by Jay McLean
“Banks,” First Sergeant says. “Are you okay?”
No. “Yes.” I ignore the water and take the folder from him before opening it on my lap.
“What’s happening?” Riley says quietly.
“It’s okay,” I assure her.
“I’m sorry, First Sergeant Fulton Sir,” Riley says, “What do you mean out process? What does that…” She takes a breath. “Dylan?”
I can feel her eyes burning a hole in the side of my head but my focus is on the page, the words blurred. I blink hard. It doesn’t help.
“Mal?” Riley says, her panic evident. “What does it mean?”
Eric answers for him. “It means he’s out.”
“Out?” she says, on her feet now. “Out of what?”
“The military, Ry,” Eric says, the disappointment in his words as evident as the panic in Riley’s.
I try to take her hand but she shrugs out of it. “Ry, sit down.”
“No!” she shouts. “You’re forcing him out?”
“Don’t Riley,” Eric warns.
“With all due respect, First Sergeant, how fucking dare you come into my home and disrespect my boyfriend. The Marines mean everything to him. Everything. He took a fucking bullet serving this country. He earned a Purple Heart for this country!”
I stare down at my lap, all of the words blurred, but for Riley’s which are clear as day.
“It should be his choice, Sir! If he wanted to leave, it should be his damn choice!”
“Riley,” Conway says, speaking for the first time since he entered. “We’re under orders to—”
“Fuck your orders!”
Holly gasps.
Riley’s words are unrelenting. “Dylan watched his best friend take his life and for what?! For fucking what?! So he could be forced to give up something so important to him because he made a mistake! You know Dylan, Conway. You probably know him better than I do. You both do!”
I finally look up at her, her rage visible in the way her hands fist at her sides, the redness in her face, the anger boiling inside and releasing in her tears.
She looks at my dad. He won’t say a word. She looks at Eric. He won’t either. Then she looks at me. “It should’ve been your choice,” she whispers. Then she stomps out of the room, slamming every door possible.
“She’s feisty,” First Sergeant tries to joke.
No one finds it funny.
“Banks, it’s better this way. After what you witnessed with O’Brien—”
“Don’t talk about him,” I grind out.
First Sergeant inhales deeply. “There won’t be any Military discipline for the DUI. Your record will remain clear if you ever decide to re-enlist.”
Holly hands me a pen. “Here, sweetheart.”
Five minutes later, everyone leaves. Holly stays. “You good?” she asks.
I nod.
“I’ll give you some time.”
An hour passes before my head is finally clear enough to face Riley. I get off the couch and make my way to her room. Riley’s pacing the floor, her back turned, one hand balling and straightening, the other over her mouth.
“Ry.”
She turns quickly. “I’m sorry,” she rushes out, moving toward me.
“It’s done, Ry.”
“Dylan. I don’t know what came over me. The way I spoke to them—”
“Ry!”
She swallows. Her eyes drifting shut. “I’m sorry, baby,” she says, wrapping her arms around my waist.
“I’m tired.”
“Okay.”
She helps me to the bed and takes off my shoe. “Are you hungry? I’ll heat up the pizza. We can eat in here.”
“Please.”
She leaves, returning a moment later with food and drink. After putting the drinks on the nightstand and sitting down next to me, she hands me a plate and sits hers on the bed next to her. “So,” she says, her arms stretched, her grip on the edge of the mattress. “Did you want to talk about it? Um. With someone? It doesn’t have to be me… or it can be… if you want to…”
I set my plate on the nightstand and turn to her. “Ry?”
Holly pops her head into the room. “Dylan, your dad’s at the door.”
My eyes drift shut, my heart racing again. Shame. It’s all I can feel. Not mine. His.
Without a word, she closes the door. Though her voice is muffled, I can hear her. “He’s fallen asleep, Mal,” she says.
Riley’s eyes snap to mine, sad and pleading.
“I promise, Riley. One day, we’ll talk about this.” I hold her face in my hands, kissing her once. “I’ll tell you everything, okay? Just not now. Please.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? Just okay?”
Her hands circle my wrists, pulling them away from her. Then she inhales deeply, her words rushed when she says, “I’ve been wanting to tell you something for a while and I never found the right time to say it…”
“What’s going on, Ry?” I ask, my heart dropping.
She releases my hands and shakes out hers. “I’ve never stopped loving you, Dylan. Through everything we went through there was never a time when I questioned how I felt about you. Ever. And I realized that I was wrong—when I felt like I wasn’t enough… I was. I am. It’s just that you weren’t ready. The timing in each of our grievances weren’t the same and if I had met you right after everything happened to me, there’s no way I would’ve been ready to accept you. Just like you didn’t accept me. You pushed me away, the same way I pushed Mom away and I understand it now. I think, in the end, we needed that pause—”
“Pause?” I whisper.
She lifts her chin, showing her strength. “We just needed this time apart to get back on the same page and now we’re here.”
“Riley…”
“First page. New book.”
I exhale loudly, my fears leaving with my breath.
“Besides,” she says, smiling now. “I promised you, right?”
“Promised me what?”
“Semper fidelis.”
The words roll around in my head. Then I smile. “Always faithful.”
She nods.
My shoulders relax. “I love you so much.”
Smirking, she says, “So show me.”
I kiss her. I can’t not. Especially when she’s looking at me the way she is.
My mouth covers hers, my hand on her waist. The force of the kiss has her moving back until she’s lying on the bed, her hands in my hair as she smiles around my lips. She starts to giggle.
“What?” I ask, pulling away.
“I’m lying on the pizza.”
I tug the fabric of her top. “You better take this off then.”
Her head tilts. “You trying to get to second base, Banks?”
Awkwardly, I move until I’m sitting up on my elbow, looking down at her. “Actually, I’m trying to get to third. And maybe that’ll be enough for you to let me limp to home base.”
She sits up, chewing her bottom lip before removing her top, leaving her in her bra and her skirt. I swipe the plate off the bed, harder than intended, causing it to smash against the wall. A second later Holly’s back.
“Mom,” Riley squeals, covering her breasts.
I cover my hard-on.
“Sorry!” Holly squeaks, her hand over her eyes as she closes the door.
Riley gets up and locks the door. Then leans against it, facing me, her hands still on the knob. “So,” she says.
I use my elbows to shift back on the bed until I’m sitting against the headboard, my legs out in front of me. “Come here, baby.”
Slowly, she walks toward me, her hips moving from side to side. When she reaches the bed, she crawls toward me, her handful of breasts swinging beneath her. My eyes lock onto them, like a man deprived and I get flooded with memories of her. The smoothness of her skin against my finger tips, the taste of her on my lips… on my tongue. A groan emits from deep in my throat, getting louder when she straddles
my lap, her hands on my shoulders, my hands on her back, moving higher until I find the clip of her bra. Her back arches when her breasts free from their confines, her gaze lowered. I keep my eyes on hers when I lower my lips, taking her nipple into my mouth. “God, I missed you,” she whispers, her fingers digging into my nape as her hips push forward, rubbing on my cock. I flatten my tongue, licking up her nipple. I pull back, just enough for her to remove my shirt. Her fingers feel like fire as they land on my chest, her movements are slow, not at all desperate as they lower down to my shorts. She fingers the band, teasing me with her eyes and her tongue when she runs it across my lips. One hand on her back, I pull her into me, the other on the back of her head, tugging gently on her hair until her head tilts back. Her mouth parts, welcoming my assault on her lips, her tongue, her breaths, her sexy-as-fuck moan. She frees my cock, her hand circling it, stroking gently.
I run my hands up her legs, moving higher until my fingers find her panties. My thumbs stroke where her thighs connect.
Her strokes get faster while I move her panties aside, my finger entering her.
Her movements stop momentarily, her head throwing back. With two fingers inside her now, my thumb stroking her clit as her hips move back and forth, her wetness soaking my hand, I go for her breasts again, making sure to pay the same attention to each one.
She resumes her strokes, my hips jerking back and forth with her movements.
Then she moans again, her pussy tightening around me and I know she’s close. So fucking close I can smell it. “Dylan,” she whispers.
“Fuck, baby…”
Both hands around me now, she starts to move faster.
My hands ball in her hair, pulling her face to mine, using her mouth to drown out the grunt caused by my release. I free her quickly, her entire body covered in sweat as she moans my name, over and over, her hips moving grinding. Then she bites down on her lip, muffling her cry as she comes around my fingers.
“Holy shit, babe,” she whispers, her forehead resting on my shoulder.
I stroke her hair, my lips to her ear. “Thank you, Ry.”
She pants a few times, trying to settle her breaths. “For what?”
I wipe my brow on her shoulder. “For never giving up on me.”
Fifty-Six
Dylan
My eyes snap open, my body covered in a cold sweat. I try to breathe through the unbearable weight on my chest. I close my eyes again, trying to work out where I am.
I hear gun shots.
Smell them around me.
But the worst? The worst are the eyes I see.
The kid’s.
Dave’s.
And then Riley’s.
All full of hope.
I roll my head to the side, my nostrils filling with the scent of Riley’s shampoo. Blindly, I reach up, my fingers finding the mess of hair on her head. I move down her neck and follow her arm settled across my chest creating the weight I’d confused for pain.
My breaths slow, my mind doesn’t.
As carefully as I can, I reach for my phone. 3:18 a.m.
Just as gently, I remove myself from beneath her and sit on the edge of the bed, my entire body tense. I rub my eyes, the dryness in my throat making it impossible to swallow. After retrieving my crutches, I hobble to the bathroom and drink water from the tap, then splash some on my face, trying to get my mind to catch up to my body—to make it wake up, move on, release it from its trap. I look over at Riley fast asleep, her body splayed across the entire bed.
Dave’s in my mind, full combat gear, weapon to his chest, the sun beaming down on him making the freckles across his face extra dark. “Banks,” the fucker says, smiling at me. “You’re going to fuck it up, man.”
I leave Riley to sleep and move out to the living room. I switch on the light and the TV, muting it as soon as it comes on. Then I hobble over to the couch and I sit.
I sit and I wait for the calm to hit me.
I don’t know how long I’m there, watching but not really seeing anything on the screen when Holly whispers my name. I look at the doorway to the kitchen to see her standing, her arms crossed as she leans against the doorframe. “Did I scare you?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, did I wake you? It’s hard to be quiet—” I point to the crutches. “—with them.”
“No.” She pushes off the frame and moves toward me, and then points to the spot next to me. “Can I sit?”
I nod, staring ahead.
After sitting down, she says, “I got up for a drink and saw the light on.”
Moments pass, the silence building. Finally, I break. “How’d you know?”
“Know what, sweetheart?”
I turn to her slowly. “You handed me the pen.”
She sighs. “I’ve been watching you, Dylan. I could tell you wanted out. You just didn’t want to disappoint your family.”
“How?”
Her lips thin to a line. “I see the way you look at your dad and Eric. Especially since the DUI. You think they’re disappointed—”
“I always felt like my dad would be proud of me, no matter what I did, but the way he’s looked at me since the DUI… I caused shame on him, on my family and on our name. They raised me to be honorable and strong and I’m neither of those things.”
“Dylan,” she whispers, her hand on my arm. “That’s not true.”
I keep looking ahead, keep waiting for the calm to hit me. It never does. My eyes shut, and just like that, my insanity kicks in. “I see him,” I mumble.
“See who?”
“Dave O’Brien.”
She sucks in a breath, then releases it slowly.
“It’s like this movie playing in my mind, over and over. I see him hold his gun to his head, his finger curl, pulling the trigger. I hear the gun go off. Smell the gun powder. Feel my heart stop. See the blood everywhere. Everywhere. And I feel it, in my hands and on my clothes. I’ve tried to shake it, and since I’ve been here with Riley, they’ve slowed down. But they haven’t stopped. And he was there…”
“Where, Dylan?”
“At the accident,” I say, my voice breaking. I clear my throat. “I wasn’t drunk, Ma’am. Dave—he was standing in front of the car, his head blown off. I swerved to miss him and I knew I was losing it so I made Riley get out of the car.”
Her fingers are warm when they skim my cheek, wiping away tears I hadn’t known were there. “Does anyone know?”
I shake my head.
“Your dad? Eric?”
“I’m a man, Ms. Hudson. And this makes me weak… I can’t—” I choke on a sob, but push it down enough to add, “I’ve disgraced them enough. I can’t admit this to them.”
“What about Riley?”
“No.”
“She’ll understand—”
“No. And you can’t tell her…” I wipe my cheeks. “You can’t say a word.”
“Dylan…”
“I’m supposed to be strong. She looks to me for strength. For glue. I need to be that for her… She can’t know. You have to let me at least have that,” I rush out. Pleading with a woman who owes me absolutely nothing to please, please, keep my secrets.
“Okay.” She sniffs once. “So why tell me?”
I pause a moment, waiting for my heart to settle before turning to her, my eyes on hers—her tears clouding the pity. “Because you look at me like no one else does. No one ever has. You expect nothing of me but me, as a person. Not as a man of honor, or a man of strength.” I blink. Tears fall. “You look at me like a mother would look at her son.”
Riley
I cover my mouth to muffle my cry, my vision blurred from the tears flowing fast and free. Mom glances over Dylan’s shoulder at me standing in the hallway, just like she did after he asked her how she knew he wanted out of the Marines. She wraps her arms around his neck, wiping her tears on his shoulder—shoulders that shake with the force of his cries—cries he’s held in for so long.
I leave them in
the living room and go back to bed, waiting for him to join me. Seconds, minutes, hours pass. The sun rises. The world awakes. And finally, Dylan walks in. I lay still, my eyes closed. The bed dips before I hear the clanking of his crutches. A moment later, I’m in his arms, his nose rubbing against mine. “Riley,” he whispers.
“Mm?”
“I love you.”
I open my eyes, lock them on his, clear and blue and everything I remember them to be, back when he still had control of the world around him… when his reality consisted of his purpose and of us and our love and nothing could get in the way of it. “I know.”
Fifty-Seven
Riley
“Do we even know where the guys are going?” I ask, emptying the packet of corn chips in the bowl.
Heidi shrugs. “Who cares. I haven’t had a slumber party in forever.”
“Me neither,” Mom says. She tries in vain to open the jar of salsa before giving up. “Dylan!”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he calls out, and a second later he walks into the kitchen. He’s been out of the cast for four days. “I love the way you say Ma’am,” Lucy teases. I think. She fans her face, her eyes rolling back. “Say it again.”
Dylan just smiles, shaking his head as he stops between me and Heidi. Mom hands him the jar. He loosens it with a pop before handing it back to her.
“At least your hands work,” Heidi says, backhanding his stomach.
He feigns hurt.
“Oh, his hands work real good,” I blurt out.
“Riley!” Mom squeals.
I cover my face to hide my embarrassment.
“So hot,” Lucy mumbles.
“Gross,” Heidi jokes.
Next to me, Dylan chuckles. I remove my hands and glare at him. Then throw a chip at his head. “What?” he laughs out. “I didn’t do anything!”
He pulls out his phone after it beeps with a text.
I watch his lips curve to a smile as he reads it. “Your other girlfriend?” I ask.
“Wife, actually.” He shows me the phone, a message from Mike O’Brien is on the screen with a picture of him and his brothers and his mom standing in front of a house. The caption reads “Casa de O’Brien.”
“They got the house?” I ask.
