by Annie Stone
“Can see Pink Mist,” Spider confirms. “We’ll take care of his wounds in medevac.”
The Bird lands briefly and takes us on board, and like nothing’s happened, we’re on our way back to Leatherneck. Our medic sets to work, inserting a port in T-Rex and treating the three bullet wounds in his side and shoulder. Motherfuckers!
Back at camp, they operate on Rex. We nervously wait around until we finally get the news that he’s going to survive. What a relief. But he won’t be part of the team anymore. Because he’s getting a free ticket home.
After being on MREs—field rations—for six days, we can hardly wait to get to the DFAC—the mess hall. MRE stands for “meal ready to eat,” which is a threefold lie: It is not a meal, it is not ready, and it is most certainly not something to eat. We put loads of Tabasco on it just to make it taste of anything at all. But what can you expect from something that’s designed to last five years?
After we’ve eaten real food again, everybody goes off to check their mail or get on the phone. I don’t do either. Both Carey and Mac have written to me countless times, but I haven’t read any of it. I don’t want to know what they have to tell me. I don’t want to listen to Mac’s bullshit, and Carey’s just going to try and tell me to listen. The little fuck is definitely on her side, and I don’t want to feel the pain of his betrayal every time.
Sometimes I talk to Killian on the phone, and we keep in touch through email. But here in Afghanistan, where it’s 100 degrees and you’re drowning in moon dust, you’re so far away from home it’s difficult to maintain even the slightest connection.
I spoke to Shane once but hung up when he started talking about Mac. I don’t want to hear anything about her. I don’t want to know how great her life with Dad is. I have no interest in her life. Fuck her.
“Hey, Hunter!” a voice calls, and I turn to see Joey Montana.
A smile breaks out across my face. Joey’s been like a white elephant. You hear about it but you never see it. Our missions have always been timed so that we didn’t see each other. Whenever I’ve been in, he’s been out, and vice versa.
“Montana!”
He laughs, and we hug, hitting each other’s backs so hard my knees nearly buckle. But I’m a man, so I stiffen up. If somebody hits you on the back, you grit your teeth and stand up straight—otherwise you’ll be labelled a pussy. And seriously. You would be.
“Good to see you, man,” he says as we sit back down at the empty table I was sitting at alone.
Still hungry, I attack another serving of food from DFAC 6. It may not be the best thing I’ve ever eaten, but after six days or MREs I would eat the sole of my shoe. “How’s Mandy doing?” I ask Joey between bites.
“She’s pregnant,” he says proudly, taking a picture out of his breast pocket. In this photo, Mandy’s a voluptuous creature wearing a beach ball under her shirt.
“Wow. When’s she due?”
“Three weeks.”
“Are you going to hold her hand over Skype?”
He smiles. “No, man, my deployment’s over next week, so if everything works out, I’ll be home in time.”
“Nice,” I say, shovelling rice and curry into my mouth.
He nods and smiles happily. “How’s Mac doing?”
At that very moment, Jackson sits at our table. “Oh, shit, man! Don’t say that name. She’s the unspeakable.”
I ram my elbow into his ribs. “Asshole.”
He laughs. “It’s true, though, isn’t it?”
Joey gives me a questioning look.
I sigh. “Mac chose my dad.”
He gives me a sympathetic look. “Fuck, man!”
“You said it.”
“She can’t be that great if she chooses an old man,” Jackson says.
I shrug. “I guess not.” But deep inside, I know she’s great. The greatest of all, which is why it hurts so much that she’s not mine.
“I was always hoping she’d finally choose you,” Joey grumbles.
I just nod. What am I supposed to say to that? Me too? Fuck.
“Do you have a girlfriend, Jax?” I ask Jackson, hoping to change the subject.
He smiles. “Lots of them.”
Joey and I laugh. “Fuck, man. A lot of them? That means a lot of trouble.”
He laughs, too. “Yeah. I have enough trouble for ten joes. But I can’t make up my mind. They’re hot, nice, and crazy about me—all three of them.”
“Do they know about each other?” Joey asks.
“Hey, man, I wouldn’t be alive if they did.”
“Didn’t you say they were nice?” I ask.
He laughs. “Only as long as they get what they want. Otherwise, they turn into hyenas.”
“We should start a bet,” Joey says. “On how long you can keep this charade up.”
“You’re too late.” Jax grins. “It’s already been started. Ask Red if you want in.” He points to a large redhead laughing with a few other Marines a few tables over.
“So what’s Killian up to?” Joey asks, turning to me.
“Keeping at it, as far as I know.”
“When’s he finished?”
“If all goes well, six months.”
“Wow. So maybe I’ll see him on my next deployment.”
“What’s your rotation cycle like?” I ask.
“Seven here, twelve back home.”
I nod. Same here. “Where’s home?”
“North Carolina. What’s your base?”
“San Diego so far. But I’m hoping for something different.”
He nods. “Such as?”
“Germany.”
He smiles a little. “Wow, you couldn’t get any further away.”
“Exactly.”
“You’ve got it bad, huh?”
You can say that again.
Three days later, Joey Montana is brought back to camp dead. He was out on a routine mission when their vehicle hit a mine. It exploded right where he was sitting. He was killed instantly.
In the days after that, I find myself wondering how something like that can happen. A great guy like Joey dying in such a horrible place just a few days before he’s supposed to go home to his woman and watch his child be born. Fate does not mean well for us. Not one bit. You’d think we would have gotten used to the idea of death, but not where our own guys are concerned. It may sound cold, but the death of a faceless enemy isn’t as hard. The death of a person you honestly like nearly kills you, too. Every time.
Somehow, that puts everything into a different light. If life is so short and fickle, should you waste it in hatred and anger? Or should you forgive those you love? Mac can’t help the way she feels. Yeah, she toyed with me, but if she loves my dad more than me, then that’s just how it is, and I can’t do anything about it. Maybe I should hear her out after all…
18
Mackenzie
It’s difficult. Difficult to process the fact that Hunter has gone to war because I broke his heart. If something happens to him, I’ll feel guilty for the rest of my life. It’s difficult to keep living, to find my way back into life, now that my love is in danger on the other side of the globe.
Every night, I lie awake, blaming myself for what I’ve done. Because I hurt him, he saw no other way out but to walk straight into the most dangerous place in the world. How could I do that to him?
Every morning, Carey gives me a sympathetic look, and I can tell from his eyes that I look miserable. Even if Hunter were to come back this very moment, we would never have a chance because I look like a ghost. Surely he wouldn’t want me like this. But I can’t seem to get back on track… I’m lost. I’ve fallen, and I don’t know how to get back up.
Sheila and Jean have been here a few times, but even they weren’t able to drag me out of this dark place. Since Hunter’s premature flight and my breaking it up with Carter, I stay at Shanes. He did everything in his power to cheer me up, but there was no point. Carey’s been a real rock. Without him…I don’t know what I’d do. Knowing th
is is all my own fault…
How could I be so stupid? If things had played out the other way around, I would have been crushed. In trying to do the right thing that fateful morning, I did the wrong thing.
And today…I’m sitting at the breakfast table in shambles. Just like every morning.
“That’s enough,” says a stern voice behind me.
“Leave me alone, Shane,” I mumble.
He grabs me under the arms and carries me, screaming, into the bathroom. He turns on the water and puts me under it, PJs and all. “Look at it as an intervention.”
“I hate you.”
“I can live with that. You’ve locked yourself up in your pain and guilt long enough. You made a mistake, yes, and maybe he’s never going to forgive you for it, but there’s no point hiding from the world. So you’re going to get cleaned up and dressed, and then you’re coming to work with me.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“I don’t care.”
“You can’t make me.”
“Mackenzie Hall, either you’re going to get cleaned up right now, or I will do it. But if I have to, I’m going to use the high-pressure hose at the studio. Take your pick.”
I hear an amused laugh outside the door and feel the urge to bash Carey’s teeth in. “Yeah. Very funny.”
“Three.”
“Stop it. I’m not a child.”
“Two.”
“Man, you’re not my boss.”
“Technically speaking, I am. One.”
“Okay, okay. Get out. I’m going to take my clothes off.”
He gives me a serious look. “You’ve got ten minutes. If you’re not clean and outside ready to go, I’m coming back in.”
“Okay, slave driver.”
He leaves the room and closes the door.
This man… He acts like he’s my master. But I’m a little afraid he would actually use bleach and a high-pressure hose on me, so I take off my wet clothes and lather up. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea after all.
When I’m finished, I wrap a towel around myself and open the door.
“Finished.”
Shane hands me underwear, jeans, and a sweater. “Put this on.”
I grab my clothes, horrified. “Have you been rummaging through my underwear drawer, Shane?”
“Yes. I picked out the nicest panties I could find. Dry your hair and do something about those shadows under your eyes.”
“Asshole.”
“Get moving!”
“I can’t stand you.”
“Yeah, try to convince yourself of that. You’ve got twenty minutes.”
Even though I hate him for this, I do what he says. When I’m ready, I can’t believe it, but I actually feel better. Much better. What a little personal hygiene can do…
“Everything okay?” Carey asks when I get to the kitchen. I nod. “You look nice,” he adds quietly.
“So, I haven’t been looking so good the past few days?”
“Not so good, no.”
Before I can reply, I hear Shane’s voice from the other room. “Ready to go?”
“Fine!” I call back.
“Okay then, let’s go!”
On our way into work, Shane keeps up a steady stream of chatter. He’s happy, and obviously trying to cheer me up. And I’m grateful he’s trying.
“Welcome home,” he says quietly as we walk through the door of the studio, which has been such a safe haven for me in the past. I’ve missed it since I stopped working here regularly. In a lucid moment at the start of all this, I called in for some time off. I never thought it would end up being several weeks, but… It just didn’t feel right to go back to work. What a luxury of a problem to have, right? To have a job that allows you to come and go as you please?
But it feels good to finally be back here. Here, where everything started. Here, where I rewrote my story. Here, where I became the hero of my own story.
“Hey, sweetness,” Sheila says as she gives me a hug. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
“I’m happy to be here, too,” I say, the tears starting up.
“Don’t cry, sweetie. Everything’s going to be fine.”
I nod but don’t believe her.
“What are you standing around for?” Jean calls. “My class is starting in five minutes, and you’re going to work it until sweat is pouring out of every single one of your pores.”
“Jean, leave her alone…”
I raise my hand and smile slightly, the first smile in what feels like years. “I’m coming.” I’m grateful Jean’s being his usual self with me. I really don’t want to be treated like a porcelain doll anymore. That’s not what I am. Maybe at the moment, I’m a little breakable, but not usually. I’m tough. Even if I forgot it for a while there.
I hurry into the changing rooms, take my gym clothes out of my locker, and get changed, before I sprint into the training room.
“You’re late!” Jean calls. “Fifty push-ups!”
Great start. I get down on the floor and start them, my knees on the floor.
“No way!” Jean interrupts. “Like we’re pussies here. No women’s push-ups. Real ones! And if you don’t get your ass moving, you can do a hundred!”
If I had daggers, I would throw them at his chest. But as it is, I have to do the push-ups. Usually, I can do a hundred no sweat, but I’ve been so lazy these past few weeks. Not just after what happened—even before that I wasn’t around as much with all the other work I was trying to do. I had this other job, other commitments for a different charity.
After twenty push-ups, my arms collapse. I simply can’t convince the Jell-O in them to harden.
Instead of screaming like he usually does when I can’t do any more, Jean kneels down beside me, pats my head, and says, “Good girl.” He helps me up and looks around at the rest of the class. “What are you all looking at? Ten push-ups, all of you! Come on!” He winks at me.
After that, we have to jog in place and do jumping jacks, then endless combinations of punching and kicking. At the end of the class, I feel like I’ve just emerged from a meat grinder, but I’ve also come to the realization that I have a lot more strength and power than I ever thought.
After another shower, I go to reception to see Sheila, who brings me a young woman. The new girl looks intimidated, but there’s a fire inside her. The same fire Shane saw in me way back when.
It feels like ages since I worked with a patient. The other job is more marketing, more talking with higher ups, asking for support, giving speeches. But now, back here, I ask myself: why did I ever think I wanted more than this? This, talking to the victims, to the women who have been through hell…this is what I want. Maybe I should rethink whether I’m doing what is right for me.
I know I can achieve much more working there, but, on the other hand, that job isn’t giving me the same level of satisfaction I get from helping individual people. I like to see the results of my effort. I like to see that I can actually make a change. I miss that. I do.
But there’s a reason they say, Don’t make important decisions when you’re emotional.
Still, I’m going to keep this feeling in mind.
A few hours later, Carey picks me up, and we drive to the mall. We watch a movie and share a popcorn and nachos before heading to Shane’s. And for the first time in weeks, I get more than two hours of sleep. Progress.
19
Mackenzie
I throw up. Again. It’s every fucking day. Not just in the morning, either, but all day long! Why is it called morning sickness if it lasts all fucking day?
After I threw up for three weeks straight, Carey made me do a pregnancy test. And—of course—I’m pregnant. By Hunter, who hates me so much he went to war to get out of talking to me. Great prospects for the future.
I’ve called his cell about two thousand times, but he won’t pick up. Carey’s tried, too. We tried calling his camp, but every single time, whoever answers tells us he’s out on a mission or just
busy. I’ve written him emails. So many his inbox must be full. But he must have blocked my address by now.
I’ve sent imploring emails, angry ones, sad ones, loving ones. He hasn’t responded to a single one. Not one. It’s driving me crazy, and it’s not helping with the pregnancy, which is driving me just as crazy. I can’t believe he’s not here to go through this with me.
My thoughts are always with him. I stalk him, as much as I can. But the guy’s not into social media. Who in the world doesn’t have a Facebook account? Instead, I read every shred of information I can get about Camp Leatherneck. I look at all the photos hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
I know he’s alive. He named Carey as his next of kin, and Carey’s living with me, so I would know if anything happened to him. That means there’s only one possible reason he’s not getting in touch.
He doesn’t want to get in touch.
In the beginning, Carey and I went to the base in San Diego, and they told us he was on his way to Afghanistan. I broke down then. Just fell right onto the pavement, crying, and the only reason I didn’t smash into a thousand pieces right then and there was Carey. Carey was there to hold me together.
I cried for days after that as I desperately tried to get in touch with him. I begged Carey and Shane to contact him. But nothing. There was nothing. He didn’t respond. For three months now, he’s been ignoring me. Cold as ice.
I’m angry with him and angry with myself. Angry with him because he’s being such a bastard. And angry with myself because the moment he stuck out his hand wanting me to take it, without a second of hesitation, I failed him. How could I be so stupid? And how could he be so stupid as to quit his training to go to fucking Afghanistan?
We really managed to make the absolute worst of this situation. I don’t know whether Hunter even wants kids—not to mention at twenty-one—but, in my dreams, he’s happy about my pregnancy. I imagine him putting a hand on my belly, pressing his lips against it, and talking to our baby. Saying funny things. Sweet things. Things that drive me up the wall.
But my fantasy remains a fantasy. He’s not here. In fact, I don’t know if he’s ever going to talk to me again—if I’ll ever see him again. I can’t stand the thought of him dying over there with that idiotic thought in his head—the thought that I don’t love him. I can’t stand the idea of it. I want him to know I love him. I want him to know he’s going to be a daddy. That he’s going to have a little boy or a little girl. I want him to know that I want this. Our baby and him and me.