. Or maybe because of it.
“Hey,” I say, wrapping my arms around him from behind, pressing my face against the back of his head.
“Hey, sweetie,” he says gently, stroking my arms.
I walk around the couch and sit on his lap. “This is a nice surprise.”
He kisses me on the lips and pulls me into his arms. Hmmm, yes, I love being held by him. I love feeling so safe. I raise my head and press my lips to his again. Memories of a different kiss float up. With a different man.
Hunter.
I shake my head slightly, trying to chase the thought away. But as much as I want to forget about it, every little detail of that kiss keeps coming back to me, haunting me. Because even if I don’t want to admit it…even though I want to deny it….want to turn back time and make it undone…
That kiss was the best kiss of my life.
But I don’t have feelings for him. I have feelings for his father. His father.
Carter is a good kisser. But he has never kissed me like Hunter. So hungrily, so passionately, so focused on my pleasure rather than his own. Hunter’s kiss was selfless. Absolutely selfless. Of course, it stopped being selfless down the road, but the kiss itself was—yes. It was only for me.
I try to shake it off. I don’t want to think about it. It’s not fair to Carter for me to be thinking of another man while kissing him. Still, although I’m not proud of it, I have to admit this is not the first time I’ve thought of the son while kissing the father. I mean, it’s not that I think of Hunter—but of that kiss. I know it’s impossible, but in my head, I’m separating the two. One thing is Hunter, my quasi-stepson. The other thing is that kiss that still makes me weak in the knees four months later. Makes my breath quicken. My heart throb. Never mind what it’s doing to my pussy.
Back to the here and now, I yell a command in my head to stop my train of thought, but I don’t stand a chance. My body is sending me signals that are turning me on, arousing me, making me feel ecstatic. And those feelings are only partly related to the man whose lap I’m sitting on. I keep telling myself they have nothing to do with another man, either. Only with that kiss…
“Wow, sweetie,” Carter murmurs. “You’ve really missed me.”
I nod and smile at him. “Oh yeah.”
And it’s true. But then something tugs at the corners of my memory.
“Carter…”
“Yes?”
“I know it’s none of my business…”
“Not a good conversation starter. If you think it’s none of your business, it’s probably none of your business.” A moment ago, he was all laid-back. Now, his whole body is tense. Great, Mackenzie Hall. Good job.
“You love Hunter.”
“Mackenzie…” He says it like every time I try to broach the subject.
“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but…you love him. And you’re suffering. And I know he is, too.” Carter squints and frowns. Danger! “You’re his father,” I say gently. “Don’t you want to talk to him? Congratulate him for making it through boot camp with flying colors? He finished first in his class.”
“Of course, he finished first.” Carter says it quietly and somewhat sadly, regret tinging his voice. What does he regret? Kicking his son out? Or something else?
“You love him, Carter. He’s your son.”
“Yes, thanks for stating the obvious.” But his tone is not as reproachful as his words. He wants his son. He’s a good father.
“You miss him.”
He doesn’t look at me, looking only at his hands. “Yes, damn it. Yes, I miss him, Mac. But…can I just stand there and watch him throw his life away? Can I stand by and watch? No. Maybe he’ll think better of it.”
Once again, we’re entering dangerous territory… Maybe I should stay out of it. But I can’t. “It’s his life, Carter. I know you love him and you want to protect him. But you can only do that up to a certain point.”
“Don’t you—”
“Listen to me! Please listen to me!” After a moment, he nods, and I continue. During our conversation, I’ve slid off his lap. “I know you think you know better than him, but you need to let your kids make their own mistakes.”
“Of course, Mackenzie, and if he had decided to travel the world for a year or go to community college or whatever, everything would have been great. But he’s playing with war! Do you know what that means? He might get killed out there. I can’t stand by and watch him do that. It’s impossible. Whether I want to be or not, I’m responsible for my son!” He’s almost yelling by the time he finishes.
“But what’s the alternative?” I ask. “Now he’s going to war, and he’s lost his family. Do you think that’s going to make him want to take fewer risks? Do you really believe that? If he has nothing left to look forward to?”
Carter stands and restlessly paces the room. “For God’s sake. Are you with him on this? Come on, Mackenzie, don’t tell me you support his stupid decision!”
I swallow. “I support his right to live his ow
n life.” I get up, too, even though I don’t know what to do after that.
Carter comes toward me and holds my upper arms. “He’s still a kid!”
“He’s eighteen. He is no longer a kid. I know you still see the baby that used to fit in the palms of your hands, but he’s a grown man now.”
Snorting, Carter releases me. “You obviously have no trouble seeing him as a man…”
“What does that mean?” I snap.
Carter shakes his head. “What was that kiss about?”
For a moment, I’m speechless. How does he know about our kiss? Nervous, I shrug.
“That goodbye kiss. When he kissed you on the mouth right here in this room in front of Carey and me.” His voice is angry.
This is the typical course our conversations tend to take recently. I ask him to make up with his son, and he ends up having a jealous fit. God, why did Hunter do that? Why did he have to kiss me in front of his father?
“We’ve been through this before.”
“Just explain it to me again, please.” But his words are not as nice as they sound.
“Carter…”
“Tell me!”
“I love you and nobody else, Carter! Please believe me.”
He runs his hand through his hair and looks at me, sad and angry at the same time. “I can’t…”
“What have I done to earn your distrust?” I have to hold back my tears.
“Nothing. You haven’t done anything. It’s just that…” He pauses and swallows. “I just get the feeling something weird is going on.”
“But—”
He raises both hands. “I know it’s not fair, but I can’t help it. I’m jealous, yes. You’ve never given me reason to be—at least almost never—but I am.” I know he’s alluding to my confession about the kiss. He doesn’t know about Hunter, but I told him about the kiss, the first kiss at least. Not the passionate one, before he left. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything…
“I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”
“Yes, I know. And I forgive you for it. I just can’t forget about it.”
I sit back down, kneading my fingers together. A tell-tale sign of my internal turmoil.
“What can I do to prove to you that I love you? Only you?”
He stands with his back to me, looking out the big window. His body is stiff, tense.
“Actually,” he says, quietly, after a while. “You shouldn’t have to prove it to me.”
And he’s right. He should trust me.
I realize that, once again, a conversation about getting the family back together has turned into a conversation about the very foundation of our relationship. I wonder how many times you can shake a building before the mortar starts to crumble. I love him. To me, that’s an unshakable fact.
But I guess in every relationship one person is more in love than the other, right? The question is, which is which in our relationship? Do I love him more than he loves me?
5
Hunter
After spending ten days on a surreal Southern estate, Killian and I head back to base. For Marine Combat Training. It’s compulsory for everybody who’s not entering the School of Infantry. Sometimes I wonder why I’m making things so difficult for myself. What is this nagging inside me that won’t allow me to rest, keeps making me push myself? It’s not that I want fame and honor, even though those things are definitely not bad to have. It’s more of a desire to just…be better. To become a better version of myself. Not for others, but for myself.
I don’t know, I’m kind of navigating through this blindly, but I think it’s also a sign of growing up. When you recognize it’s more important to rely on yourself than to listen to others. There’s no single path that makes everybody happy. Instead, there are hundreds, if not thousands of paths, and it’s your task to find the one that makes you happy. I like the idea that maybe I’m not making a mistake, as Dad’s trying to tell me. Just because his path is different than this doesn’t mean it’s better than mine.
And at the end of the day, everybody has to be happy with their own life.
It’s like a changing of the guard. The vertical connections you have with your parents become less important, while the horizontal connections with friends, siblings, and partners become more important. Maybe it’s okay Dad’s view on this is different.
One quiet night on base, I call Dad. The phone rings for a long time before he answers. I don’t know if he lets it ring so long on purpose. But I do wonder.
“Hey,” he says. His voice sounds somewhat small. Not like the powerful and successful businessman I know him to be, not as awe-inspiring as I remember him, even in spite of all his affection.
“Hey, Dad,” I say, and since I can’t think of anything better, I add, “How are you doing?” Fuck, I should have thought that through. Hell, I should have thought about what I was going to say before I picked up the phone.
He snorts condescendingly, which hurts. “How do you think I’m doing, Hunter? My son’s volunteered to become fucking cannon fodder.”
Okay, I should have expected that, but it still sucks that he can’t respect me and my decisions.
“I know you don’t understand…”
“You can say that again! I don’t get why you’re doing this! You’re from California, for God’s sake! What kind of redneck crap is this, goddamnit?”
Wow, I never thought he was such a snob. “It’s my decision, Dad. And you should be in my corner.”
“You want me to support your suicidal behavior? Are you out of your fucking mind?”
Okay, this was obviously not a good idea. It’s the exact same conversation that happened at home last summer.. Maybe the whole thing isn’t dead and buried yet. Great.
But, then again… Shouldn’t I expect to be taken seriously? Maybe that’s the problem. Dad was never the kind of dad who didn’t take us seriously. From the very beginning, he trusted us and respected us. And we have never given him reason not to (apart from the stupid stuff all boys do). This is really the first time I’m not doing what he wants me to do in an important situation. For the first time, I’m doing my own thing.
Neither of us can deal with this shift in roles. That’s the problem here. He can’t because he doesn’t know how to react to a situation where I don’t need him anymore. And I can’t because I don’t know how to react to that either.
We’d have to rebuild the foundations of our relationship to fix this. But if you’ve followed a certain pattern your entire life, it’s difficult to leave it—even if it’s the right thing to do. Well, I guess at some point everybody has to leave their parents behind, to a certain degree. That degree is just going to be greater for me than most people.
“Can’t we talk about this properly?” I ask.
“If you’d decided to become a porn star, we could have talked about it properly. This decision is outside the realm of rational judgment, so I don’t see anything to talk about. Our door will never be closed, son, but I can’t support this craziness.”
For a long moment, we’re both quiet, because his words have cut the possibility of conversation short. Then he hangs up.
I run my hand over my short hair. Wow. That went great.
“Hey, man, I’ve been looking for you!” Killian’s voice comes from behind me. When I don’t react, he asks, “Is everything okay?”
Macho culture forces me to say, “Everything’s great.” But, actually, what I really need is to talk to someone like I could talk to Devon back in high school.
“I have to make another call,” I say, and Killian nods.
I dial Carey’s number, but he doesn’t pick up. I could call Shane. He knows everything about me. But somehow it doesn’t feel right.
Almost automatically, my fingers dial a number.
“Hunter?” Shortly after the dial tone subsides, Mac says my name with that dark, husky voice that turns my mind into a juicy porno.
“Yup.”
“How are you doing? Are
you okay? Do you need anything? Should I—”
“Take a deep breath,” I interrupt her.
I can hear her do that before she says, “I’m so glad you called.”
“It’s good to hear your voice, babe.”
“Yours, too.”
“What are you doing?”
“Sitting on the porch.”
“Is Dad there?”
“No, he’s in New York.” She sounds sad—or am I imagining it because I want her to be unhappy with Dad?
“Hmm.”
“Hmm indeed.”
“Mac…”
“Yes?”
“Are you happy?”
I didn’t mean to ask her that. It just came out. I bite my lip, curiously awaiting her reply—and at the same time fearing it.
“I think you know the answer to that,” she says softly, glumly.
That is the best and the worst answer she could have given me. Good because it gives me hope. Bad because I don’t want to see my girl sad. Ever.
“Mac… Listen… I—”
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Whatever you were going to say, don’t say it.” Her voice is pleading. I can’t turn her down, so I stop talking.
After a while, I hear a small sob. It breaks my heart.
“Don’t cry, babe. Please don’t cry.”
I never meant to ask her if she was happy. But now I regret it even more…
“I can’t do this,” she whispers.
“Do what?”
“It’s like being torn apart.”
I swallow. “Do you want me to stop calling you?”
“I don’t know…” Her voice sounds so lost I realize she really doesn’t know.
I close my eyes. “Okay. I’ll stop calling.”
I can hear her crying, but she doesn’t say anything else.
When I can’t take it anymore, I hang up. I’m such a fucking masochist, it’s ridiculous.
Combat training is going to turn us into entry-level infantry Marines. So that we know what we’re doing in a combat situation. Our areas of training in MCT will include weapons, explosives, land navigation, radios, grenade launchers, and—my favorite—martial arts, or to be more precise, the Marine Corps Martial Arts Program.