Once Burned

by L. A. Witt

  Such was life in the Navy.

  My heart sank. Mark was probably at work right now. He’d be off a little after I went to work. Similar schedules to Chris’s and Dalton’s, except I couldn’t blame the Navy for the time we were spending apart.

  Just me. Just my own damn head, and my own fucking issues, and . . . Fuck. How did Chris and Dalton do it? They knew it was worth it, that was how. They’d had their relationship tested by the Navy. They’d had to choose between love and careers, and they’d fought until they’d had both, because they’d known damn well it was fucking worth it.

  And me? I couldn’t make it through a stupid party.

  Walking out the other night had been a mistake because it meant walking away from Mark. Seeing all those Navy people and all that Navy shit? That had hurt. Every second since I’d walked away from Mark? Fuck. That had hurt like hell.

  Except I hadn’t had any other choice. Sitting there in that Holiday Inn ballroom, surrounded by reminders of the life I couldn’t have because I’d had the audacity to get too close to an IED and not be fully recovered by the time I was up for reenlistment? Fuck that.

  There was no avoiding any of that if I was with Mark. Even if I never had to attend another military function, dating Mark meant dating the Navy. That was how things were.

  Which meant there wasn’t any point in trying to make it work. No matter how much it hurt to let him go, it still hurt way too much to be anywhere near the Navy. Subjecting myself to that shit had cut deep, and even now I started getting choked up just thinking about it.

  Not that I could stop thinking about it. Any of it. I couldn’t get that senior chief or his red fuck-up stripes out of my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about the younger guys who were already a rank or two ahead of where I’d been when I’d been kicked out.

  And I couldn’t unsee Mark standing there in that fucking uniform and telling me he loved me. I also couldn’t pretend that even while I’d been hurt and furious, part of me had wanted to stay there and tell him I loved him too.

  I’d had to walk away, though. I had to stay away too, regardless of the fact that I’d forgiven him for the shit with his CO. I couldn’t stick around no matter how much I wanted to.

  Because . . . the Navy.

  The fucking Navy.

  All the blue and gold and gray. The uniforms. The reminders of everything I’d lost. No, everything the Navy had taken from me. Just thinking about it made my teeth grind. A few times, I’d thought I was overreacting. After seven years, I needed to move on and stop being so damn bitter about the Navy.

  Except I couldn’t move on. Not when everything in my life was constantly hanging by a thread. Not when my chain of command hadn’t lifted a finger—and probably couldn’t have done much anyway—to argue with that computer algorithm that had decided I wasn’t good enough to stay in the Navy, leaving me without a visa and without access to treatment for two combat tours’ worth of damage.

  Move on? My ass. The Navy had done way too much damage to me and to my life, and I wasn’t apologizing for refusing to let that go.

  But how the hell was I supposed to let Mark go?

  “Hey.” Dalton nudged my knee. “What’s going on?”

  I didn’t bother trying to play stupid. He knew me too well. Picking at the seam on my jeans, I said, “I, uh, fucked things up with Mark.”

  “How?”

  I took a deep breath and told him everything. By the time I was done, my throat was aching and my eyes were stinging. “I don’t know if I fucked up by getting involved with him at all,” I said, voice shaky, “or by letting him go.”

  “Letting him go. Obviously.” Dalton put a hand on my leg. “You know, I seem to recall some wise old asshole telling me not to let the Navy take away the man I loved.”

  I glared at him. “Are you calling me old?”

  “Don’t change the subject.” He inclined his head. “We had this exact same conversation a few months ago, except I was the idiot who wasn’t—”

  “Except you could do something,” I threw back. “And you did. You reported your chief, and he got what was coming to him. What am I supposed to do?”

  Dalton chewed his lip. “Honestly?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You need to decide what’s more important to you—Mark? Or how pissed you are at the Navy?”

  The ache in my throat got even worse. “When you put it like that, it’s a no-brainer.”

  “I figured.” Dalton touched my arm. “And I’m not saying all the shit you’ve gone through will go away overnight. I just think you’ll be miserable if he goes away.”

  I chewed my lip, trying to force back the lump in my throat.

  “He’s not going to be in the Navy forever,” Dalton said softly. “If you feel this strongly about him, though, and you let him get away? You’re probably going to regret that forever.”

  I avoided his eyes, but it didn’t help because my gaze went straight to the hand on my arm. The wedding band on Dalton’s third finger stung. What could we have been if I could’ve let go of my hang-ups about the military?

  And what would I lose if I couldn’t let them go now?

  But they were real, and they hurt like hell.

  So did being without Mark.

  Fuck.

  I ran a hand through my hair. “The thing is, even if he takes me back, it doesn’t change anything. I’m still fucked up in my head and . . .” I gestured at my knee. “How long do you think an XO is going to hold on to a fucked-up undocumented immigrant who pours drinks in a gay bar?”

  Dalton rolled his eyes. “Please. That’s bullshit and we both know it.” He must’ve seen the WTF? in my eyes, because he added, “How long would you have dated him if you’d thought for two seconds he would ever kick you to the curb for that?”

  Damn. He knew me too well.

  “Don’t make excuses,” he said. “Go talk to him.” When I didn’t respond, he added, “Diego. Look at me.”

  I met his gaze, and I didn’t think I’d ever seen Dalton’s eyes so full of intense determination.

  Still firmly holding eye contact, he took my hand. “You’re being an idiot. Mark isn’t the Navy. He didn’t do any of that shit to you. And if you let him go, you’re just letting one more piece of you be a victim to everything that happened before.” He squeezed my hand so tight it was almost painful. “How much more of your life are you going to lose to that?”

  Breaking eye contact, I tightened my jaw and tried to force back the ache in my throat. He had a damn good point, and I couldn’t argue with it. The Navy had taken my health, my job, my stability—even my fucking tattoo. And the Navy had Mark, but it wasn’t taking him from me. That was me. My issues. My hang-ups. My bitterness. Our relationship didn’t have to be over, and I didn’t have to hurt like this. All I had to do was get my head out of my ass, learn to live with the Navy, and talk to him.

  I lifted my gaze and met Dalton’s eyes again.

  Or else I can lose him like I lost you.

  “I’m sorry, by the way,” I whispered. “For letting my shit kill what we had going.”

  “It’s okay.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and kissed my temple. “I still have you as a friend.”

  “Thank God for that. But still . . . we could’ve had something.”

  “I know. But we both got second chances. I married mine.” He gave me a gentle squeeze. “Don’t let yours get away.”

  Closing my eyes, I sighed and leaned against him. I’d been damn lucky with him. I didn’t care how far away he and Chris moved—we were staying in touch forever.

  In the meantime . . . Mark. This wasn’t how it ended. It couldn’t be.

  I’d talk to him. I didn’t know when, and I didn’t know what the hell I’d say.

  But I’d talk to him.

  I was on autopilot at the bar. It showed in my tips, too, so I was trying like hell to get myself together. I couldn’t afford to lose tips. A bartender who wasn’t friendly and charismatic did
n’t make money.

  But I felt like shit and it was hard not to let it show.

  As I wiped down the bar for the hundredth time this hour, I fought away thoughts of Mark, but it wasn’t working. Talking to Dalton this afternoon had only made it worse. Now I wasn’t just hurting over Mark—I felt like an asshole and an idiot for leaving. Well, not for leaving—I’d been too pissed to stay. Not going back, though? Or giving him a chance when he’d called? Fuck. What was I thinking?

  On top of that, I was still terrified that even if and when I figured out how to apologize and get us back together, we wouldn’t be able to make it work. Three times since I’d left Dalton’s place, I’d tried to work up the courage to call Mark. Each time I looked at his name in my contacts, though, I’d put the phone back in my pocket without dialing. Each time, it felt less and less like there was any chance of having him back.

  I quickly wiped my stinging eyes and hoped none of my coworkers or customers noticed. I needed to get my shit together. Part of me didn’t see that happening until I smoothed things over with Mark. Part of me suspected it needed to happen before I even thought about talking to Mark. Another part didn’t think it would happen at all.

  God. I was a mess.

  I finished mopping up phantom drips from the bar and tossed the rag underneath where it would be in easy reach. I was about to check my garnish tray when some movement caught my eye. I looked up, and a face materialized in the sparse crowd.

  The glass in my hand almost fell.

  Mark.

  And he was coming right toward me, and he’d already seen me so it wasn’t like I could duck out and pretend I wasn’t here. I had no idea if that was what I wanted to do, but it didn’t matter.

  He stopped, the freshly polished bar standing between us like a defensive wall. He’d never struggled to hold eye contact, but he did this time, and his voice barely made it to me as he said, “Hey. Can we talk?”

  I pressed my lips together. Fuck, I was not ready for this. I knew what I needed to say, but I was terrified to say it. I had no idea how to explain any of it.

  We need to talk, but not now. I’m not ready for this. Damn it, Mark, not now.

  Before I could say any of that, though, he cleared his throat. “I just need a couple of minutes. I, um . . . I have something for you.” He glanced down, and I realized he had a thick manila envelope in his hand.

  I eyed the thing. What was it? A wild card of some sort, and now I was both insanely curious about the contents and seriously dreading finding out what they were.

  “Okay,” I said finally. Might as well just do this and get it over with. “Hang on.”

  My boss wasn’t on tonight, and the bar wasn’t all that busy, so I flagged down Kim, the shift manager.

  “I’m going to step out for a minute,” I told him. “If you need me, I’ll be right outside.”

  Kim nodded and went back to filling the glass in his hand.

  I motioned for Mark to follow me. We went out the front door and around to the side of the building. There were a few people shivering in the parking lot while they smoked, so it was quieter over here.

  My heart was in my throat as I turned around to face him. I hugged myself against the cold night. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

  Mark took a deep breath and held out the envelope. “This is for you.”

  I eyed it but didn’t take it. “What is it?”

  “Just . . .” He nodded toward it. “Please.”

  After hesitating for a few more seconds, I took it. We stared at each other, not speaking. His eyes flicked toward the envelope. Then mine did. I wondered if he was waiting for me to open it. I was waiting for him to explain what the hell was going on. Maybe that made me a coward, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what this was.

  Finally, Mark swallowed. “The Navy did you wrong, Diego. I can’t undo that. There’s nothing I can do to get you reinstated. And believe me, I checked. That”—he gestured at the envelope—“was the best I could do.”

  Now I was curious, so I thumbed open the flap and slid the contents out. There was a stack of what looked like paperwork, a booklet, and—

  Application for Naturalization.

  My heart stopped. I looked at Mark, unable to speak.

  He chewed his lip. “You know where Pass & ID is, right? The building outside Gate Three?”

  I nodded, still mute.

  “Fill all of that in, and take it to Pass & ID along with the letter on top. They’ll get you a pass to go to admin.”

  My mouth had gone dry, but I managed to croak, “I don’t have a military ID anymore. They won’t let me on base.”

  “They will. They already know you’re coming.”

  My hackles went up. “Did you fucking out me to—”

  “Don’t worry about that.” He patted the air between us. “All Pass & ID knows is that you need a temporary base pass, and that it’s been authorized by me. Any hiccups, and they’re to call me directly. Or, if you’re more comfortable, I can meet you there and escort you to admin.”

  I stared at him.

  He pulled in a deep breath. “Every detail is on a need-to-know basis, and once everything is turned in, I’m going to personally make sure it’s processed and expedited. Anyone who will have their fingers anywhere near that paperwork knows that if anything is delayed or kicked back for some bullshit reason, they’ll be answering to me.”

  Jaw slack, I glanced back and forth from him to the papers.

  “It’s still going to take some time,” he went on. “There’s only so much any of us can do, but we’re going to do what we can. In the meantime, I’ve also checked around for civilian contractor jobs. There are some listings and applications in there.” He pointed at the envelope. “If you want to apply for one, we’ll help you get your green card.”

  I swallowed. “Are you serious?”

  Mark nodded. “Technically, it might qualify as an abuse of power, but if ever there was a time to pull rank, this seems like it.”

  My head was spinning. I had to lean against the wall, and I could barely hold on to the papers. “I thought you said there was nothing you could do.”

  “I dug deeper and called in some favors.”

  I stared down at the forms in my hand, then met his gaze. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because you served your country,” he said. “And the Navy screwed you. Like I said, I can’t undo all of that, and God knows I should have looked harder for a solution sooner, but I can at least help you get what you should’ve had the day you enlisted.” He smiled, looking kind of nervous. “Like I said, if I’m going to throw my rank around . . .”

  I stared down at the papers. With shaky hands, I looked through them. Application for Naturalization. A letter from Mark on US Navy letterhead stating that this was an important and personal matter, requesting it be expedited, and explaining that no one who’d served his country—least of all someone who’d been wounded in action—should be denied citizenship. Behind that were several applications for on-base civilian contractor jobs, a booklet on obtaining citizenship, and some paperwork for a green card.

  My eyes were starting to sting, and the text was getting blurry. “Mark . . . this is . . .”

  “It’s yours if you want it.” His voice was softer than I’d ever heard it. “Even if it’s just so you can go to the VA without worrying about getting deported. Or so you can get a solid enough job to save up some cash and go home.”

  My throat tightened. Home. Enough money to see my family. Maybe help them get back to Rioverde. Stability. There was no guarantee I’d even find a job, but there’d be more options now. More options that didn’t mean working under the table and praying every day I wouldn’t get caught. And I could finally go to the fucking VA and see if someone could do something about my knee and these nightmares. After the last few years of trying to pray my PTSD under control and looking over my shoulder and . . .

  Just like that, there was a light at the end o
f the tunnel.

  I could barely get enough air moving, but as I held the papers to my chest, I managed to whisper, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. It . . . shouldn’t have taken this. The Navy, your chain of command, they . . .” Mark shook his head. “I’m sorry they let you down. I just hope this will undo some of that damage.”

  Mute, I nodded. I hadn’t even known something like this was possible. That someone could use his rank and connections to push things through. That anyone would be willing to.

  “I’m sorry again. For what I said to my CO, and also for how the Navy screwed you over.” He gestured at the papers. “Hopefully that isn’t too little too late.”

  I shook my head. “No, it isn’t. I . . . Thank you. I don’t even know what else to say.”

  He smiled, then cleared his throat. “I should, um, let you get back to work. I just wanted to make sure you had all that. If you run into any snags, you’ve got my number. So just, you know, text me if there’s any issues.”

  “Oh. Uh.” I was too shocked and confused to know what to say. “Okay. Thanks.”

  He smiled quickly, then took a step back and started to go.

  Panic broke through the confusion. “Wait.”

  He turned, eyebrows up.

  “You’re not . . .” I struggled to form words. “You don’t want to get back together?”

  Mark sighed. He lowered his gaze for a second before he looked at me through his lashes. “I do. And I came here thinking that was exactly what I was going to try to do. But I can’t.”

  I blinked. “You can’t? Why not?”

  He stared at the ground for a moment, then exhaled hard. “Because there is no way I can give you that”— he nodded toward the papers—“and ask you to take me back. I don’t want strings attached to any of this.”

  It took a minute for the words to make sense. “So you were just . . . You’ll let me go, but you’ll still do all of this?” I held up the envelope. “Even without . . . Even if I don’t . . .”

  “Absolutely. There’s . . .” He swallowed, and he didn’t meet my gaze as he said, “There was no way I could bring those papers and ask you to take me back without making it sound like all of that was contingent on you staying with me.”