Major O: A Bad Boy Military Romance

by R. R. Banks

  “What do you say we get out of here?” I suggest.

  Jessica gives me the kind of smile that would make lesser men weak in the knees. Good thing I'm not lesser men.

  “I was wondering when you'd get around to asking,” she says.

  The fire is already burning inside of me and I'm counting down the minutes until I get her back to my hotel room. I can tell she's going to be one hell of a lot of fun.

  We say our goodbyes to the crowd and I promise to hook up with some of them for drinks or dinner after the funeral. More than a few of them give me a pointed look, their eyes traveling down to my hand – the hand Jessica's holding onto tightly. I just give them a shrug and a wink.

  Jessica finally manages to pull me away and leads me to the door. And I can't say I'm not glad to see how eager and enthusiastic she is about getting back to my room.

  We step out of the Wagon and into the cool night air on Main Street. The moon is high overhead in a crystal-clear sky and there is a soft, chill breeze in the air. It's a perfect night. Jessica smiles at me and I wrap my arm around her shoulders.

  We turn and start to walk to where I'm parked and I stop dead in my tracks. I feel Jessica's body tense up beside me and the smile quickly falls from her face. The churning in my stomach kicks into overdrive and I suddenly feel lightheaded.

  Standing on the sidewalk right in front of me is Abby Greenwood – the woman I once loved more than life itself and had been planning a future with. The woman I'd completely ghosted.

  She looks at me with an expression of pure disbelief – which quickly gives way to one of hurt and anger. Abby clutches at her stomach and looks like she might throw up all over the place. I can see that her legs are wobbling and fear that she might just fall over.

  “Dude,” I say to the douchebag holding her hand. “She's going to fall. Do something useful and hold her up.”

  The man looks at me, his face a mask of confusion. But he does what I said and puts his arm around Abby's waist, keeping her standing upright.

  Abby looks from Jessica to me with eyes that are glistening and her lower lip quivering as if she's about to burst into tears. As I look at her, a splinter of guilt the size of a fucking two-by-four drives itself straight through my heart. She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out.

  “I – we should probably go,” I say.

  Abby looks at me, imploring me with her eyes to stop and talk to her – but I can't bear the sight of her. I grab Jessica's hand and pull her around Abby and who I assume is her douchebag of a boyfriend. We walk quickly down the street, find my car, and take off as quickly as we can.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Abby

  “Who was that?” James asks as we walk to the car.

  “Ummm – nobody. Just an old friend from high school,” I say, my body tense, my heart and mind choked and clouded with emotion.

  I somehow manage to feel both numb and overwhelmed by pain, all at the same time. This didn't feel real. It feels like I'm in a dream – or rather, a nightmare. A terrible, horrible nightmare. I cannot believe that twelve years after he vanished like a goddamn puff of smoke on the wind, I run into Caleb Tirico on the streets of Sheridan Falls.

  “Just an old friend?” James asks, opening the car door for me.

  “Yeah,” I say blankly.

  I slide into the passenger seat of his BMW and just stare blankly ahead, looking out at the street beyond the windshield without actually seeing anything. I'm almost afraid to look around, afraid I might see Caleb again. And God knows, I can't handle that right now. There is no way in hell I can handle it.

  James walks around the car and gets in the driver's side, but instead of starting the car, he turns to me, an inscrutable look on his face. I refuse to look at him, sure that if he sees my face, he's going to know I'm lying. But the silence between us lingers so long, things inside the car are growing awkward. Finally, I turn to him and sigh.

  “What?” I demand.

  He shrugs. “I'm just wondering about that guy,” he says. “Because I'm picking up on something that feels like he's more than just an old friend from high school.”

  I sigh again, feeling irritated on top of every other emotion coursing through my body. “Fine. We used to date. Back in high school,” I say. “I just – well – I never thought I'd see him again honestly.”

  “I see,” he says quietly and turns away from me.

  James starts the car and pulls from the curb, accelerating down the street in silence. I can tell something is bothering him, but I figure that he's just processing everything like he usually does. He's not saying a word and neither am I, content to brood in the darkness of the car. I know what to expect once we get home though, and while I normally can find some desire for sex in me, this run-in with Caleb really has thrown me for a loop.

  James parks outside my house, and as usual, he opens the car door for me and we walk in together, hand-in-hand. He still hasn't said much else about Caleb, and I pray to God he doesn't. I'm just not even close to being in the right head space to talk about that. Not with anyone – but most of all, not with him. Not right now. Maybe, not ever.

  As we step into the house, I put my jacket away, and as expected, I feel James pressing himself against me from behind. He kisses my neck, and instead of leaning into him like I normally do, I pull away. I turn around to explain to him and find him staring at me, a look of surprise and hurt on his face.

  “Listen, I'm not really in the mood tonight,” I say. “Can we just watch some TV and go to bed instead?”

  James' jaw is clenched tight. I can see he's struggling, internally, with what I just asked him – as if I'd just asked him to put the moon and stars in my hand. It's like he was having trouble coming to grips with the fact that I'd just broken the sacred routine and had turned him down. I half expected him to just start saying, “does not compute, does not compute.”

  But instead of agreeing or disagreeing with me, he surprises me. He leans forward, grabs hold of me, pulling me to him and kisses me. At first, it's a chaste kiss, but quickly, he presses his tongue into my mouth and pulls me closer to him, making me feel that he's already aroused and ready.

  Again, I pull away and take a step back. “James, did you hear me? I'm not in the mood tonight?”

  “But it's – our time together,” he says. “It's our date night.”

  “Yes, it's our date night, but that doesn't mean it always has to end with sex,” I say. “We don't always have to do everything by the numbers, James.”

  I feel myself trembling with emotion – anger being the primary one. The emotion of seeing Caleb is still sweeping through me. The emotion of running into him again after all this time. After what he did to me. But I can't explain any of that to James. Instead, I do the only thing I can do – lie.

  “I'm not feeling well,” I say. “I think something at dinner is disagreeing with me.”

  “No, I don't accept that, Abby,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief. “Because you had the eggplant. You always get the eggplant and never have any issues. You love the eggplant parmesan.”

  Love was a strong word for how I felt about that particular dish, but I'm not going to stand there and argue about something so stupid and trivial.

  “Okay, maybe I have a flu coming on then, I don't know,” I say. “All I know is that I feel sick and would rather not –”

  A flash of anger crosses James' face as he looks at me. His eyes darken and a flush creeps into his cheeks.

  “This isn't about you feeling sick,” he says. “This is about him, isn't it? That guy we ran into on the street? The guy you used to date back in high school?”

  “What are you –”

  “I saw the way he looked at you. And don't think I didn't notice the way you nearly fainted when you saw him,” he says. “This is all about him, isn't it?”

  His voice rises and is tinged with heat. With anger. And I'm taken completely aback by
it. It's something I hardly ever experience with James because he is usually always so even keeled, put-together, and buttoned up. He doesn't have emotional outbursts like this. Not all that often, anyway. But when he has had an outburst, they've never, ever been directed at me.

  Not until now, anyway. And as much anger as seeing Caleb had stirred up within me, James was doing a pretty damn good job of stirring up even more.

  “Really? You're going there?” I snap. “You're going to yell at me because I said I'm not in the mood?”

  Yes, I know my boyfriend has issues. I know he sticks to a routine and is pretty rigid about it. And I also know that by breaking that routine, we were likely going to argue about it. But there is absolutely no way in hell I can have sex with him tonight. Not after seeing Caleb in the flesh for the first time in twelve years. Not with all the memories and emotion it dredged up within me. I'm so busy trying to hold myself together that I didn't have room for anything else at the moment. I certainly don't have any desire to have sex tonight.

  At one point in time, seeing Caleb would have excited me beyond imagination. Seeing him now though, is an absolute libido killer.

  “No, I'm yelling at you because you still have feelings for him,” James spits. “You do, don't you?”

  “What?” I scoff, turning away from James so he can't see the lie I'm sure is painted all over my face. “You're being silly, James. I haven't seen Caleb in twelve years. And after what he did, after everything he put me through, why would I? How could I –?”

  “Oh, so that's Caleb, huh? The infamous Caleb?” he asks as comprehension dawns upon his face. “Brilliant. I should have known.”

  “James, you're being ridic –”

  He cuts me off by grabbing my arm, forcing me to turn around and look at him. He's holding me tight and squeezing, his fingers digging into my flesh, making me cry out in pain.

  “Let me go!” I shout. “You're hurting me, asshole.”

  He lets go of my arm and a look of horror crosses his face. I can tell he didn't realize what he was doing and feels bad about it. James isn't an abusive man. I know that he'd never hurt me intentionally, and I can see that he feels guilty.

  “I'm sorry, Abby,” he says, his voice quieter this time. “You know I don't handle things like this well. I don't handle – change well.”

  “No, you don't,” I say, my body still filled with rage.

  I want to cry so badly. Or maybe punch something. There are so many different and conflicting emotions swirling around in me that I can't even begin to keep up. I'm trembling with rage, but not because of what just happened with James – but because of everything.

  Seeing Caleb brought so many memories rushing back to the forefront of my mind and heart. Memories that I quite obviously hadn't dealt with as thoroughly as I'd hoped. Memories that should remain buried. Forever.

  But it was too late to worry about what I did or didn't do. Should or shouldn't have done. All I could do when things got really sticky for me was – as my therapist counseled me time and time again – to deal with what was on my plate right in front of me.

  “But your inability to handle change well isn't my problem, James,” I hissed. “My problem is that I shouldn't be forced to fuck you simply because that's what you're used to. Because that's what you expect thanks to your precious little schedule and routine.”

  Yes, what I said is harsh. Yes, I used the F-word – a word I know James hates with a fiery passion. It's a word I don't often use, but this time, I used it on purpose. I did it to bother him – and for that, I know I should feel bad. But I don't. Not even the slightest twinge of guilt. And it's because in that moment, I realize that I'm done. I'm done with everything – his routines, the date nights that bore me to tears. Done with the sex that leaves me unsatisfied and yearning for more.

  After everything I've been through, I know that part of the reason I stay with guys longer than I should is simply because I fear I might end up old and alone one day. I always find some rationale for not ending a relationship when I know it's not going anywhere.

  But in that moment, as I stare at James, an important realization hits me. In that moment, I realize that I'd rather end up old alone than here. With him. Or with anybody who makes me feel the way James makes me feel. It's not all his fault, I know that it's my own baggage coming into play, but I just can't keep doing this, day after day. I can't keep putting on a fake smile and pretending everything is okay when I'm screaming inside. I can't.

  I won't.

  Once upon a time, my life was fun. My life had been fulfilling. I remember a time when I enjoyed myself and my life. I experienced new things, tried new foods. I'd go on spontaneous date nights and was always surprised and happy with our impromptu little adventures. Once upon a time, I wasn't afraid to try new things and I certainly never settled for less than what I thought I deserved because I was afraid or complacent.

  Of course, that old life – that sense of optimism and wonder – had been when I was with Caleb. Back then, I truly believed that was how our life – our life together – was going to be. I was realistic enough to know that not every day was going to be sunshine, roses, and fireworks. But I also knew that together, he and I could have a fun, happy, and fulfilling life.

  But then, he vanished and everything changed. My world – the vision of the world I thought we were building together – came crumbling down. It lay there in a fiery heap and I was forced to pick through the wreckage. Which I did. Or thought I did. I thought I had myself handled. Squared away. And under control.

  But seeing Caleb again reignited something inside of me. Maybe it woke me up from that years long nightmare I'd been trapped in. And between the emotions seeing him again stirred, as well as everything that's happening with James right now, it brought me to several powerful realizations. I'm not happy. I'm settling for less than I want. Less than I deserve. And I'm tired of it. Tired of settling for less because I'm scared of my own shadow. And something has to change.

  I might find that sense of optimism and wonder I used to have again. Maybe, someday. Not with Caleb certainly, but maybe with someone else. Somebody worthy of me. And if I don't find it? I guess I'm going to have to get used to being happy with my own company.

  Because I deserve to be happy. And right now, I'm about as far from happy as a person can get.

  I look at James and can see the mixture of confusion, frustration, and fear on his face. He's so used to everything going by the numbers, that now that I've gone completely off script, he's not sure what to do with himself. And like he said, he doesn't handle change well.

  “I'm done, James,” I say softly as I walk into my living room. “I'm done. This – thing – between us isn't going to work out. It's over.”

  “I'm sorry,” he says, a flutter of panic in his voice. “We don't have to have sex tonight. And moving forward, I can be more – flexible. I'll learn to adapt to change better. I can do that, Abby. I can do that for you.”

  I can tell that me breaking up with him pains him greatly. He's absently picking at his fingernails – something he never does – and he looks stressed to the max over the change in plans. Over the change in our relationship status. But he's trying. God, he was trying.

  But it's not enough. It's – as the old saying goes – much too little, much too late.

  “No, I'm done. I'm sorry, James,” I say, turning to look directly at him, to let him see the finality in my eyes. “We're done. I'm breaking up with you.”

  “No,” he says, fidgeting with his hands now. “No, we can fix this, Abby. You can't break up with me –”

  “I can. And I am,” I say at last. “I'm sorry, James. But you deserve better. And frankly, so do I. We're not happy and we're not very good together.”

  “I'm very happy,” he says. “And I think we're great together.”

  I know that in his mind, he is happy. Because to him, settling down and following the same routine day after day was what
made him happy. Comfortable. Change is the enemy and rigid routine is the friend that needs to be tightly embraced.

  God forbid I want something else – something more – right?

  “But the truth is, I'm not happy, James. I haven't been for some time now,” I say. “And I'm sorry to hurt you. That's the last thing I want. But believe me when I tell you that this is for the best.”

  “No, Abby,” he says, shaking his head. “I won't let you. No, you can't do this. You have to be a part of my life.”

  “I can do this, and I am, James” I say. “Please, show yourself out.”

  I turn to walk away from him, done with the conversation and done with the entire evening. All I want in that moment is to soak in a hot tub and have a glass of wine or twelve. But before I get very far, he grabs my arm, this time tighter than before. He squeezes, a look of pure rage in his eyes and suddenly, I'm afraid of what he might to. I struggle in his grasp, fight against him, trying to break free. But he's strong. Stronger than most people would believe.

  “Let me go, James,” I say, trying to make my voice as cold as possible. “And please, leave before I call the cops. Because I will. I swear to God I'll call them.”

  I'm shaking with fear, but also with a healthy amount of anger. He's just not getting it, and it's like he somehow feels entitled to me. Like I'm his property. His possession. Like I somehow owe him something. All of which washes away any sense of guilt I might have over upsetting his routing by breaking up with him.

  “We'll talk about this, Abby,” he says, letting go of my arm. “Please, let's talk about this. This can be fixed and everything will be okay.”

  I just want him out of my house, so I appease him by nodding. I agree with his demand even though deep down I know it was over. I am totally and completely done.

  “Fine. Whatever you want, James,” I say. “Can I please just be left alone for now though? I'd really like some time to myself.”

  I know it's hard for him, but he leaves my home without another word. As soon as he's gone, my heart breaks. But it doesn't break for James. Oh no. It breaks for Caleb.