by L. A. Witt
Tonight, as I sat in the car and dreaded going inside, I wished he had been more of an asshole about my past boyfriends. I wished he’d interfered, voiced his disapproval, forbidden me from seeing people. Then I’d have a reason to be pissed at him for stepping in between me and Paul.
But I’d been lucky as hell to have a dad who let me make my own mistakes, and so I had absolutely zero leverage to be angry at him now, the one time he spoke up about my choice.
Well, idiot. What did you think was going to happen?
I cursed again, yanked my keys out of the ignition, and got out of the car.
One of the downstairs lights was on, but that wasn’t unusual—they always left a light on for me when I was out late.
It wasn’t just a light, though. In the kitchen, Dad was waiting. Neither of us said a word as I hung up my keys, but I knew better than to assume I was free to walk out.
Fine. Fine. Let’s do this and be done with it.
Jaw clenched, I turned to him.
He was leaning against the counter, arms folded across his T-shirt. “Where have you been?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Does it matter?”
“Kind of, yeah.” He tightened his arms and glared back at me. “Were you with Captain Richards?”
“I went to talk to him, if that’s all right.” Through my teeth, I added, “Apparently you already did, though.”
“Yeah. I did. I—”
“You couldn’t even give me a chance to handle it?” I snapped. “You had to go—”
“What did you want me to do? Believe it or not, you’re not the only one affected by this.”
“You could have at least let me talk to him and call it off.”
“Did you?”
“Yes!” I exhaled hard. “I told you I would, so I did.”
“Good. And I hope this is the last time we—”
“Dad.” I put up my hands. “Don’t. Please. Just . . . don’t.”
His expression hardened. “I think I have a vested interest in—”
“We’re not seeing each other anymore, okay? I get it. And I get why.” I rolled my shoulders, wondering when they’d started getting so tense. “Can we leave it alone?”
He scowled, but then shrugged. “Fine. But so help me, God, if I hear even a rumor about the two of you—”
“You won’t. It’s done.” My voice threatened to break, but whatever. “It’s done, okay?”
He watched me for a moment. Finally, he gave a slight nod. “All right.”
Good enough. I broke eye contact and walked out, and Dad didn’t try to stop me.
Upstairs, I lay back on my bed and stared up at the ceiling.
It was so weird how my dad treated me like an adult most of the time, but the second we butted heads over something, I was suddenly a child and he was suddenly Dad again. And it didn’t matter that I knew he was right this time. That I’d known before he did that I shouldn’t have been involved with Paul.
He was mad, he was right, I felt two inches tall, and the humiliation was excruciating.
“I can’t see you because of my dad. Sorry.”
I groaned, scrubbing my hands over my face.
The humiliation wasn’t even the worst part. Turned out walking away didn’t get any easier. One thing was for sure—Paul was going to be one tough act to follow.
But we had to stop. Not because we were incompatible. Not because of our age gap.
Because of the Navy.
Always because of the fucking Navy.
The ice in my drink had mostly melted. The glass was sweating, condensation pooling at its base on the coffee table.
I hadn’t touched it.
I wasn’t even sure why I’d made it. Or how. Sometime after Sean had left, after the sound of his car had faded into the distance, I’d checked out of the motel and driven back to my big, empty house on base. Walked in the door, opened up a bottle of bourbon, and poured it over some ice. Was the bottle still out on the counter? Probably. I didn’t bother looking. I just sat there on the couch and stared at the glass and the ice and the tiny puddle.
The frozen peas had long since thawed. They were in a heap next to my drink because I couldn’t muster up the energy to take them back into the kitchen and toss them in the freezer. They hadn’t done a bit of good, either. The stiffness in my neck had grabbed on to my shoulder, and I didn’t need a crystal ball to know this was going to be a miserable night.
It would’ve been miserable even without a stiff neck, though. The booze wasn’t helping. The frozen peas weren’t helping. The triple dose of Motrin wasn’t helping.
What I needed was Sean, and he wasn’t here, and I didn’t know what the fuck to do with myself.
I could keep a cool head under pressure. Sure, I might’ve done some shaky chain-smoking in the aftermath, especially after a firefight or a shipboard crisis. I’d spent plenty of nights lying awake and replaying every command and every decision, searching for any mistakes I might’ve made. But in the moment, when the bullets were flying or the shit was hitting the fan, I had it together. Always did.
Relationships, though—that was where I always fucked up. The one place where I let emotions take over and made rational thought sleep on the couch, and it always bit me in the ass. Always. Why had I thought this would be any different? Hell, I’d known this would blow up in my face sooner or later. I just hadn’t expected it to hurt this much.
I picked up the drink and took a watered-down swig of bourbon. It still didn’t do a damned bit of good. I hadn’t expected it to. And the cigarette I was craving would help like water would help a drowning man, but that didn’t stop me from eyeballing my keys and wondering if I should give up and go get a pack of Marlboros. The Exchange was closed by now, but the Shopette was open. Five minutes down the road, and I could have a cigarette.
I shook my head, banishing that thought. Drinking, smoking, feeling sorry for myself: none of it was going to bring Sean back. That reality, though—realizing he was gone and there was nothing I could do about it—only made me want to dive as deep as I could into a bottle, a pack of Marlboros, and a goddamned pity party.
It was probably a good thing I didn’t fly anymore. Most of my “What the fuck were you doing up there, Richards?” moments in my CO’s offices had appeared to be nothing more than a hothead pilot and his RIO doing stupid reckless shit in a billion-dollar toy. No one but me needed to know that nearly all of those incidents had been hot on the heels of a bitter breakup or a nasty fight. It was a miracle I didn’t get grounded during my second marriage—every time Tina and I fought, I’d taken it out on my jet, usually in some way that pushed the sound barrier and challenged the laws of physics.
These days, I didn’t have access to Super Hornet therapy at Mach 1, so it was a choice between chemicals that would be as helpful as ejecting before takeoff.
Losing Jayson had been hard. If anything, I’d felt defeated. We’d tried to make it work, and we’d failed, and we’d thrown in the towel long after we should have. It was a relief and a disappointment at the same time.
But nothing about walking away from Jayson had hurt like watching Sean walk out tonight. This was all wrong. There’d been none of the fighting, bitterness, name-calling, door-slamming, and cold-shouldering that led up to every breakup I’d ever had. People didn’t just . . . leave.
Except he couldn’t stay. When he said he had to go, I didn’t stop him because he was absolutely right. We’d both known it from the moment we realized his father worked for me, and no amount of flying under the radar was going to change anything. The best-case scenario was one or both of us getting tired of the secrecy. The worst case . . . well, it didn’t get much worse than twenty-four years of work down the shitter.
So Sean had wisely called time. I could be angry with him all I wanted for calling this thing off, but the truth was he hadn’t had a choice. If anyone deserved to be angry, it was him. Especially since I’d poured salt in the wound before we’d even reached this poin
t. Knowing full well this would blow up in our faces eventually, I’d told him I loved him. I’d meant it. I still did. How much harder had that made it for him to leave tonight? I could only imagine.
But he’d still done it. I exhaled, staring up at the ceiling. One thing was for sure—Sean was a hell of a lot stronger than I was.
I leaned forward, rubbing my neck and shoulder. I dug my fingers in until my eyes watered. At first, I told myself I was trying to loosen up the tension, but I gave up on that before long. I focused hard on the pain. I concentrated on it. Obsessed over every twinge and spasm. If I could’ve counted the affected muscle fibers, I would have. Anything to keep my mind off Sean.
It figured that this one time, the pain wasn’t enough to hold my attention. Normally, I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. This time . . . well, I wasn’t surprised. Sean hurt a hell of a lot more than an ancient career-derailing injury.
I didn’t even want a cigarette. Smoking meant breathing, and even that hurt right now.
What did you think would happen?
He’s a senior chief’s son. He’s half your age. He’s . . .
Amazing. Sweet. Fun.
Gone.
He’s gone.
I covered my face with both hands. I’d said good-bye to too many people in my life to be this lost right now. Did this happen every time, and I only remembered it with less intensity? Did it always seem so much worse in the moment than in hindsight?
No, I distinctly remembered walking away from Jayson. Especially since I’d walked out of his room and right into Sean’s car. And besides, that had been a necessary breakup.
So is this one.
My eyes stung. It was a necessary breakup, but that didn’t make it easier to swallow.
And wallowing in this wasn’t going to bring him back. Nothing would. It was over because it had to be. But I was allowed one night of self-pity, wasn’t I? Self-pity wouldn’t change anything, but neither would stoicism.
It hurt, so I let it.
There was nothing else I could do, so I gave in.
I let myself break.
And cried.
My dad’s footsteps in the hallway raised my hackles. As I shoved a few T-shirts into my bag, I telepathically begged him to keep walking.
He didn’t.
He stopped, and my neck prickled. Neither of us made a sound, but I knew he was there. My stomach somersaulted. I had hoped to get my shit together and get out quietly, but he’d gotten home a little while ago. He’d talked to Julie for a few minutes. Then he’d come up here.
Now, he was in the open doorway of my bedroom, and nothing made me feel more like a kid than my dad lurking outside the door with an uncomfortable topic hanging in the air. He’d already put me in my place once today.
Just let me leave, okay?
I can’t breathe. I can’t live my own life because of what you need to live yours.
Just . . . let me go. Please?
Dad finally spoke. “Where are you going?”
“I called a friend from class.” I grabbed wallet and keys off the nightstand and put them next to my bag. “He’s going to let me crash on his couch until I figure it out.”
Dad was quiet for a while. “Do you need anything?”
I froze, then turned around. He was still in his uniform, gold anchors gleaming on the blue camouflage lapels. His feet were right at the seam between the hallway carpet and my bedroom, something he’d always done when I was a teenager and he wanted to talk without invading my space. I couldn’t even explain why, but that infuriated me this time.
I hooked my thumbs in my pockets. “What?”
He moistened his lips. “Do you need anything? Money? Or—”
“I’m fine. I’ve got some money from work.” Never mind that I had a car payment due and insurance coming up, or that even with Dad’s GI Bill, I still had to cough up some money for school. And if I had to work enough hours that I couldn’t go to school full-time, then I was fucked out of military healthcare, which meant I’d need to get on the ACA, which would mean even more money.
Still, I didn’t want his money. It probably wasn’t my most mature moment, but I couldn’t stomach the idea of taking anything more from him. Relying on him into my twenties was what had put me in this mess. If I’d been on my own two feet and out from under dependent status, Paul and I could have . . .
No, we couldn’t have.
Well, it didn’t matter. I wasn’t and we couldn’t and we weren’t.
“Are you in a hurry?” Dad asked.
Like you wouldn’t believe.
I swallowed hard and met his eyes. “Why?”
He folded his arms loosely across his chest and pressed his shoulder against the doorframe. “Can we talk for a minute?”
I played with the zipper on my bag. “What about?”
“You and Captain Richards.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and forced out a breath. “His name is Paul.”
“Okay.” The doorframe creaked a little, so he must’ve been shifting his weight. “You and . . . you and Paul.”
“What is there to talk about? It’s over.”
“I think we both know you don’t want it to be.”
“Of course I don’t.” I shook my head. “But that doesn’t change anything.”
“It doesn’t mean you can’t—”
“Just stop, okay?” I faced him again, looked him in the eye, but it was hard. “There’s nothing to talk about. Can we not?”
His lips pulled tight.
“Look,” I said. “I get it. I know why I can’t see him. But the thing is, I’ve lived my entire life according to the rules of your career. And I can’t do that anymore.” He opened his mouth to speak, but I was afraid anything he said might break me down, so I kept going. “I don’t have a single long-term friendship because we were never in one place long enough. I’ve known literally all of my friends through social media longer than I’ve known any of them in real life. Any relationship I’ve ever had that didn’t fizzle out on its own ended because we moved.” I swallowed, forcing back the lump in my throat. “I just can’t do it anymore. I’m tired of giving up everyone and everything that makes me happy because of your career. I need to figure out how to live my own life.”
That was all I had, so I stopped. Sooner or later, I was going to have to let him say his piece, so I waited, and tried like hell not to let him see that my hands were shaking.
Dad stared at me. I thought he might lash out—in a weird way, I kind of hoped he would—but he didn’t. He didn’t do or say anything for the longest time.
Why aren’t you getting pissed?
And why can’t I stop shaking?
Dad let out a long breath. “I’m sorry, Sean. For everything.”
In an instant, the pain in my chest turned to pure white fury.
“Sorry?” I snapped. “Fuck you, Dad.”
He blinked. “I beg your—”
“You’re not sorry. This career is what you’ve always wanted, and you knew I’d be along for the ride. Sorry doesn’t give me back my childhood, all the friends I’ve had to leave behind, or my parents’ marriage, and it sure as fuck doesn’t give me back the first person I’ve ever felt this way for. You can—”
“I get it, Sean,” he said through gritted teeth.
“No, you don’t. You think you do, but you don’t. All those sacrifices you talk about? The ones we’ve all had to make as a family. You get something in return. You get your career and all your fucking medals, and what do I get?”
“Besides a roof over your head and healthcare?”
I broke eye contact for a second. “Was the Navy the only way we could’ve had those things?”
“It’s the way we—”
“It really doesn’t matter.” I picked up my wallet, pulled out my military dependent ID, and tossed it on the bed. “That’s why I’m going out and getting those things myself. I’m almost too old to be a dependent anyway, so I might as well get a
head start on taking care of myself. I don’t need you or the Navy anymore. The Navy’s taken enough from me, and it’s not getting any more.”
“Sean, for God’s sake, we—”
“I’ve heard it all before, Dad, okay?” I swallowed, trying to keep my emotions in check, which was getting harder by the second. “And I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I’ve tried like hell not to screw up your career. I’m done with it, okay? I mean, when I was a kid and I got in trouble, it was always about how it reflected on you. Not about whether I was fucking myself over. Or even if I was doing something dangerous. It always came back to you and the fucking Navy.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I know it hasn’t been easy to—”
“‘Hasn’t been easy’?” I threw up my hands. “Do you hear yourself?”
Dad avoided my eyes.
“Moving every few years isn’t easy,” I said, my voice way too shaky. “Giving up someone like Paul . . .” I clenched my jaw and looked away because I was not going to let my dad see me cry. Not this time.
He pushed himself off the doorframe, but didn’t come into the room. “How do you really feel about Paul?”
Okay, if he kept that shit up, I was going to cry.
Just let me leave. Please?
I swiped at my eyes. “Does it matter?”
“It matters to me.”
“But it’s not going to change anything.”
Dad lowered his gaze. I watched him, not sure what I even felt right then. Except I was damn sure what I felt about Paul. If there was one thing I knew in that moment . . .
“I love him.”
Dad looked at me. “What?”
I cleared my throat. “I love him. Okay? That’s how I really feel about him.” I couldn’t read Dad’s expression at all, but I didn’t want to hear what I was pretty sure was coming, so I added, “And you were right that I was being selfish. He was risking a lot to be with me, and I . . . I can’t ask him to do that. So I broke things off.”
