by Mia Madison
“You don’t really want me to leave?” she asks.
“I think that’s best,” I say.
She displays crocodile tears as if I'm naive. It’s an old strategy of hers, and not convincing. Through little sobs, she asks, “What about our son?”
“I want you to see him,” I say. “But we need a schedule and consistency. You can’t keep running off.”
“I’ll never do that again,” she says.
I know she’s lying, even if she believes it at the moment. It might be a week, a month, or a season, but she always breaks her word.
From down the hall, I hear our son open his bedroom door. “Dad?”
“What are you doing out of bed, little man?”
Caden rubs his eyes. “I had a bad dream.”
I pick him up and give him a big hug. “Come on, Tiger. I’ll tuck you back in.”
“Is mom going to stay here?” he asks, as I pull a light blanket up to his chin.
“No, son,” I say. “She’s leaving in a few minutes.”
“Is she going to get me from school tomorrow?”
“I think so, bud.” I don’t want to build up his expectations too much.
“Can I still go to the beach with Rylie?”
“Of course,” I answer. “Why wouldn’t you be able to?”
“Mom said she was going to take me, not anyone else.”
“I’ll talk to her.” I rub his head.
I want to assure him that everything is going to work out, but I can’t promise him things that aren’t fully under my control, like his mother's behavior. But at least I now know what she’s doing here with this latest begging for us to be together. Caden told her about Daddy’s pretty friend Riley and she is determined that I won’t have my chance at happiness.
I don’t even know that Rylie will stick around either. She hasn’t had enough time with the two of us, the poster boys as she calls us, to realize it’s not always fun and games. Kids get sick, they need a lot of attention, and there’s always something off-plan blowing up.
I smile at my son. “Good night, Tiger. Go to sleep, okay?”
He nods his head. “Night, dad.”
My heart wrenches at the sweet contentment in his voice. As I shut the door, it grips tighter as I hear women’s voices coming from the living room. At first, I think maybe Lisa has turned on the television, but then she raises her voice and shouts, “Get lost!”
The front door slams shut even as I try to close Caden’s door quietly.
I walk down the hall and ask Lisa, “Who was that?”
“One of those rude cult people,” she says. “This late at night, too. There should be a law against it.”
“That’s weird,” I say walking to the front door and pulling it open. A car is pulling away, but it’s too dark to tell who it is. Lisa surprises me by ambushing me with an unexpected hug from behind. I try to pull her arms off me without hurting her. “Stop,” I demand.
Instead, she slides around me and attempts to plant her lips on mine. She grinds her pelvis into me so I almost want to gag.
“Hell no!” I shout. I push her away, forcefully, but trying to maintain enough composure that I don’t give her an excuse to be able to later accuse me of being physical with her. I throw back the door and walk two steps outside the house. I put my hands on my hips. “You need to leave. Right now.”
“I’m going to stay the night,” she says. “I promised to make Caden pancakes in the morning. Besides, you’ll see, if you just let me—”
“It’s not going to happen,” I say with a growing rage. “You really need to leave. You can pick him up at school tomorrow.”
“You’re making a huge mistake,” she growls.
“No,” I say, “Not this time. I’m going to do everything right.”
She leaves, eventually, but not until I've threatened to call the MPs to witness her behavior.
An hour later, alone in my room, and unable to sleep, I wonder if it’s too late to send Rylie a text. I decide to risk it. Hopefully, I won’t wake her. If she’s up, maybe we can talk for a bit. I’m yearning for her company. For every last inch of her.
Are you still up?
No response and I assume she’s sleeping, which is what I need to be doing. I have an early one tomorrow and piles of intense work sitting on my desk. Rylie’s body fills my thoughts as I close my eyes and will sleep to come. Memories of her touch stir me. My cock starts to lift, tenting the sheet and it’s a while before I fall into a restless sleep.
The next day at the office, I realize around lunch time that I still haven’t heard back from Rylie. It’s strange, and unlike her, so I text her again.
Did you sleep okay? I need to get together soon. Tonight?
I’m relieved when this time, her response pops right back. Maybe the first never landed last night. I swipe my phone open.
Don’t contact me ever again
My pulse fires like a jackhammer as my heart constricts. What the fuck happened? My hands shake as I attempt to compose a reply to the shocking message I just read. My skin’s too tight, my stomach’s in knots.
Baby, what happened? Talk to me, please
I receive no response.
For the next couple of days, I go to work like a zombie. I’ve had no contact from Rylie despite dialing her line a thousand times. No way can I blow this up by asking Frank about his daughter. I try to concentrate on work when I’m in the office and on being with Caden when we’re at home. I can’t figure out what happened with Rylie and I attempt to recreate our last few conversations to see if I missed any hidden clues.
Nothing comes to mind.
I’ve sent her a ton of texts, an email and called her line. I must be coming off like a crazed stalker, so I decide I need to let her make the next move. I don’t like that one bit and sleep eludes me every night as I toss around missing her with memories of her warm skin and beautiful smile. What the fuck happened to make her bolt?
I make it to Friday with the bags packing under my eyes. After our team meeting, I get up to lave with the others but Frank calls me back.
“Shut the door and have a seat.” I do as the CO commands and start to speak but he holds up a finger halting me.
He reaches to press a button on his phone. I realize he’s flipped it to speaker when I hear Rylie’s voice. What the….?
“I’m fine, Dad,” she says.
My heart races and pounds. Her voice re-triggers my loneliness. I can’t believe how badly I miss her.
“Your flight was okay?” he asks.
Her flight? Where’d she go?
I have a million questions, but I can’t betray my emotions in front of her father, especially not here. I fight the urge to excuse myself, hearing her voice is heart-wrenching.
“Yeah, we had a slight delay in Los Angeles,” she continues over the phone, “but the flight was smooth. Mom’s scheduled a million things for me to do, I don’t know how she manages to fit everything in, but she does.”
“She’d have made a good commander,” Frank says, “if she’d have married the Army instead of me.”
“I have to go, Dad,” Rylie says, “I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.”
The sound of her voice stabs me in the heart, especially those two words. I’m desperate to say something to her, but anything I can think of at the moment would only make matters worse. My head starts to throb in pain.
“Say hello to Ethan,” Frank says into the speaker phone. “He’s sitting here in my office.”
“No thanks,” Rylie says, and the line goes dead.
I practically feel my heart fall out of my chest.
Frank goes back to being the Lieutenant Colonel in charge of this unit, staring at me with a scowl.
“Care to enlighten me what that was all about?” he asks with a stern command voice that I know won’t take any deflection for an answer.
“It’s complicated,” I finally say after a moment of awkward silence.
“Don’t bull
shit me, Major,” he says roughly. “Start explaining.”
I’m stuck. If I lie, things will definitely be worse. If I tell the truth, my only option here, I might be in a shit ton of trouble. But I might also finally find out what happened with Rylie and why she’s flown to Boston to be with her mother, something she told me, less than a week ago, was totally off the table.
“Sir,” I say. “You’re not going to like this, but…”
It takes an hour, mostly with him hammering commands and furious vitriol at me that I take like I’m a private standing rigid on parade. I hold my guns, faithfully explaining that I’d fallen in love with his daughter and that I had no idea what had gone astray.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” he says finally, seeing that I am not backing down on this. I don’t care if he dumps me at the last base on the planet.
“I love her.” I say simply. Because that’s all there is.
Frank slumps in his chair – a posture I’ve never seen on him when in uniform.
“Sir, I’ll accept a transfer or whatever punishment—” I begin. I won’t ever apologize for loving his daughter.
“Not now,” he says interrupting my justification. “I need you thinking about your job. I’ll consider this—complication—over the weekend. Report back to me Monday morning, first thing.”
“Sir,” I say standing.
“Get out of here,” he says, not unkindly, but with a resignation in his voice that something has come between us.
17
Rylie
I end the phone call with my dad and decide I need to take a breather from my mother’s break neck pace. She means well, but I can’t keep up with everything she wants to accomplish in one day. Lunch with friends, shoe-shopping, clothes-shopping, drinks with more friends, more shopping, pilates. She’s also eager to set me up with local men before I have a chance unpack my suitcase.
“Mom, I have to study,” I tell her on more than one occasion.
“You need to take your mind off that guy,” she insists, like she knows what’s going on with me.
“What guy?” I ask her. I never told her about Ethan.
“Your father told me that there was someone,” my mother states as if that settled the fact-of-the-matter.
“He doesn’t know anything about it, or me” I argue.
“But you’re not denying you made a mistake.”
“I guess not,” I reluctantly admit. Realizing that Ethan was in the office when my dad had me on the speakerphone ruined my day worse than it had already been spoiled when my mother announced we had dinner plans. I was going to be forced to meet a yet another couple, the Johnson’s, and their son who had just graduated from Boston U. I’m sure he’s nice but I want nothing to do with men at the moment. I need a break for a month or two. Maybe longer. Like forever.
We finally finish our day of mall-trawling at five-thirty and I am exhausted.
“Mom, I need a nap,” I announce when we get home.
“Okay, but not a long one. Charles will be home in less than an hour, and I want us to have a cocktail before we leave to meet the Johnson's.”
“Hell, mom—”
“You language, Rylie. Is that what being around your dad’s military friends turned you into? A potty mouth?”
“A potty mouth, mother? Am I twelve again?”
“Would I take a twelve-year old shopping and spend four thousand dollars on dresses and shoes?”
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I groan. “Don’t make me feel guilty for going along with your plans.”
“Go take a nap. You’re being very cranky,” she says. “I’ll call for you in an hour.”
At eight pm we’re seated for dinner. The arrangement is awkward, to say the least. Apparently, my mother and her friend Betsy Johnson had hinted at, or rather assured, Betsy’s son, Wayne, that I’m single and looking to date a nice man. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Wayne’s polite and well dressed in a double-breasted suit.
“Hello, Rylie, I’m so pleased to meet your acquaintance,” he says extending his hand formally.
It’s cool and clammy as a turtle’s underbelly. He can’t even maintain eye contact with that soft grip. I’m close to faking an illness and calling for a Lyft. But if I do that, I’ll never hear the end of it.
“Pleased to meet you as well,” I say without any enthusiasm. The last thing I need is for him to think I’m remotely interested.
By the time the salads arrive, I’m lost in imagining Ethan sitting across from me. His filthy dimpled grin promising all sorts of under-table pleasures.
“Rylie…Rylie!”
“Sorry, what?” I look at my mother, and she glares.
“You’re being rude,” she mouths just a little too loud.
“Jet lag,” I explain. “Excuse me, what were you explaining?”
“My Master’s thesis project,” Wayne says. “I was explaining the influence on the exchange rate between the US dollar and the Peso in the early nineteen sixties as caused by the Vietnam War and fluctuation of the price of gold.”
“Oh,” I say. “That’s very interesting.”
“Yes, it’s a fascinating topic and, well, my opinion on the matter is that there had been several secret meetings between Mexican President Luis Echeverría and Richard Nixon, and possibly Gerald Ford, but I’m still trying to retrieve some public records that were only recently made available.”
I stared for a minute trying to decide if I wanted to use the butter knife on him or myself.
“That’s very exciting,” I deadpan. I begin to plot out an immediate exit strategy.
“Excuse me,” I say standing. “I need to use the ladies room. Mother?”
“Yes, dear,” she replies and stands with me.
As we walk to the restrooms, I can’t help but think of Ethan again. He’s also a brilliant guy, but he always kept the minutiae and mundane work factoids to a bare minimum, especially over dinner. I wonder what he’s doing at this very moment? I hate that he decided to go back to his ex-wife, but maybe it was for the best.
I guess he had to make the right decision for Caden.
I can respect that parenting comes first but that doesn’t stop the feeling of being betrayed and hoodwinked. But, thinking now of all the blind dates my mother’s undoubtedly calendared, I’m starting to wish I’d stayed in Hawaii.
“I just started," I tell my mom once we have privacy, "I’m having horrible cramps. I need to go home.”
“You’re being melodramatic,” my new task master says, not falling for the ruse one second. “You’ll freshen up and join us. Do not embarrass me, Rylie.”
“Shit, mom,” I say without thinking, “I wouldn’t mind if you’d set me up with some frat boys who just wanted to drink, but this is torturous.”
At that very moment, Mrs. Johnson walks into the ladies room. Her face turns beet and she pretends like she didn’t hear my complaining.
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
“Oh, yes dear,” my mother says matter-of-factly. “It’s just jetlag and all the time changes. She’ll be okay in a jiffy. Perhaps we’ll order a round of Irish coffee and she’ll perk right up, won’t you dear?”
I think of the last time I had that particular after-dessert dessert and a dreamy smile appears as I recall Ethan feeding me whipped cream.
“Now, there’s a trooper,” my mother says seeing my bliss and completely freaking mis-reading it.
If she only knew.
By the time the drinks are served, I’m depressed again. I try my best to appear attentive and friendly, but after fifteen more minutes listening to Wayne explain how the options market in Chicago caused a minor panic in Mexico City I was ready to scream or order a double shot of tequila. I faked interest for the rest of the evening and somehow managed to noncommit to a dinner engagement with Wayne Johnson at some further mutually agreeable time and date.
A time which for me, could never arrive in a billion eterniti
es.
Finally safe at home, showered and PJ-ed, I slide into bed with a sigh of relief. I flip open my phone and scroll through my texts with Ethan, back at the time we were full of – no don’t think of that four-letter word. You do not love him. You Cannot. I go to swipe closed and – shit. I’m so exhausted I accidentally sent an old text to Ethan.
Good night
Okay that’s all – could have been worse.
A reply pings back instantly
Good night, baby. I miss you so much. We need to talk
Blooper. That was an accident. I don’t want to talk
He immediately sent me another reply but I ignored it.
Any chance of sleep vanishes. My mind returns to the day we hiked to the waterfall. I can almost feel his hands on my body and his mouth on my lips. I scroll through our encounter again, the way he kissed my pussy, they way he fucked me. Pure alpha male. I imagine him grabbing my waist and turning me around against the tree. Driving his throbbing cock into my soft wetness from behind. I picture taking his shaft into my mouth and cupping his balls in my hand.
I toss around, trying to fall asleep by concentrating on nothing at all, but my pussy is aching.
Ethan’s voice echoes in my mind. “Touch yourself. I want to watch you come.”
Damn him all to hell.
He made his decision and now I’m here in Boston, with my mother. I will stop thinking about Ethan, or any other man, and work on passing the bar exam. Then I’ll become a proper attorney and work sixty hours a week and forget about gorgeous pecs, firm asses, strong biceps, and massive, well-veined, bulging cocks. I don’t need to be fucked silly by an alpha male with all the right attachments. I have a friendly bunny, after all, and they never leave you to go back to their exes.
18
Ethan
Frank, my apparently ex friend piles the work high. On Monday morning, the day of the verdict on my punishment, the Lieutenant Colonel points at a massive stack of files.
