Just Drive

by L. A. Witt

  Sean laughed. “Really?”

  I nodded. “My squadron never let me hear the end of it either, the fucking bastards. I kind of deserved it, though.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because I always gave them shit for getting sick in the air, especially in flight school. I could handle a hell of a lot more than they did. The boat, though? That was my fucking downfall.”

  “Guess karma is shaped like an aircraft carrier sometimes.”

  I laughed. “It so is.”

  “Looks like you’ve gotten used to it, though.”

  “Finally,” I muttered.

  I steered us south, and Anchor Point faded behind us. Off the next few miles of coast, there were some small but deep coves where a boat could slip in and drop anchor without being visible from the open sea. Some of them were even far enough from the highway to be hidden from the view of passing cars if we decided to stop for more than lunch.

  As I drove the boat, I stole a few surreptitious glances at Sean. It was hard not to—he was amazingly attractive, and sometimes I couldn’t fathom what in the world he saw in me.

  His sunglasses covered his eyes, and a hint of sunburn lit up his cheekbones. It was especially noticeable since he’d just dyed his hair again a couple of days ago. The blue had been fading recently, but now it was the same rich cobalt it had been when we’d started dating, and the black was black. It was the reason for the faint stains between my fingers—they’d tripped me out the first few times, but eventually, I’d figured out they were a result of running my fingers through Sean’s recently dyed hair, especially when it was wet. Which it often was, since we took a lot of showers together.

  It wasn’t like this was the first time I’d ever been near him, or I’d ever seen him, or he’d ever busted me stealing a glance at him. But every time, my body reacted like it was the first time.

  No. Not even like it was the first time. Like the effect he had on me was cumulative. Snowballing. Getting more intense every single time our eyes met or our fingers brushed.

  And I was staring again.

  I cleared my throat. “Hey, um, I could stand to eat. You?”

  “Hell yeah.” He gestured at the ladder leading down to the cabin. “Want me to get the cooler?”

  “Yes, please.” While he went down the ladder, I nosed the boat into one of the coves.

  Minutes later, we were relaxing on the deck in a pair of deck chairs with a couple of sandwiches and some cold beers.

  I clinked my beer can against his. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers.”

  As I took a drink, he arched an eyebrow above his sunglasses. “Should you be drinking and boating?”

  “I’m in the Navy, Sean.” I rolled my eyes. “If one beer is enough to intoxicate me—”

  A laugh burst out of him, and he nodded. “Okay, okay. Point taken.” He looked around the boat. “So do you fish when you come out here?”

  “Not really. Fishing never appealed to me.”

  “Boring?”

  “Boring and not much return. When they start putting precleaned, prebreaded fish down there, we’ll talk.”

  Sean chuckled. “Breaded fish might get a little soggy in the water.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Yeah, that does sound pretty gross. So, no fishing.”

  “No fishing.” He took a sip of beer. Balancing the can on his knee, he thumbed the tab. “So I thought you joined the Navy to fly. You seem to like being on the water just fine now. Did you have the change of heart before or after the . . . that time you talked about?”

  “After.” I looked out over the water as a familiar prickle wandered up my spine. “Once a pilot, always a pilot, I guess. I told you we’re all crazy. We also all need to steer something besides a car once in a while.”

  Sean grimaced. “You miss it? Flying, I mean—not the landings.”

  “Sometimes.” I gazed up at the sky. “There’s really nothing like it.” In my mind’s eye, I could see clouds whipping past, and maybe it was just the boat gently rocking, but I swore I could feel the G-forces of a barrel roll or a dive. The white-striped black flight deck flashed through my mind, just the way I’d seen it through the windscreen on that last approach.

  Shaking myself, I turned to Sean. “I had my fun. I also had some near misses, lost a couple of good friends out there, and almost lost several more. So I’m okay with having my feet on the ground from here on out.”

  “When you put it like that, I can see why.” He played with the tab with his thumbnail, punctuating the silence with a tink-tink-tink. “Still seems like it’d be hard to quit. After you wanted to do it for so long, I mean.”

  “In a way, it was.” I took a deep swallow of beer, then set the can in the cupholder. “To be honest, I was relieved when they grounded me. No way in hell would I admit it out loud, but after a landing like that, I was afraid to go back up. My confidence was trashed. I’d landed on a carrier hundreds of times, but I was terrified if I tried again, I’d choke and get us both killed. Or even if I didn’t choke, the next crash wouldn’t be as gentle.”

  He shuddered. So did I.

  Shifting in his chair, he asked, “After something like that, you must have . . . like . . .”

  “PTSD?”

  Sean nodded.

  I rolled my shoulders to hide a shiver. “You better believe it.”

  We didn’t say much for a while. I finished my beer and dropped the can in the recycling bag. As I pulled a fresh one from the cooler, I offered him one, but he was still working on his first.

  I popped the tab and sat back. Gaze fixed on the horizon, I said, “It’s so weird I think there's a lot of people in the military with some form of PTSD. Especially since 2003. Even if they’ve never been in combat, there’s always something to fuck you up. For me, I did two combat tours, got shot at, dropped bombs . . . and the only flashbacks I ever have are from trying to land during a training exercise.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Do you get flashbacks very often?”

  “Not so much anymore. Last time it happened was after I had to stop suddenly in the car—apparently a near miss on the road is a trigger.” I shifted and willed the queasy feeling in my stomach to go away. “But I can sleep now. I could probably even fly. I’d just . . . I’d rather not.”

  Sean nodded again. “Totally makes sense.”

  I exhaled. “You know, I’ve never told anyone about this before.”

  “Really?”

  Shaking my head, I looked out at the water. “Not something one pilot’s going to admit to another.”

  More silence. Shit. We’d come out here to enjoy an afternoon on the water, not go down the rabbit hole of why I didn’t fly anymore. That line of thought could ruin an entire night of sleep—I didn’t dream about it as much as I used to, but it happened sometimes—and I wasn’t about to let it ruin today.

  “You know, this is one of my favorite parts of being out on a boat like this.” I slid my hand up his inner thigh. “Completely out in the open, and completely private at the same time.”

  “Yeah.” He grinned, rolling his shoulders as if relieved by the subject change, and put his hand over my arm. “Out here, we could almost fake it like we’re actually dating.”

  I met his gaze. “Who says we’re faking it?”

  “Are we?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He moistened his lips and inched his chair closer to mine. “Well, maybe we’ll just have to sneak off like this a few times until we know for sure.”

  “I like that plan.” I leaned toward him. “Might take more than a few times. You know, since we have a habit of not coming up for air.”

  Sean laughed, eyes flicking toward my lips before looking right into mine again. “Either way, it sounds like fun.”

  “Does it?”

  He tilted his head, and right before he kissed me, he said, “Sounds like a hell of a good time.”

  After a couple of orgasms apiece, we’d settled back on the deck chai
rs again, wearing nothing but swimming trunks and blissed-out grins. Sean was working on his second beer, and I opened a can of Coke for myself—better to go easy on the beer when I was at the helm.

  He absently ran his thumb along the side of my hand, oblivious to the invisible sparks he sent crackling along my nerve endings, and we soaked up the sun and the gentle breeze. Neither of us spoke for a long time. I was enjoying the hell out of the afternoon, but then I glanced at him and realized he was . . . distant. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, but he seemed to be looking right through it. Above his sunglasses, his brow was taut.

  “Hey.” I squeezed his arm. “Earth to Sean?”

  He shook himself, then turned to me, and a faint smile materialized. “Sorry. What?”

  The smile seemed forced and made me uneasy. I sat up a little. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Yeah.” He sat up too, rolling some tension out of his shoulders before he set his beer can in the cupholder.

  My stomach knotted. This was the closest thing to an actual date we’d ever had, and if he was distant and uncomfortable, that didn’t bode well for things going forward. Especially since we were two hours from the marina—that could be a long, awkward ride back if things went to shit. “Is, um, everything all right?”

  Sean nodded. He took off his sunglasses and met my gaze. “I was thinking about what you said earlier. About the military and PTSD.”

  “Oh.” Hadn’t seen that one coming. And I didn’t want to be relieved by it—PTSD was fucking brutal—but admittedly, I was, if only because I’d expected things to suddenly go downhill between us. “So, what about it?”

  “I guess I was just thinking you’re right about everyone involved with the military having it to some extent. Like nobody gets out unscathed anymore, you know?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. It’s not for the faint of heart.”

  “No, it isn’t.” His voice had a weirdly hollow, haunted sound to it.

  I studied him. “You sound like you’ve got some experience.”

  “Some.” He gave a slight nod. “My dad’s been kind of fucked up since his last combat tour.”

  “Damn. Sorry to hear it.” Wait. Your dad is—

  “Kind of comes with the territory, I think,” he said sadly. “He’s doing better. A lot better. That first year, though . . .” He swallowed. “It was really bad.”

  I put a hand on his knee. “It isn’t just the veterans who are affected. I know some spouses and kids who are traumatized by . . . I guess it’s secondhand trauma? Trying to live with someone with serious PTSD?”

  Gaze once again fixed on something in the distance, Sean nodded. “I don’t know if I’d call what happens to us PTSD. Maybe it is. I don’t know. But it definitely affected me.”

  “Of course it did.” I squeezed his leg. “If it didn’t, I’d say there was something really wrong.”

  He pursed his lips and nodded.

  “He’s doing better, though, right?”

  “Yeah. Yeah.” Sean exhaled. “Way better.”

  “Good.” I gnawed the inside of my cheek. I hadn’t realized before that his father was military, and now he had me worried about a few things. “So, your dad—is he still in?”

  He nodded and gestured vaguely toward Anchor Point. “That’s why we’re here. He’s stationed on Adams.”

  My blood turned cold and my spine straightened. “I beg your pardon?”

  Sean shrugged. “He’s stationed here. Why?”

  Oh. Fuck.

  Before I could speak, Sean tensed. “Oh God. You don’t work with him, do you?”

  “Actually . . .” I grimaced. “I can say with absolute certainty that he works for me.”

  Sean’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. “How do you know?”

  I shifted my gaze out to the sea. “Because everyone on NAS Adams works for me.”

  “You— Oh shit. You’re joking, right?”

  I shook my head and still didn’t look at him.

  Sean rose. He leaned over his hands on the railing and swore into the wind. “Shit.”

  “That’s about the size of it.” I combed my fingers through my hair. What could I even say?

  “Damn it!” He smacked his palm on the railing. “So all the times we’ve talked, it never once occurred to you to tell me you’re the base CO?”

  I wasn’t sure if I was more startled or annoyed. “You never asked. You knew I was Navy and I’m an officer, so—”

  “You’re . . .” Sean deflated and looked out at the water again. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” I started to reach for him, intending to put a hand on the small of his back, but withdrew it. With this new revelation still hanging in the air between us, I was sure if I so much as touched him, we’d suddenly be busted and my career would be done. Less than an hour ago, we’d been below decks, blissfully sixty-nining on the narrow bed, and now I couldn’t even bring myself to put a reassuring hand on him.

  Drumming my nails on the railing, I said, “You do realize what this means, right?”

  Sean flinched, shoulders sagging a little more, and he sighed. “It means we can’t keep doing this.”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry. I—”

  “Don’t.” He put up a hand and shook his head. “It is what it is. Let’s . . .” He glanced over his shoulder toward Anchor Point. “Let’s just go back in.”

  “Good idea.”

  Minutes later, we were on our way out of the cove.

  And I was right about one thing—it was a long, awkward ride back to the marina.

  I’d never been so relieved to see the waterfront of Anchor Point. Soon, we’d be back at the marina and I could get off this boat. I was seriously tempted to dive in and fucking swim at this point.

  I wasn’t angry at Paul, but I’d have been lying if I said I wasn’t angry at the situation. How many relationships and friendships had been casualties of my dad’s Navy career? Too fucking many. And now this one. Yay.

  But it wasn’t like Paul and I had been seriously dating or anything. And the cards were pretty well stacked against us. Even if Paul hadn’t been my dad’s boss, he had twenty-plus years on me. Yet another thing we’d never told each other—our ages. So really, this wasn’t even a relationship. Just sex with a few conversations to tide us over until we could get hard again.

  Plus, he’d recently split up with somebody. So this was a good thing. We could both move on, and I could find someone my own age. A civilian my own age, too.

  I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he drove us toward the marina. My heart sank. Midlife crisis, rebound, crazy fling—whatever we called it, I couldn’t deny that it had been awesome. Damn him for raising the bar!

  Cursing under my breath, I looked out at the town again, trying to mentally pull the shore closer so we could get off this boat sooner. Then, once I’d made my escape, I could go drive for a few hours and ask the open road why the hell this hurt so much.

  Hurts? It was sex. What the fuck?

  After what seemed like days, Paul parked the boat in the slip and turned off the engine. Once the lines were secured, we faced each other.

  “Well.” He swallowed. “I, uh . . .”

  “I should go,” I whispered.

  He nodded. So did I.

  My feet wouldn’t move, though. And I couldn’t make myself look away from him. I had to leave, and this had to be the last time we saw each other, and it probably wasn’t a good idea to spend even one second making sure I had him committed to memory. What the hell was the point of tracing every last line of his face, or noticing for the first time that he had slightly more gray on his left temple than the right?

  I shook myself and stared down at the deck beneath our feet. That was probably less likely to drive me insane than drinking in the way his snug blue T-shirt sat on his shoulders or the way the muscles in his forearm moved when he drummed his long fingers on the railing.

  You’re an idiot. You know that, right?

  My
stomach tried to fold in on itself. “Isn’t much else to say, is there?”

  He sighed, shaking his head. “No.”

  I gnawed the inside of my cheek. “I should, uh . . . I really should go, then. No point in dragging this out.”

  “No, there isn’t.”

  Our eyes locked. We had every reason to get the fuck out of here and stay the fuck away from each other, but neither of us was moving.

  Why are we still here?

  His eyes didn’t offer mine an answer. Not a good one, anyway. Or if they did, I was too busy getting drunk off his beautiful blue—

  I really need to go.

  I moistened my dry lips. “Do you want me to go?”

  Paul shifted his weight. “I’m pretty sure you know the answer to that.”

  “Humor me.”

  Another shift, and his gaze darted to the deck between us. “What I need you to do is go. But what I want is . . . I really want you to . . .”

  Heart in my throat, I took a step closer.

  Paul straightened. His Adam’s apple jumped, and his eyes flicked up to meet mine.

  “That what you want?” I asked.

  Slowly, he nodded. “Definitely on the right track, yeah.”

  My heart slammed against my ribs, and even though I should’ve been heading for the door, I took another step. “You know this isn’t a good idea, right?”

  “It’s not a good idea.” He closed the last bit of distance and put his hands on my sides. “Probably a really bad idea, actually.”

  “Mm-hmm.” I leaned in and let my hips brush his. “Definitely a bad idea.”

  His fingers curled just enough to coax me toward him. “I mean, if someone were to find out . . .”

  “The consequences would be . . .”

  “Unpleasant.”

  “Yeah.”

  Oh God. His lips were almost touching mine now. Kiss me.

  We hovered there, not kissing yet but close enough we could have. My heart pounded. The thought of not touching him again didn’t compute, and the prospect of touching him and getting carried away was equal parts tempting and terrifying. We couldn’t. We had to walk away from this now.

  But Jesus Christ, I want—

  Paul abruptly stepped back. He said something I couldn’t hear—cursing, no doubt—and scrubbed a hand over his face.