by Annie Stone
“What the fuck is going on here?”
I’m wide awake immediately, just like I was trained to be—jumping out of bed, ready to rumble. I squint into the dark. Dad is standing in front of me, looking at me with such fury I feel like a four-year-old who just spilled his expensive whiskey.
Mac wakes up much more slowly. At first, there’s a happy smile on her lips, then her eyes widen in shock. She sits up, wrapping the sheet around her body. I’m thankful for it. I don’t want anybody—not even my father—to see her naked.
“What the fuck is this?” he screams like a madman. “What are you doing in my house? You little shit! Get out! This is my house! And you have the balls to come in here and fuck my girlfriend? Fuck off! You’re a disgrace. You’re dead to me!”
I grab my sweatpants from the chair. “Dad, let me—”
“No! There’s nothing to explain! You’ve trespassed into my home. Get out, or I’ll call the police!”
I’ve never seen him like this. I don’t know what to do.
“Carter,” Mac quietly pleads.
His angry eyes turn on her. “Shut up, you fucking whore.”
“Don’t you talk to her like that!” I yell at him.
“She’s my girlfriend. I’ll talk to her however I want!”
Carey comes in, looking from one person to the other. “Dad?”
“This is none of your business, Carey! Get out!”
Mac gets up, holding the sheet over herself. “Carter, please let me explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain. You’re a fucking cunt, just like their mom.”
At that moment, I see red. And I hit him. I just about manage to hold back—and only break his nose.
“Hunter, don’t!” Mac calls, sounding desperate.
Carey darts between us, begging me to calm down. But blood is streaming out of Dad’s nose, and I feel a sick sense of satisfaction.
He gets up from where he fell on the floor. “You’re no longer wanted here, Hunter. This house is no longer yours. Get out, or I’ll call the police.”
I look at Mac and hold out my hand to her. She stares at it, and every second that goes by, I start feeling more insecure. She is mine, right? My girl. She’s coming with me. She’s leaving this house with me. But she’s not taking my hand. Why isn’t she taking my fucking hand? I love her. She loves me.
“Hunter,” she whispers desperately.
Squinting, I look away from her—to Carey, who’s giving her a surprised look, apparently also unable to understand why she isn’t going with me.
“Hunter, I need to talk to your dad,” she says, and it’s like somebody slapped me in the face. It’s like I’m the one with the broken nose, not Dad.
“What?” I ask, incredulous. She wants to talk to Dad? She wants to stay here?
“Hunter, please.”
My heart smashes into a million pieces, which are then put through a shredder and ground to dust. This is impossible. Why isn’t she coming with me? How can she stay here?
“Mac?” I breathe, not wanting to believe what I’m hearing, what I’m seeing.
“I’m sorry, Hunter. I need to talk to your dad,” she says again.
I have never felt so horrible. Not once in my entire life. For the past three years, she has chosen him over me. And a little fucking obviously doesn’t change anything about that.
“I can’t believe you,” I say quietly, to keep my voice from trembling. “After all this, you’re choosing him? After all we had? After how he just treated you? You’re staying?”
“Hunter…”
“No, you know what? I’m finished with you. I’ve been waiting for you for years, and you kept messing with me. You kept giving me mixed signals, not even having the backbone to give me a clear yes or no. And now you’re staying with him? Damn you!”
I run out of the room, nearly blind with anger.
“Hunter!” she calls after me. I trip down the stairs and grab my stuff. But before I can run out of the house, her hand grabs my arm.
“Hunter, please, let me explain…”
“There’s nothing to explain!” I scream. “You chose him! I don’t want anything to do with you anymore!” I dart out of the house. As I slip inside the car, she comes out the front door behind me, calling my name, her face wet with tears. In the rearview mirror, I see her sink to the ground and let her head fall to the road, crying relentlessly.
The sight of it rips my heart apart a little more. But it’s like they say—better a terrible end than unending terror. At least I know now that I can never have her. Never.
16
Mackenzie
Carey wraps his arms around me, holding me tight. “Mac, don’t cry. Please don’t.” I claw at his shirt, badly needing an anchor so I don’t get pulled out into the ocean and lost forever.
“He hates me,” I sob.
“He loves you. That’s the problem.”
“No, he loved me, and I ruined everything.”
Carey smooths my hair back out of my face. “Why did you choose Dad?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t. I just wanted to explain things to him. Apologize. Hunter didn’t do anything wrong, Carey, but I did. I was in a relationship. And to me, that means something. I should have done the right thing, but I didn’t. I just wanted to apologize for that.”
“Oh, Mac! Men don’t think like that. In this one situation, you should have taken his hand without hesitating. You could have explained everything else later. But now you’ve broken his heart.”
It takes me a while to calm down enough to be able to go back inside the house. I go to the bedroom and put on some clothes before I walk into Carter’s office.
“I’m sorry,” I say without preamble.
He snorts mockingly. “Like I’m interested in what a whore has to say.”
I take a deep breath. He’s hurt, so he’s saying things he doesn’t mean. He’s a good person. He is. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Carter.”
“Don’t worry, you haven’t. I knew from the beginning what kind of a woman you were. You were only in this for the money. And then you seduced my kids. Tell me, bitch, did you fuck Carey when he was fifteen?”
I gasp. “No, of course not! What are you thinking?”
“I think I’m going to sue you for seducing minors.” He stands and comes closer, and I take a step back. “I invited you into my house, my life, and how do you thank me for it?”
Without another word, I turn and walk for the door. There’s a psychotic shine in his eyes that’s really scaring me. I’m already out through the doorway when he grabs me by the hair and slams me against the wall.
“You thank me by fucking my children!” he yells. “Back then, they were still minors! Carey was fifteen!” As I struggle back to my feet, I see Carey standing at the top of the stairs.
But before I can say anything, Carter raises his hand and hits me in the face. Bam! It feels like my head is going to explode.
I can hear Carey running down the stairs, and then he’s standing in front of me, before Carter can raise his hand again. “Dad! What the fuck is wrong with you? Don’t you dare touch her again!”
Carter wakes up from his trance and looks around himself, almost disoriented. He sees me on the floor, my lip bleeding.
“Oh, no,” he whispers softly. “Mackenzie, I’m sorry. Sweetie, I’m sorry…”
He reaches out for me, but Carey doesn’t let him. “No way, old man. You’re never going to touch her again. And you better pray Hunter doesn’t find out you hit her. If he does, he’s going to kill you.”
Carter goes chalk-white and gives me a sad look. “I loved you…”
I nod. “I loved you, too, Carter. But neither of us made our relationship a priority. And this is the result. I’m sorry I hurt you. I didn’t mean to. But you hurt me, too. I found a thong in your pocket when I was doing laundry.”
Though I didn’t think it possible, he went even whiter. Then he nods slowly. “I’m sorry, too. Mackenzie,
I never wanted this… I’m… I’m so sorry. It’s unforgivable, but I hope you can forgive me at some point.”
Carey grabs my arm, gets my purse from the coat stand, and walks me out to his car. He puts me in the passenger seat and climbs into the driver’s seat. As he starts the car, he asks, “What do we do now Mac?”
“Hunter?” I whisper.
Carey shakes his head. “He’ll take a while to come around. We’ll wait to go to him next week. First, we need somewhere to stay.”
“Shane,” I say.
“Shane,” Carey repeats and starts the car.
As he drives us to Shane, my thoughts are with Hunter. How is he? Is he going to forgive me for not taking his hand? Or have I ruined everything just by acting rationally when I should have reacted emotionally? God, please give me another chance! I don’t want to lose him. Not now that I’ve finally realized I love him. That I’ve loved him for years.
17
Hunter
I’m sitting at a bar. And I’m not exactly sober. I down one beer after another. I want to forget, drown the pain. I wish Hell Week was still ahead of me to numb my thoughts.
Mac chose Dad. Mac chose Dad. Mac… She doesn’t love me. She never will. I will be alone for the rest of my life.
“Hey, man,” Killian says quietly, sitting down beside me.
“Hey.” I manage to slur the single syllable.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
I shake my head and down the rest of my glass. “Can still think.”
“There’s easier ways, man. I could knock you out,” he jokes, but I don’t feel like joking.
“Do it.” I gesture for the bartender to bring me another beer. After all, I should make use of the fact that I’m a legal adult now. He appears to have one ready and waiting.
“Come on, Hunter,” Killian says. “No woman is worth doing so much damage to yourself.”
I take the first sip from my new glass. “I thought she was worth it.”
Shaking his head, he squeezes my shoulder. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” I down the glass.
“Let’s go, Killer.”
I nod and put a few bills on the counter. The barkeeper waves at us. As we walk out, Killian has to prop me up—otherwise I’d be crawling. As we step outside, my stomach turns, and I vomit right there on the pavement.
“Fuck,” I groan, wiping my mouth.
“Come on,” Killian says, grasping my upper arm. He drags me ahead a little, to a spot with some picnic tables. I let myself drop onto a bench and put my head in my hands.
“Why doesn’t she love me?” I mumble through my fingers.
“You need to talk to her again, man. Let her explain. You need to be sure.”
“I am sure.”
“Talk to her again, Hunt. Otherwise, you’ll wonder forever. You’ll always doubt yourself.”
“I don’t doubt anything. I know it. It’s over.” Tears run down my cheeks. My Mac! No, not mine. As of today, I finally know exactly where we stand. She was a sweet dream that turned into a nightmare.
I don’t know how I get into my bed, but when I wake up the next morning, it feels like my skull’s been split in two.
I’m standing in my superior’s office.
“Are you sure, Tilman?” he asks.
I nod. “Positive, sir.”
He looks at the papers and nods. “Okay. Your flight leaves at eighteen hundred.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
I march back to the barracks, pack my stuff, and say goodbye to Killian, who thinks I’m a stupid fucker for doing this. Maybe, but anything’s better than staying here in San Diego, where everything reminds me of her.
They won’t send you to war that quickly, but with my commander pulling some strings, I at least get to leave San Diego. Which is worth a lot. I’m sent to another base to prepare for deployment, and I’m more than grateful—it would be torture to be geographically near her. At the same time, this is torture, too, because I still feel they might send me back at any time. When they finally send me overseas, I’m relieved.
When I get to Camp Leatherneck in the Helmand Province in the south of Afghanistan, I can breathe more freely. Which is ridiculous, because it’s ninety degrees in the shade, and the ever-present dust immediately settles on me like a second skin. But anything is better than San Diego.
They show me to my cot, and then I meet the boys in my unit. And when they’re showing me around the mess hall, a familiar voice calls out from a group assembled nearby. “Hey, Hunter!”
I turn around and see Jackson Halliwell from boot camp. I grin as I sit down beside him. “Good to see you, man!”
“What are you doing here?” he asks as we shake hands. “Weren’t you going to do FORECON?”
I nod. “Yep. Just got through BUD/S, but I didn’t want to leave all the fun to you.”
He laughs. “About time. This is my second trip.”
“Well, if I’d known I was coming here anyway, I would have come sooner.”
“How’s Hastings?”
“Texas is still doing Force Recon.”
“You know who else is here?” he asks. I shake my head. “Montana.”
“Joey’s here?”
“Yup. He’s off base right now, but he should be back the day after tomorrow.”
I smile. “I had no idea this was clown camp.”
“No, man, clown camp is where those army pussies are,” he says seriously.
“That bad?”
“They just play football all day long, and when we get back from missions, we have to compete with them for the phones just so we can call home for fifteen minutes.”
I’m definitely not going to join that competition. I’ll be happy if nobody calls me. Why should Mac call anyway? She’s made her choice.
“Isn’t that the way it always is?” I say, shaking my head. “The grunts doing all the work?”
He nods. “They are just damn fobbits.”
“Fobbit?” I repeat, raising an eyebrow.
He laughs. “Let me teach you some military-speak here. A fobbit is someone who never patrols, who’s always on base. Like a hobbit who never leaves the Shire.”
“Ah… But I thought Marines were doing recon missions.”
He laughs. “Sure, but those army pussies aren’t.”
“But we wouldn’t want to swap,” I say.
“Obviously. We’re Marines. Semper fi.”
Semper fi, indeed. Jackson’s completely right about the state of things here. When you hear veterans talk about deployment, you sometimes imagine it’s like a nice school trip, with beach volleyball tournaments and poker. But I quickly realize the people I’ve heard talk about deployment were obviously not Marines. For us, free time is for pussies.
Sleeping inside the CHU—container housing—is not all that comfortable. Especially because of FAB: the omnipresent stink of feet, ass, and balls. Men are disgusting. I have no idea how women deal with us, but I’m happy they do. Good thing my ass already knows how it feels to be chafed raw by sand.
I quickly get used to the work, but before my first mission, nervous energy courses through my body. I was trained to do this, but this is not an exercise. Our exercises were hard, but in those, our opponents were our instructors. They were trying to train us—not kill us. But here, in the deadly south of Afghanistan, the conditions are different, and every little mission can be deadly. Danger is lurking everywhere, and every step could be your last. You never know when you might step on a mine and be blown into pieces. Or be surrounded by a herd of goats that’s actually a deadly weapon, as it’s been fitted with C-4 explosives.
You quickly learn, when in doubt, to shoot before they can shoot you. We try to avoid civilian casualties, but we prefer their deaths over our own.
“Two clicks north,” I tell our grenade launcher, who follows my instructions and dives down. We all do—as the grenade hits a Taliban stronghold.
“Killer, three o’clock!” our sergeant yells, and I shoot in that direction. I don’t know how they know my nickname, but hardly anybody is referred to by their real name here. Our sergeant’s called Spider because a tarantula climbed up his cammies once. And the grenade launcher is T-Rex, because his real name’s Rex. Cruel tongues claim his arms are so short he can’t even touch his own dick.
My shot hits the man coming at us. He’s not the first person I’ve shot in the three months we’ve been here, but it doesn’t get any easier to kill people. I mean, better him than me, but it would be even better to do without this waste of human life. But that’s just a utopian thought. Like all of us here, I believe the war is right. And helping create a utopia here in a country void of democratic structures and respect for human rights feels good.
“Heads down!” T-Rex calls before he fires the next grenade.
What was supposed to be just another regular patrol is quickly turning into a full-out battle.
“Ask for backup,” Spider commands, and Jumbo, our radio operator, relates our position so the Birds can come help us. “Killer, cover Rex!” Spider calls, and I see T-Rex moving the grenade launcher into a better position. I give him covering fire.
Out of the blue, bullets come from behind us. In an instant, T-Rex is hit.
“Spider!” I yell. “Rex is down! I’m black on ammo!” I’ve completely run out of ammunition.
“Jumbo and I will cover you. Get Rex! Where are those damn Birds?”
I run out from our cover, grab Rex, heave him onto my shoulder, and drag him behind a rock.
“Where do we gather?” I shout.
At that moment, the Black Hawks appear, shooting at the T-men—the Taliban hiding out here.
“Withdraw!” Spider calls. Like mountain goats, we deftly climb down the rocks toward our relief team.
“Time for Dustoff,” I hear Jumbo calling into his radio. “T-Rex’s been hit badly.”