Just Drive

by L. A. Witt

  I sighed. “The Navy giveth, and the Navy taketh away.”

  “Yes. Yes, it does.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It most definitely does.”

  And for the hundredth time tonight, I had no idea what to say. He didn’t speak either, and I kept driving.

  A sign caught my eye. Somehow, I’d circled back toward the pier where we’d been heading earlier.

  “Why don’t you go ahead and park up there?” he said. “I could stand to get some fresh air, I think.”

  “Sure.” I parked in front of the weathered driftwood fence at the end of the pier.

  “I think I might go walk for a while.” He unbuckled his seat belt. “You don’t have to wait. I can, um, call another driver.”

  “It’s all right. I’m already here.” I paused. “I can turn off the meter too.”

  His eyebrows rose. “You don’t have to do that.”

  I shrugged. “Seems like you could use a little time to clear your head.” I switched off the meter. “Won’t do you any good if it’s costing you by the minute.”

  My passenger exhaled slowly. “That’s . . . I really appreciate that. Are you sure, though?”

  I nodded. “It’s fine.”

  “Okay. Uh, thanks.” He opened the door, then paused again. “You want to join me?”

  Yes. Yes, I do. I have no idea why, but I do.

  I shook my head, though, and killed the engine. “I’ll stay here. Take as much time as you need.”

  He hesitated again, holding my gaze in the mirror. I thought he might say something else, but all he did was mutter something about being back in a little while, and got out.

  The door shut, and it was just me, the barely audible radio, and my thumping heart. Sweaty hands on the wheel, I watched him walk toward the pier, then out onto it. He stopped a short ways down, at the far edge of a streetlight’s wide circle, and rested his forearms on the railing. He gazed out at something, and I gazed out at him.

  He was impossible to read, especially from this far away, but I could empathize. I knew what overdue breakups were like. Even if they were a long time coming, they still sucked, and there were still pieces to pick up.

  My stomach tightened. I’d been there. God, I’d been there. And the worst part of my last breakup had been being alone. Completely alone. Dad had been deployed. It was back before we’d moved in with his girlfriend, so I’d been holding down the fort by myself. We’d only been in this town a few months by then, and everyone I could talk to had been scattered all over both coasts and various places overseas. I could text, call, email, but at the end of the day I’d been alone, and stayed that way, and I’d hated it.

  I watched my passenger, who still watched something in the distance. Maybe that was why he’d asked me to just drive him around instead of taking him straight home. Maybe it was why he’d invited me to join him while he walked around out there.

  Maybe he knew as well as I did how lonely a guy could be in a town of forty thousand.

  To hell with it.

  I got out of the car, locked it, and started after him.

  From where I stood on that empty wooden pier, the glow of the base was more than visible—it was unavoidable. This part of town was fairly dark, but a few miles up the coast, warm light swelled from behind the hills. Before the base, Anchor Point had probably been one of those places that would get so dark, you could see stars people in major cities didn’t know existed. Not anymore.

  A peninsula stuck out far enough to block any view of the actual base or the brightly lit pier. Fine. I knew it all by heart. The razor-wire-topped fences. The armed sentries patrolling under spotlights that belonged over a prison yard. The ships with their white hull numbers lit up. Rows of drab utilitarian buildings. Slate-gray metal and white painted stripes and stern Restricted Area signs everywhere. All the places where dock workers and Sailors took their smoke breaks. That one stretch between the aircraft carrier and the supply ship where the seagulls were so aggressive, nobody dared walk through with a visible bag from Subway or Burger King. I couldn’t see any of it from here, but it was clear as day in my mind. Six months in that place and I already knew it like the back of my hand.

  Tonight, NAS Adams was the last place I wanted to be. Well, second to last. The Sand Dollar Motel definitely topped the list, at least until Jayson checked out tomorrow and left town, probably never to return.

  Releasing a breath, I shifted my gaze to the water below me. It was barely visible—only a few flecks of light picked out the gently rolling waves as the tide lapped at the pylons—but it was something to look at besides the glow of the base.

  Bases like NAS Adams had been my life for the last twenty-four years. They would be for the next . . . well, until I retired. And for the most part, I was okay with that. I loved the Navy. I loved my job. I’d worked my ass off, and I was proud of where I was.

  But my relationship with Jayson wasn’t the first casualty of my career. An instructor at the Academy had once told me that I was married to the Navy, and anyone else who came along would be one more in a string of mistresses who’d be gone as soon as the novelty wore off. Back then, he’d sounded so cynical and jaded, especially to a cocky teenager with stars in his eyes. Specifically, the embroidered stars on an admiral’s shoulders.

  Twenty-four years, two wedding rings, and too many breakups later, as yet another “mistress” disappeared over the horizon, I decided that instructor might’ve been onto something after all.

  I probably had as much to do with it as the Navy, too. Looking at my track record, a happy, lasting relationship seemed about as attainable as my next rank—I couldn’t make things work with a partner any more than I could apparently persuade the Navy to put me in command of a ship, and without commanding a ship, I could kiss that promotion to admiral good-bye.

  I really am a fucking shipwreck, aren’t I?

  And I decided that walking out of the 7-Eleven without that pack of Marlboros had been a really bad idea. I hadn’t smoked in eight years, but God, I wanted to start again tonight. Just one cigarette. Maybe two. Something to settle my goddamned nerves. Something in my mouth, damn it.

  I could always have the driver take me to Flatstick. Good a time as any to check out the local scenery.

  From what I’d heard, Flatstick had several gay bars, and even though this was a Wednesday night, the places would be packed with single men. Probably wouldn’t take much to find some horny guy to help get my mind off Jayson. Maybe it wasn’t the healthiest outlet, but it was probably better than giving in to that latent nicotine craving. It’d keep my mouth busy too.

  Scrubbing a hand over my face, I sighed. God, I was pathetic.

  Well, at least it was over. Jayson and I weren’t playing chicken anymore. After too many months, he’d finally blinked, and after a short, painful conversation, we’d wished each other the best, shared a long hug—I hadn’t dared kiss him or I’d never have made it out the door—and now we could get on with our lives. God knew I had enough practice at moving on after shit like this. I should’ve been good at it by now.

  And I supposed I was. Especially since I’d seen this coming a mile away. If anything, I was just getting used to the idea that the inevitable had finally happened, and after months of anticipating, obsessing, losing sleep, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself.

  All I needed to do was suck it up, maybe go out and get laid, and get over it. Then I could get on—

  Footsteps snapped me out of my thoughts.

  I turned my head as the streetlight illuminated my cab driver. My pulse jumped. “Oh. Hey.” I glanced at my watch. “Did you need to—”

  “I decided to take you up on the offer.” He slipped his hands into his pockets and avoided my eyes. “If it’s still open, I mean. To join you.”

  Pretending my heart hadn’t shifted into overdrive, I nodded. “Yeah. Sure.” I cleared my throat and mirrored him, putting my hands in my own pockets as I faced him. “You don’t mind wandering around with a stran
ger?”

  He chuckled, which did weird things to my blood pressure. “I like walking on the wild side sometimes.”

  “Can’t promise it’ll be all that wild, hanging around with an old guy who needs some fresh air.”

  He gave me a quick and almost subtle down-up. With a shrug, he said, “More exciting than letting the radio put me to sleep in the car.”

  I laughed. “Fair enough.”

  We stood in silence for a moment. Then I gestured toward the end of the pier, and we started walking.

  It was kind of weird to be out here with no one else in sight. During the day, especially during the summer, this pier would be teeming with people. It reminded me a little of Santa Monica. Or at least, a place that desperately wanted to be Santa Monica. It was half carnival, half beach, with people fishing, boating, playing fairway games, drinking. The smell of seawater would be almost completely masked by the heavy scents of funnel cakes, popcorn, and elephant ears.

  Tonight, though, it was just us. Just me and this cab driver who didn’t seem to mind strolling along a deserted pier with some idiot he’d picked up from a hotel. Up ahead, I thought I saw the vague shadow of someone fishing over the railing. There were some muffled voices in the distance too, though I couldn’t tell if they were coming from farther down the pier or back on land. But for the most part, it was us, the smell of the ocean, and the gentle sloshing of the tide.

  We moved between light and shadow, in and out of the milky beams of overhead streetlights. In some places, I couldn’t even see the boards beneath our feet. A few steps later, everything was visible, from the rusty bolts holding it all together to the spackle of seagull shit and petrified chewing gum that foot traffic had pounded down into the aging wood.

  About halfway down the pier, the driver slowed a little and took in a deep breath through his nose. “Man, I love it down here. Especially when it’s practically empty.”

  “Yeah, it’s nice.” No Sailors, no ships—what wasn’t to love? “You come here a lot?”

  “Yeah.” He stared up ahead at the light-shadow-light of the empty pier. “My ex loved this place.” He paused, swallowed, and added in a barely audible whisper, “This was always his favorite spot to fish.”

  He turned slightly, as if glancing at me to see if I’d caught that pronoun.

  Oh, yes. I caught it. Don’t you worry.

  Blood pounded in my ears. Maybe he didn’t need to drive me down to Flatstick after all.

  I shook myself and shoved that thought out of my mind. He was probably half my age, and even if he had taken me up on my offer to join me out here, that didn’t mean he wanted to hook up. I was being an idiot. A desperate, freshly dumped idiot who couldn’t tell a nicotine craving from a hard-on, and would probably be better off picking up a pack of Marlboros before going home to feel sorry for myself while I let him get on with his shift.

  Though as we strolled down the pier and I stole a few glances at him, I had to admit he was walking temptation if I’d ever seen it. His jaw had a fine dusting of five-o’clock shadow, and every time his dark eyes darted my way, my whole body tingled. As soon as I’d snapped out of my haze in the car and actually looked at him, I’d noticed his dyed-black hair, but now the streetlights picked out some cobalt highlights. Why did that make my body temperature rise? Wild colors didn’t usually do it for me, but something about the blue and black was perfect on him.

  He was a little shorter than me, and from his straight back and set shoulders, he was no stranger to the gym. The thought of him lifting made my knees weak.

  Anytime you need a spotter, do give me a call.

  I shook myself again. What the hell? He was a kid, for god’s sake. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, and I doubted he was even that old. Unbearably hot? Absolutely. Someone I had any business checking out? Not even a little.

  And I knew damn well it wasn’t him screwing with my senses. He was gorgeous, but I knew me, and I knew why I was looking at him this way. I had half a mind to go back to the car and tell him to take me to Flatstick. Grieving a relationship happened in very predictable stages for me, and I was already past the first stage: berating myself for whatever I’d done to screw things up. Not an hour later, I was well into stage two: needing to get screwed until I couldn’t think and couldn’t walk. Hell, I’d already reinstalled Grindr while in the backseat of the cab. A little effort and a few messages, and I could be on my way into another man’s bed before too long.

  But I stayed out here on this pier with the cute young cab driver who’d declined, then accepted, my offer to join me.

  That didn’t mean it was his bed I should be trying to get into, though. He was working, not clubbing or prowling around in search of another desperate, horny guy like I was.

  He slowed his gait again and glanced at me. “So, um. I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Paul. Yours?”

  “Sean.” Silence tried to work its way in again, but he cleared his throat. “I guess there are worse places to hang out when you’re having a rough night, right?” He cringed, grimacing like the words had sounded better in his head than in the air.

  “Well, it’s either this or a bar.” I shrugged. “And I didn’t really feel like drinking tonight.”

  “Yeah, that’s what you said. About not wanting to feel like shit tomorrow.”

  “No shittier than I already do,” I muttered.

  “Sorry to hear it.”

  “Eh, it is what it is.” I fixed my gaze on the water. What I could see of it, anyway. “Long-distance relationships are hard. You spend most of your time wishing you were together, and then when you are together, you spend the whole time dreading the day he has to leave. Without any light at the end of the tunnel, knowing you might have to move and end up even farther apart makes it really hard.” I paused, realizing a little too late that I’d been running off at the mouth. “I’m sorry. You . . . probably didn’t come out here to—”

  “It’s okay.” He glanced at me, and his shy smile settled my nerves. “I’ve been there. I get it.”

  “Really?”

  Sean nodded. “Yeah. I was dating a guy when I moved here last year.” Sighing, he looked out at the water. “That was over in a hurry.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. But like you said—it is what it is.” He rolled his shoulders beneath his jacket. “Probably wouldn’t have lasted much longer anyway.” He didn’t sound bitter or angry. A little resigned, maybe, but not like it was a raw nerve or an open wound. “Long-distance relationships can work, but they’re fucking hard.”

  “They really are.” I paused. “It’s a shame yours didn’t work out.”

  “Nah.” He gestured dismissively and kept his gaze fixed on the dark water. “It probably sped up the inevitable. Me coming out here, I mean.”

  I nodded. “Sometimes it does.” I exhaled. “I, uh . . . Sorry to be a bit of a downer.”

  “No, it’s okay.” He turned toward me, and his faint, shy smile made my breath catch. “Seemed like you could use some company. So . . .”

  I swallowed, facing forward again. “Much appreciated. Kind of, um, seems like going above and beyond for your customers. I hope I’m not asking too—”

  “No, not at all. Not, um . . . not at all.”

  We exchanged glances, then kept walking in silence.

  After a while, we stopped by the railing. I wasn’t even sure why. Or who initiated it. We just . . . stopped. For a minute or two, neither of us said anything. I couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t sound weird, stupid, or plain old desperate, and I was somewhat afraid that if I opened my mouth, something really awkward would tumble out. Something to the effect of I could definitely use some company or I’m pretty sure that motel still has rooms available. I didn’t even know if it was him, or if it was my near-desperate need to fuck Jayson out of my system.

  As subtly as I could, I looked him up and down in the blanched light. Yeah, he would definitely be on my radar even if I hadn’t
been dumped tonight. A little young for anything more than a roll in the hay—what the hell would a good-looking twentysomething want with a cynical burnt-out bastard in his forties?—but attractive as fuck, especially now that I knew we played for the same team.

  Seemingly oblivious to how much work it was taking for me to not hit on him, Sean folded his arms on the railing and leaned over them. “By the way, I hope I wasn’t out of line earlier. Thinking you’d gone in for a drink instead of . . .”

  I laughed. “No, it’s okay. I thought about it, actually.”

  “Okay. I . . .” He sighed, shaking his head. “Sometimes the mouth moves before the brain does.”

  “I’d like to tell you that gets better with age, but if I’m any indication, it doesn’t.”

  Sean chuckled and turned to me, the overhead light catching his eyes and sending a tingle up my spine. “So if I don’t have an internal censor now, I don’t have to have one?”

  “Well, I don’t know if I’d advise against trying to develop one, but don’t hold your breath.”

  He laughed again. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He held my gaze, and I wasn’t sure I could’ve looked away if I’d wanted to. Mostly because I didn’t want to, so it was kind of a moot point. Jesus, he had beautiful eyes. And humor had quirked his lips in a way that made me wonder—

  I cleared my throat and looked out at the water. Beside me, he shifted, but I didn’t dare glance at him because those comments about company and motel vacancies were back at the tip of my tongue.

  Sean drummed his fingers on the railing. “So have—”

  “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

  We spun around, and my heart dropped into my feet. The glint of light off a badge sent that all too familiar panic through me—getting caught out with a man was bad, bad, career-threatening bad.

  Except we weren’t doing anything. Literally just walking and talking.

  “Can we, uh, help you, Officer?” I asked.

  The cop gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “You’re on private property. I’m gonna need you to leave.”