by Hannah Ford
“How are you so much worse?”
He turned his head and grinned a little at me. “I want to tell you,” he said. “And I will soon. But can we just enjoy this moment together? I don’t want to ruin it talking about my life.”
I turned onto my elbow and stroked his bare chest with my fingertips, tracing the lines of his tattoos. I knew that the flag and gun and the eagle with the tombstone told part of his story, but it wasn’t time to ask yet.
He was getting closer but he wasn’t ready right now. I decided I could be patient, even as my stomach twisted uneasily when I wondered just what was so horrible that he’d been avoiding it like this.
But for now, I needed to listen to him and just enjoy this time we were spending together. Enjoy the comfort, the safety, the way he looked at me.
The way we looked at each other. “I feel strangely close to you right now,” I admitted.
Zack nodded, his expression serious. “I know. I feel the same way.”
“Is it real, though?”
“Yes,” he replied, as if he knew.
“You told me to give you a day,” I said, laying my chin on his chest now. “That means the clock already started ticking when you came upstairs.”
“That’s true,” he chuckled. “Which means I still have over twenty hours left. Not bad.”
“It goes fast,” I reminded him.
He put a thumb on my cheek and caressed it softly, giving me chills. “Everything goes fast in this life.”
I sighed, knowing he was right—and knowing that he was talking about so much more than this night, this day together, more even than about just him and I.
I snuggled into him and he held me close, sliding his body around mine, and then we were drifting together.
“I’m going to hold you like this every night for the rest of my life,” he whispered into my ear, softly.
Or was it a dream? I’d been falling asleep and I couldn’t be sure.
Everything was liquid, there was no solidity and I was floating, breaking apart as the darkness took me.
I knew that somehow, somewhere I was happy and smiling and safe.
But I just wished I knew if it was real.
***
That morning, we got up around the same time as one another, and our routines were strangely easy and synchronized, like a couple that had been together for years and had those special rhythms and ways of doing things that just fit together.
There was no awkwardness, no fear of him seeing me without my makeup or my hair done.
He used the shower first while I went and put the coffee on, and then he came out of the shower in just a towel, looking hot as ever, and I went by and he gave my butt a playful slap as I passed.
I squealed and then continued on my way into the bathroom and had a nice hot shower myself. When I was done, and changed and freshened up for the day, I found Zack sipping coffee and looking out the window, his legs crossed, looking oddly calm and serene.
I made my own cup of coffee and then sat nearby and sipped at it, feeling warm inside. After a bit, Zack reached over and grabbed my legs and swung my bare feet onto his lap. He sipped his coffee with one hand and then rubbed my feet with his other hand.
“I wish I could wake up like this every morning,” I said, moaning with pleasure.
“You can,” he replied.
“Sure,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“You think I wouldn’t rub your feet every morning?”
“That’s right,” I replied, smirking.
“Then you don’t know me very well.”
My grin faded. I didn’t know him very well, and I knew that he had secrets, things he didn’t want to tell me about his life.
All of this normalcy, the way we were behaving together—it was all just a mirage.
It was going to disintegrate so fast, as soon as the real world intruded.
Zack seemed to sense my change of heart, as I pulled my feel from his lap.
“I’ve got something fun for us to do today,” he said.
“What’s that?” I asked, turning away so he couldn’t see the sadness in my eyes.
“We’re going into the city. So get ready, we should hit the road soon.”
I looked at him as I stood up, and he glanced at me in return. His green eyes were so kind and soft, and I wanted it all to be true.
I wanted to ask him when the next heartbreak would come. Just warn me and then I can at least prepare myself, I thought. I don’t want to be surprised when you run away from me—when you eventually reject me as you certainly will.
But then I just smiled, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I’m ready now,” I said. “I’ll just get my shoes on.”
“You do that,” he said. “I’m going to finish my coffee.”
I went to the bedroom and grabbed my flats, assuming we’d be walking around the city—I didn’t want to navigate cobblestone streets in heels.
And I found tears stirring behind my eyes but I blinked them back.
***
We took a cab to the T station and then waited for the train to take us into the city. Zack held my hand and when a very frustrated middle-aged woman showed up at the stop, yelling into her cell phone at some unknown offending person, Zack started pretending to be the person on the other line.
Zack was reacting to her comments as if he was a henpecked husband, crumbling under her brutal questioning. Every time she spoke into the phone, he would answer in my ear with a hysterically whiny voice that sounded nothing like him.
He was so funny and almost bizarrely believable at his acting that I began to laugh so hard the woman turned and shot us a glare that might have killed us.
Surely, it was intended to do so.
We turned away from her and laughed all the harder.
The train came soon after the two of us sat next to one another, still holding hands as the scenery passed by us outside.
He was so different then he’d first seemed. Like an altogether new person. No, that wasn’t quite right.
He wasn’t totally new. It was more like he was so fully real and present and…normal…that I thought something had to be wrong.
Because I also knew that he fought other large men for a living—fought them in backyards and who knew where else. Punched strangers until they fell down.
Had tattoos and a mysterious past and people chasing him.
Yet here we were, together on a train heading into Boston, and Zack was laughing and joking, his green eyes bright and alive and warm with affection for me.
It couldn’t be true and yet it felt so incredible that I refused to allow the dream to end. I was just going to hang onto it for dear life.
The train let us off in the heart of Boston and we wandered over to Kenmore Square. The day was bright and sunny and students were wandering the streets, as were the office workers and the hipsters on their phones, carrying laptops and tablets, groups of students walking together.
Zack’s hand never left mine.
“Hungry?” he asked, and I admitted I was.
We went to a nearby little hole in the wall bar that served incredible sandwiches, and we sat in a small booth by the window and ate sandwiches and chips and I chomped happily on a pickle.
“What next?” I asked, as I saw him checking the time on his phone.
“Who says there’s something next?”
“I know you’ve got something planned, Zack,” I said, playing with the little toothpick that had once been stuck in my sandwich, poking the last bit of my pickle with it.
“Maybe I do,” he said, “but I’m not telling you what it is. Come on, let’s go pickle girl.”
“I’m not pickle girl!” I said, slapping playfully at his shoulder.
He slid out of the booth and offered his hand. I felt myself suddenly blush, because for a moment I felt like Cinderella with my Prince Charming, which I knew was completely ridiculous.
I allowed him to take my hand and help me out of the booth. We
walked out of the bar, arm in arm, and he slowed down his stride to match me as we continued towards the big CITGO sign looming overhead.
When we were outside Fenway Park, Zack stopped and haggled with a thin guy who sported a heavy five o’clock shadow. He got us two tickets behind home plate and paid the man from his stack of cash.
As we walked away, I grabbed his arm. “You didn’t need to pay so much!” I cried.
“It’s just money,” Zack said, turning his head towards me now. His eyes were so solid, so soft, and I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I looked away.
“I would’ve been happy up in the bleachers.”
“With those animals?” he said, grinning. “My girl deserves better than that.”
I bit my lip so hard I nearly drew blood.
His girl?
He just called me his girl. Was it an accident? Is he teasing me?
I tried to catch my breath, but this whole change in demeanor was so strange, and I didn’t know if I could trust it. In fact, I was fairly certain I couldn’t trust it at all. But I wanted to, I needed to.
Everything with Zack felt so good, so right. His body, his mind, the way he talked, the sound of his voice, the curve of his lips when he smiled…
We went into the stadium and found our seats. The game was just about to start, but Zack managed to wrangle us a couple of sodas and a pretzel to share—not that I needed anymore food.
But it was fun to sit close to him, his arm around me, warming me as the air was just chill enough to make me shiver without his body heat.
We sipped our drinks, nibbled on our pretzel, and cheered for Boston in a game that was fairly eventful.
The pitchers didn’t perform well on the day, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise, because there were lots of hits, a few home runs, and the crowd was on its feet consistently.
Zack was standing up, whistling, cheering, clapping.
When a song played over the loudspeakers, he would sing loud along with everyone else.
I kept looking at him, unable to process what I was seeing. At one point, he turned and looked at me. “What’s with you?” he said, nudging me with his elbow.
“Nothing. I just can’t figure out if I’m with a stunt double for Zack Wild.”
“That’s fucked up,” he said, shaking his head but laughing.
“You’re so different,” I told him.
“Different from what? You just met me.”
I nodded. “It’s just a feeling. Like—a switch flipped and everything’s changed and…”
“Hey,” he said, grabbing my hand and looking into my eyes. “Just trust it,” he said. “Trust me even though I don’t deserve it. Let me prove myself.”
I nodded, wanting to so badly. “Okay,” I whispered.
And then his lips were on mine and the camera caught us, and suddenly we were up on the big screen and the whole crowd was cheering us momentarily.
***
After the game, we were making our way slowly out of Fenway with the rest of the crowd.
As we were heading past the restrooms towards the exits, someone began calling Zack’s name.
At first, Zack appeared to ignore the voice, but then I noticed him beginning to speed up, his legs moving faster, so much so that I was having trouble keeping up.
“Come on,” he said, suddenly darting in between a group of heavyset men who all yelled at him as he knocked one of their beers out of their hands.
I was unable to move with him and instead walked around the men, and then Zack was waving at me to follow him. His face looked almost panicked, and then he looked past me and his eyes hardened.
“Zack!” someone yelled from just behind me.
I turned and saw a tall blond man wearing a Red Sox sweatshirt. He had long sideburns and he was clearly built and fit. The blond man’s eyes darted to me and then to Zack.
“Leave me alone,” Zack said.
I turned my head, watching both men uncertainly.
“Dude, we need to talk,” the blond man told him. “It’s time.”
“I got nothing to say and you should know that by now,” Zack told him.
The man shook his head and then looked at me. “Are you his girlfriend?” he asked. His blue eyes were piercing.
I gave a half-shrug. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Lance Barrett,” he said, outstretching his hand to shake mine. I grasped his hand and he firmly shook mine, still looking at me.
“And how do you know Zack?”
“We served together,” he said.
I nodded as if this made sense, and it did—a little. “I’m sorry,” I said, “but I don’t really know what’s going on.”
“Don’t talk to him, Caeli,” Zack said, not moving from where he stood.
Lance turned and pointed back towards the restrooms. There was a small group of men, all of them sporting short hair and similarly fit builds.
“Friends are here to see you, Zack,” Lance said. “It’s time to face up to it.”
Zack swore under his breath. Then he looked up. “Come on, Caeli. Let’s go.” He reached for me and I crossed to where he stood, felt his hand on my arm, pulling me closer as if to protect me.
“Dude, you can’t keep running from this,” Lance called out. “You need us and we need you.”
“Fuck off,” Zack replied, and then turned, pulling me with him as we went out to Yawkey Way.
“What’s going on?” I said, as he started up with a brisk pace. “Zack, I can’t keep up with you when you walk this fast.”
“Then run,” he said, his voice suddenly aggressive.
I felt tears sting my eyes and I stopped short.
Zack stopped too, looked down at his feet. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he said softly as people streamed around us.
“Who are those guys? What do they want?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” he said.
“Zack, that guy said his name was Lance and that he served with you in the military.”
He shrugged. “I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Well maybe you need to.”
He looked up at me, green eyes flashing with anger now. “What the hell would you know about it?”
I stepped back, and felt my cheeks flame. “Don’t talk to me like that.”
“I just need to clear my head.”
“You need to stay and deal with this.” I looked over and saw Lance and the other four men standing not far away, watching us.
Zack glanced at them and shook his head. “No, I don’t think I do.”
“Then go on and leave,” I said, folding my arms.
“And you’re going to stay?” he said, smirking with disbelief.
“I’m not running anywhere.”
His eyes grew harder and colder still. “Fine,” he said, sneering a little. “You have no idea…no idea…” he seemed unable to even complete his thought, and then finally he just turned and moved off, away from me without looking back.
Soon, he’d disappeared into the crowd.
I felt myself choking back tears, staring at the crowd of people, waiting for Zack to reappear. And then I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“You okay, ma’am?”
I turned and saw not just Lance, but also his four buddies all surrounding me. I licked my lips and tried to smile. “I’m Caeli,” I said. “And you all must be friends of Zack’s?”
“That we are, ma’am,” a shorter guy with a dark beard said.
They introduced themselves to me, then. There was the tall blond Nordic fellow, Lance, and then the bearded fellow, Brant. The others were Steve, Caden, and Darrell.
“I’m afraid I don’t really know Zack all that well,” I admitted to them. “I didn’t even know he’d served in the military to be honest.”
None of them registered any surprise.
Lance spoke up again. “We know that Zack didn’t probably talk to you about his service, ma’am. After he got out of Af
ghanistan and came home, he up and left everyone and everything he knew back in Ohio and moved around. Nobody could locate him—not his family, not his friends, not the people he served with.”
I felt fear and anxiety lance my belly, piercing me deeply. This was it.
I knew he’d been running from something. Something terrible.
“Did he do something wrong?” I said.
They all exchanged glances.
“Are they going to arrest him or something?” I asked, my hands fluttering as the thought bubbled to my lips, unbidden.
Lance was the first to smile ruefully. “Quite the opposite, actually. Zack isn’t some deserter. He’s not getting court-martialed for breaking the law.”
“No?”
“He’s a war hero, ma’am.”
Brant spoke next. “He saved our lives over in Afghanistan. We got ambushed in Kabul by a large group of Taliban fighters,” he said.
“We lost three of our brothers during the skirmish,” Lance said, “and five others sustained major injuries. It was a bloodbath.”
Despite the crowds surging around us and past us as we stood in the middle of busy Yawkey Way outside Fenway Park, I felt like the six of us were totally alone.
Everything else seemed to drop away as the enormity of what they were telling me took hold.
I recalled Zack’s tattoo of the tombstone with the word Kabul etched into it—that tattoo which I knew meant something. But I’d had no clue just what it meant.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, feeling completely at a loss to absorb their pain and suffering. I could see it still in their expressions, in their eyes, which looked much too old for the eyes of people just a little older than me.
“Zack took on the enemy singlehandedly,” Lance told me. “He drew them away from our position, allowing us to escape with our wounded. But as a result, he ended up being out in the wilderness by himself, fighting and avoiding the Taliban for four days.”
“He was alone for four days?” I said, my skin chilling.
“Yes ma’am,” Caden replied seriously.
“We were finally able to locate him on that fourth day,” Lance said. “He was severely dehydrated, he’d sustained a bullet graze along his calf muscle that had become infected and septic. He was in bad shape, so they shipped him back to the states to be treated and then he was released from further duty overseas and honorably discharged.”
