Major O: A Bad Boy Military Romance

by R. R. Banks

  I look at my watch. “Wow, after a whole hour, huh? I think you're working me too hard, boss.”

  Brooke giggles. “Shut up,” she says. “I'm sorry, I know we both own this place and I've just kind of taken over everything here –”

  I shake my head and cut her off. “No, Brooke,” I say. “I'm actually really happy to see that you've just kind of – flourished here. I mean, before I left for school, I was kind of worried about you. About your future.”

  “Yeah, I didn't take a whole lot very seriously back then.”

  “But now – look at you,” I say. “You've really turned things around and have gotten yourself together. You've really blossomed, Brooke.”

  Her cheeks turn a bright shade of scarlet and she looks away quickly. We're a lot alike in that we don't take compliments or praise very well. But knowing that we're a lot alike, I know that deep down, it pleases her immensely.

  “Mom and Dad would be really proud of you, sis,” I say. “Really, really proud.”

  She looks at me and her eyes are shiny with tears. Stepping forward quickly, she pulls me into a tight embrace, so I squeeze her back. After a moment, she steps back, wiping her eyes as she tries to gather herself.

  “Thanks, Abby,” she says after a moment. “That means a lot.”

  I reach out and give her hand a gentle squeeze. We stand together in a silence that's a little bit awkward, but full of emotion.

  “Well,” I say. “I guess I'm going to take off then.”

  She nods. “Sounds good.”

  “Call me,” I say. “If you can squeeze me in, let's have dinner soon.”

  “Definitely,” she replies. “There's a new sushi place that opened up and I'm dying to try it.”

  That's just another of the many changes in my sister. I remember a time when she would have rather died than try sushi. She used to say that she'd rather eat warm cat vomit than raw fish. It was a stance she refused to budge on even after I explained that not all sushi was made up of raw fish.

  Just another example of my little sister growing and maturing.

  “Oh hey,” she said. “Are you going to Rick's funeral on Saturday?”

  I shrug. “I don't know,” I say. “It's not like we were good friends or anything. We didn't run in the same circles. I feel like I might be intruding if I show up.”

  “It might be weird if you don't show up,” she says. “Maybe you weren't good friends, but you were still friends.”

  “Rick was friends with everybody in town,” I say. “I really doubt my attendance is going to be noticed one way or the other.”

  She shrugs. “Sheridan Falls may be growing, but we're still a small town,” she says. “People notice things like this. You don't show up and that's when all the rumors start. You know how some of these old biddies are.”

  That much was true. Sheridan Falls had almost doubled in size between the time I'd left and the time I'd come back. But it still retained that small-town feel. And one of the big features of small town life was everybody being in everybody else's business, gossip, rumors, and innuendo. It was entirely possible that if I didn't show up, one of the town gossips would conclude that I'd been having an affair with Rick and couldn't bear to be there at the same time as his wife.

  Rumors don't need to be logical – or even accurate. They simply need ears to listen and mouths to pass it along. Which, some people were more than willing to do. But then, the other factor was that I didn't really care what people thought of me.

  “I don't know,” I say. “I might.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Caleb

  I crest the hill on Miller's Road and get my first glimpse of Sheridan Falls as it is today. A dozen years had passed since I last set eyes on the town and it's barely recognizable to me now. I see some of the old landmark buildings, of course. I still recognize large parts of the town I grew up in. But now, it's easily two or three times the size it was back then.

  Sheridan Falls has quite obviously boomed while I've been gone.

  Miller's road lets me off onto the appropriately – yet incredibly cliched – Main Street, which cut through the center of town. Back in the day, Main ran from one end of town to the other. Sheridan Falls wasn't dinky, not even back then. But it certainly hadn't been a major city. Not that it is now, but it's much larger than I recall. And with all the new growth, I can't say for sure where Main ultimately leads to now.

  I drive slowly down Main, looking at all the new shops that line the street. There had been a time when everything on Main was a Mom and Pop shop. All local stores owned by local business owners. And while there were still many local shops, Main was now littered with a lot of the big-name chains you see anywhere else in America.

  Granted, I no longer have a dog in the fight here, but I hate seeing Sheridan Falls go corporate. Part of the charm of living in this place was the small town feel of it. Back then, it seemed like one of the only places in the country the corporations hadn't been able to infest. So, seeing the big-name chains replacing some of the small-town stores, was a little bit depressing. No place was safe from the infection of corporate America.

  I hate to admit it, but as I drive along the street and take in some of the old scenery, there is a part of me that misses Sheridan Falls. A small part of me, anyway. It's sometimes tough to recall, but I do have some good, fond memories of life here. They're buried under the avalanche of terrible memories, but they're there.

  Turning down a small side street, I pull to the curb and kill the engine. I sit for a minute, just reflecting on life in Sheridan Falls – and still not believing I was back. Especially after vowing that I never would be. But then, that brings to mind the reason I'm here – and I suddenly feel my heart grow heavy once more.

  “Dammit, Rick,” I say softly. “You know I don't want to be here. Especially if you're not.”

  I get out of the car and make sure to feed the meter. I figure that since I'm back, I might as well soak in the town a bit again. I have plans to meet up with Mikey and some of the guys, but that's not until later. I sort of want to get acclimated to the place again. Not that I'm going to be here all that long or anything. But as long as I'm here, I figure that I might as well take the nostalgia tour.

  I walk down Main and peer in some of the shop windows, glad to see that there are still some old places I recognize. Across the street is the burger place I used to hang out at after school and after games. I smile as I remember that I had my first kiss in that joint, actually – freshmen year, after a football game. I strain my mind but can't come up with her name though.

  Still, it's a fond memory and I can't help but smile at the thought of it.

  I stop in front of Douglas' Sweets Shop – my favorite ice cream shop in all the world. Honestly, I haven't found a place with better ice cream or dessert treats. And frankly, I'm surprised it's still around. Old Man Douglas was pushing seventy when I still lived here. He had no kids – none that I knew of, anyway. Maybe there was some other family member I didn't know about who took over the shop. Hell, for all I knew, maybe Old Man Douglas was still alive and running the store.

  One way to find out. The old bells over the door still tinkle when I stepped inside – just like they had way back when. And just like it had back then, the shop was filled with the most delicious aromas imaginable. My mouth was watering just standing inside the store – just like it had all those years ago.

  I look around the shop in wonder. Barely anything has changed. It's like Douglas' was preserved in a time capsule or something. It has the same dark wood, the same glass cases, and of course, the same outstanding array of sweet treats.

  Talk about a wave of nostalgia smacking you in the face

  A young woman with a dark ponytail, soft pale skin, and a t-shirt that's probably a couple of sizes too small, comes out of the back and flashes me a warm smile. She's probably either still in high school or just out of it. She was about the only thing that was different
inside the store – that and the rock music playing over the speakers. Old Man Douglas always believed that kids shouldn't be working – that they should be out having fun being kids. And so, he very rarely hired anybody still in school.

  “What can I get you?” she asks.

  I look around at the cases, stuffed full of amazing looking goodies and realize that I've been so caught up in my reverie that I wasn't really paying attention. I give my head a small shake and look at the girl again.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  I nod. “Yeah,” I reply. “Sorry. I used to live here and was just kind of taking a trip down memory lane.”

  She nods as if she understands, though she's so young, I doubt she can actually relate. For her, a trip down memory lane isn't likely going to go any further back than her prom or something like that.

  “The man who used to own this shop – Mr. Douglas,” I say. “Is he still around?”

  The girl gives me a soft smile. “No, unfortunately, he passed away about five years ago,” she says. “Before he did though, he sold the shop to my dad.”

  I nod and feel a twinge of sadness about the old man's passing. He could be gruff sometimes, but he was a good man. Honest. Kind. He frequently handed out treats to the kids for one reason or another. I know I'd been the recipient of the old man's treats on far more than one occasion – probably because he felt sorry for me. It's not like I had some mystical bond with the old man or anything, but he was always pretty cool to me and I appreciated him for that.

  I motion around the shop. “But you guys didn't change anything in here,” I say. “It looks exactly like it did back in the day. Even the name.”

  The girl shrugs. “My dad said it was best to not screw up a good thing,” she says. “He said that the shop had thrived for forty years, so there was no need to fix something that wasn't broken.”

  I chuckle softly. “Your dad is a wise man.”

  “Sometimes, I guess,” she says and smiles – and I can tell that she might put up a front, but she's an absolute daddy's girl.

  “Well,” I say. “How about a double scoop of mint chip ice cream on a sugar cone?”

  “Comin' right up.”

  I walk around and look inside some of the cases as the girl gets my cone ready. I can't help but smile as the memories come flooding back to me. Memories of good times. With good friends.

  “Cone's up,” she says.

  I pay for my cone and thank the girl before heading back out onto the street. I taste the ice cream and laugh out loud – making a pair of elderly women passing by give me a strange look. The ice cream is every bit as good as I remember.

  “It's the simple things in life, ladies,” I say to the old women. “The simple things.”

  They shake their heads and mutter to each other as they hurry on by. I continue walking down the street, munching on my treat, letting the nostalgia and memories wash over me. It's surprising to me – all of the fond recollections. When I left, it was with a sour, bitter taste in my mouth and nothing but anger clouding my mind. I was sure there was nothing for me in Sheridan Falls but hurtful, painful memories.

  Maybe time does heal wounds. Not all of them, of course. But some of them. Maybe that time and distance away from Sheridan Falls has allowed me to heal and discard those things that hurt me. Angered me. Filled me with a dark, abiding rage I was certain would be with me forever.

  At least somewhat. I still have some issues with my past, but I chose not to dwell on them. My life is very different from what it was. I am very different from who I'd been. I've been so determined to make a clean break from my past, from my life here, that I honestly, haven't spent much time rehashing those memories. Have actively avoided dwelling on the past. It serves no purpose.

  Of course, getting shot at and nearly blown up on a daily basis for the last decade certainly proved to be a very suitable diversion from my thoughts and feelings.

  Still, it's surprising to me that after everything I'd endured here, everything I'd gone through, that my first thoughts and feelings upon setting foot in the place I swore I never would again, were a fond nostalgia.

  “Caleb? Caleb Tirico?”

  I turn quickly at the woman's voice and feel the smile spread across my face almost instantly as I recognize her – which surprises me after all these years.

  “Becky Larson,” I say. “How in the hell are you?”

  “Griggs now,” she corrects me. “Becky Griggs.”

  “You and Bobby ended up married,” I say. “That's terrific. Congratulations.”

  “Married for eight years and two kids later,” she says with a laugh.

  Bobby and Becky had been together all throughout high school and it's not all that surprising they ended up together. They were part of our group during our high school years and I remember that while not exceptionally close to either of them, I did like them.

  “That's great, Becky. I'm happy for you.”

  “Thanks,” she says and a touch of sadness enters her voice. “You back for Rick's funeral?”

  I nod and choke back the emotion that was welling up within me. “Yeah.”

  She reaches out and gives my hand a squeeze. “I know how close you guys were,” she says. “This must be hard for you.”

  “I'm sure it's hard for all of us,” I say. “Rick was one of the good ones.”

  She nods. “He was.”

  We stand in a deep, sad silence for a few minutes before she clears her throat and puts on a smile – one that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Rick's death is obviously hitting a lot of us really hard.

  “So, where have you been all these years, Caleb?” she asks. “You're one of Sheridan Falls' greatest mysteries – the man who vanished.”

  Rick is the only one who knew about my life after I left. I honestly didn't feel the need to keep up with anybody else because I figured I'd never see them again anyway. At least, that's how I'd intended for things to be. Now, standing right in front of a face from my past, I have to decide how deep I want to let myself go. How much I want to reveal.

  Given that I'm only going to be there until just after the funeral, I tell myself that I can reveal a little bit. But not too much. Just enough to hopefully stop the questions.

  “I – I joined the Corps,” I said. “Spent a little more than a decade there.”

  “Wow,” Becky replied. “So, right after graduation, you just ran off and enlisted?”

  I gave her a smile. “That's about it, yeah.”

  She shook her head. “That's – crazy. Wow.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, so I've been told.”

  Her cell phone rings and she grabs it out of her bag, looking at the display and frowning. She holds up a finger, telling me to give her a minute. I nod and she connects the call.

  “Hey, honey,” she says. “Give me just a minute, okay?”

  She holds the phone to her chest, an apologetic look on her face. I just smile and give her arm a gentle squeeze.

  “Don't worry about it,” I say. “Duty calls for you.”

  “Listen,” she says. “Tomorrow night, we're all getting together down at the Wagon for a few drinks around eight. Kind of give Rick a sendoff. Everybody's going to be there. Why don't you come? Please?”

  I give her a smile. “I'd like that,” I say. “I'll be there.”

  “Great,” she gives me a warm smile. “I'll see you then.”

  I watch her walk off, the phone pressed to her ear. I turn and walk down the street the other way, soaking in the apparently new and improved Sheridan Falls. So much has changed and yet, I can already see that so many things have remained the same.

  Chapter Twelve

  As usual, I was up before the sun and had gone out on my daily five-mile run. It's a habit I picked up in the Corps and one I enjoy. I like running – it gives me some solitude, some quiet time in my own head, to sort through what's up there and either file it or discard it. Having that time alone c
lears my head and allows me to focus on the most pressing tasks at hand.

  And this morning, there is only one task I feel is most pressing. I have a visit to make and it's one that while I'm not dreading it, it's one I'm not entirely looking forward to either.

  I hop in the shower and wash away the sweat, letting the nearly scalding hot water cascade down over me. It's little things like hot water that I used to take for granted and really missed when I was overseas. Ever since I came back home, I relished a good, hot shower in a way I never did before. Like I told those two old ladies yesterday – it's the little things in life.

  After toweling off and getting dressed, I walk out of the hotel room and drive back down to Main Street. I know there are now shops and restaurants all over town, but I don't know the new Sheridan Falls well enough yet to go venturing out. All I want is to grab some breakfast and go do what I need to do.

  When I took my little walking tour of Main yesterday, I was dismayed to find that the Bluebird Cafe was long gone. In its place now, is a Starbucks. Of course, it's a Starbucks. Those things crop up like cancer cells – fast and everywhere. The Bluebird was awesome and I hated that it was gone.

  I did find a place that looked like a reasonable substitute though. I park on a side street, get out of the car, and head for the Sunny Side Up Cafe. Honestly, it looks a lot like the Bluebird did. Which means, it looks like a greasy little hole in the wall – which is exactly what I want.

  I step into the place and it's half-full of people getting their morning dose of grease and coffee – a terrific American tradition.

  “Sit anywhere you want, hon,” the waitress calls to me from the counter where she's pouring a cup of coffee for an older gentleman.

  I give her a wave and take a seat in a booth near the back of the diner. The morning crowd is a mix of what looks like the typical old timers who like to have a cup of coffee and a chat in the morning and business professionals who were stuffing their faces before heading in for their nine-to-five grind. Yeah, so glad I avoided that pitfall upon coming back to the States. PI work may not be glamorous, but it wasn't soul-sucking like cubicle life can be either.