by Dani Stowe
Avery sighs. “And who will take care of him when you have to deploy? Did you think about that?”
“I’m sure between my brothers and myself—”
“Gunner, I’m going to be honest, you’re being naïve. You can’t just uproot and leave a kid with family members, particularly other men, whenever you need to travel for work.”
“Military families do it all the time!”
She sighs. “I don’t want to get into a debate about it. I did as you asked and filed the adoption paperwork and you were denied. I want to mention; however, that the child has found a new family that plans to adopt him.”
I guess I should be happy Buckler’s kid found a permanent home so soon, but the thought digs at me—it’s painful.
“Can I see him or at least visit with him?” I ask.
“I’m afraid you can’t do that.”
“Let me talk to the potential parents, so I can say goodbye.”
“Gunner, that’s not how things work. I have no idea who they are and if I did, I’m not sure that I’d tell you.”
What. The. Fuck.
I stomp my feet. “Whose fucking side are you on? I paid you all that fucking money and you can’t even get me a name?”
“Gunner, sit down,” says Avery and I didn’t even notice I’ve jumped out of the hard wooden chair with stiff leather padding.
I reluctantly sit back down as she continues, “Look, you’re a young man with your whole future ahead of you.”
I’ve heard this bullshit before from Camilla.
“With the amount of determination and focus you have, I foresee you will do well for yourself,” Avery says. “I understand how passionate you are about this child considering your past, but things will work out a lot better if you find the right woman first. I don’t just handle adoptions; I handle divorces, too. You know as well as I do families come in all shapes and sizes and they formulate in all types of ways, but use this experience and learn from it. Don’t rush into a family. Find the person you want to raise a family with who wants to adopt kids as much as you do, then get married, and then come and see me again.”
Five grand, I think to myself. This is what I paid five grand for—marital advice.
Camilla crosses my mind.
“Gunner,” says Avery, “I have another appointment waiting. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No,” I say and get up.
“I’m sorry things did not work out,” she sighs with a fake grin and picks up a bowl of candy. “Would you like a chocolate?”
Looking at the other bowls on her desk, I realize I’m not the only one who probably gets bad news on a regular basis and I can’t help but feel my overpaid lawyer ripped me off. This is one of those rare times I do feel young and inexperienced.
I reach to put my hand in the bowl and scoop the entire handful of chocolate candy sealed in golden wrappers.
“I did not mean for you to take them all,” Avery says sternly.
“If the world thinks I’m still a kid, but I’m old enough to lay my life on the line and go to war, then I’m going to behave like the raging, young, armed motherfucker everybody thinks I am. I may not have gotten custody of Buckler’s boy, but that doesn’t mean I’m done protecting him. And if candy is all I get in return, then I’m taking it all.”
Avery takes a deep breath and her eyes soften. “You’re right,” she says and she reaches to the side of her desk and pulls out a big bag of candy from the bottom drawer. “Take this,” she says. “You’re entitled to it. I do feel safer at night knowing there is someone like you—a soldier ready to make sacrifices out there and I thank you for your service.”
I’m not sure what to say, but I grab the big bag of candy, nod, and walk out.
I’m so fucking pissed.
Cookies and candy—that’s all I get for doing my duty for my country.
Cookies and candy—that’s the American dream.
My phone buzzes and I peep down to see a text:
Harris: Wranglers. We’re getting drunk tonight. You coming?
Me: I’m coming.
And I will be coming, because if there is a piece of the American dream I’m also entitled to, its sweet cherry pie.
Chapter 9
“Holy fuck!” says Renee or Rebecca or whatever her name is as she grips my cock. “That thing is huge,” she says on her knees on the tiles of Wranglers’ bathroom as she stares at my enormity. “I confess, I’m a little scared,” she chuckles and swirls her tongue around the mushroom tip of my dick.
I sigh. She’s my age and pretty with big dark brown eyes and long straight black hair, some of which falls between her breasts. But she has no ass, at least not one that jiggles, and her bangs are cut short at her forehead, which makes her look younger.
Despite Harris’s attempt at matchmaking, she’s not what I want. Still, I let her take my cock into her mouth and she tries letting it get as far deep into the back of her throat as she can, which is hardly halfway, but it still feels good. So, I tilt my head back against the wall behind me and try to enjoy it, but I’m not sure I can without pretending this chick is somebody else, somebody with an ass that jiggles.
I should at least buy Reina, or Reena or whatever her name is, a beer for doing her best to blow me, but she suddenly stops and I peep down to watch her stand up.
“Gunner,” she says with a seductive smile, “take me home. I like you. I want to fuck you.” She pushes herself up against me and looks like a lost puppy—whining and begging to be with someone who she can call her new master.
“I can’t take you home,” I tell her and I feel like I’ve had this conversation recently except I was the puppy.
“Why not?”
“I live in a barracks,” I say and even if I didn’t, I still wouldn’t take her home.
“Gunner, you are the hottest guy here, but I’m the hottest chick. Do you know how many guys would die to take me home? And I’ve never asked anyone to take me home before, but I’m asking you. Don’t you think I’m worth the risk?”
I look Rhianna or Reva up and down and it makes me dizzy. It’s not because she’s hot, which she is and I’m sure it makes all men dizzy. She looks like she works out and she’s not afraid to show off her bouncing big tits on top of her tight trim frame. She could’ve been a model, like Buckler and me, but I think I’m more drunk than I anticipated.
“Listen,” I tell her as I pack my dick back into my pants. “This was fun, but I’m going to sit down with my buddies. I think I’m drunk.”
Raelyn or Roxy—kisses me and grabs at my waist. “Let me take care of you,” she says and tries to undo my jeans again, but I feel sick and I push her off and head to the latrine.
Latrine. It’s a fancy word my dad used for toilets. It’s the word First President George Washington used for holes dug into the earth to be used as shitters, which was a priority during the Revolutionary War.
“Soldiers don’t just fuck shit up,” my dad used to say. “They know how to handle their own shit.”
But I can’t handle this. I puke and realize I haven’t drank alcohol in almost a year, ever since I met Camilla. In fact, I probably drank more alcohol before I turned twenty-one than after.
As I’m puking my guts out, I still can’t believe that everything from alcohol to blow jobs, from assess to shitters, from my dad to other hot chicks—everything! Every. Fucking. Thing. Whatever crosses my mind comes down to Camilla.
I still want her.
I’m so fucking drunk, but it doesn’t ease the pain. I still want “Camilla Cougar,” as Harris likes to call her. I turn around and thank God, Raquel—or whatever her name is, is gone. I hurl one more time and feel better. I feel like I can drink more, which I need to do because I need to get numb.
I make my way back between drunks and wrangled sluts to my table of buddies.
“How’d it go?” asks Harris with a big smile.
“It didn’t,” I say and grab his beer and take a swig.
<
br /> Davis whines, “Penny is the hottest chick in here and she wanted you. What the hell is wrong with you? She was practically throwing herself at you. Look at her. She’s still fucking looking at you.”
We all turn to see Penny is indeed still looking at me.
“Seriously,” says Davis, “you have barf on your shirt and she still wants you. You are not worthy of a chick like Penny.”
“Honestly,” I laugh, “I thought her name was Rita, and if you want her so bad, then you fuck her,” I say and take another swig. “I don’t want that easy shit.”
“That’s right, because you’re a golden boy,” teases Davis. “You think you’re above and better than the rules because you were raised by a Purple Heart War Hero. But that doesn’t really mean shit, does it, Gunner? You have to learn things the hard way, just like the rest of us.”
I lean over the table and put my finger in Davis’s face. “Don’t fucking talk about my father or I’ll fucking shoot you,” I tell him.
“All right, Gunner. You can’t threaten a buddy like that. I think you’ve had enough,” says Harris and he tries to take the beer away.
“Fuck you!” I tell him and pull the beer back and it goes flying out of my hands. I turn to watch the bottle pour out over a few individuals and land on Penny, hitting her on the shoulder.
She picks up the empty glass bottle and rubs at her arm. She squints at me, obviously pissed off, but I’m sure I could still take her home and fuck her if I wanted.
“That’s it, he has to go,” says Morris. “He’s drunk as shit.”
“C’mon,” coaxes Harris. “He had his heart broken. We’re supposed to be looking out for each other after deployment and Camilla Cougar broke his heart—”
“And stole his kid,” laughs Davis.
What. The. Fuck. Camilla has my kid?
“Dude, shut up!” says Harris as Morris shakes his head.
“What the fuck did you say?” I ask Davis. I suddenly feel sober.
“Nothing, man,” says Morris. “Don’t listen to him.”
Luckily, Davis can’t shut up. “I don’t know why Harris and Morris don’t want to tell you about...” Davis pauses as Harris knocks him with his knuckles.
“About what?” I ask.
Davis chortles, “About the time we saw Camilla and the general with a bunch of their kids together. And even though we all talk about it behind your back, no one wants to tell you to your face because you’re too stupid to realize you’re not good enough for that chick or that kid.”
“Don’t listen to Davis. He’s a dummy,” says Morris.
“No, I’m not!” replies Davis. “Gunner is the dumb one. He wasted all that money on Buckler’s kid only to lose the kid to his ex-commander, who used him like a boy toy and doesn’t want anything to do with him now because she found a more experienced dickhead with more money, bigger balls, and probably a bigger dick to screw.”
I reach over the table, grabbing Davis by his shirt and taking a swing, but Morris blocks my fist as Harris grabs me from behind. I watch our table topped with drinks fall over and the next thing I see is Davis’s fist come at me.
I duck and Davis hits Morris by mistake so I wiggle my arm free and punch Davis in the stomach.
“Cut it out!” cries Harris and I feel a knock in my eye; I can’t see.
Someone punched me. I don’t know who did it, but I can’t open either of my eyes. I can’t see or feel anything. I feel nothing until my entire body hits the ground and my whole being finally goes numb.
I try to open my eyes, but all I see is a blur. Things slowly become clearer though my vision is only working in one eye—the other one won’t open.
I blink my right eye a few times and sit up, realizing I’m alone in the back of a moving cab.
“Hey,” I tell the driver, “where are we going?”
“Your friends told me to take you back to your base. I’m supposed to drop you off at the gate and then call your commander to take you back to your barracks,” says the driver with a Middle Eastern accent.
I rub my head. “I don’t want to go back to the barracks.”
“I don’t think you’re in a good state of mind to make decisions right now, young man,” says the driver.
I reach into my back pocket and pull out my wallet. I still have $200 cash so I pull it out and toss it to the driver. “Take me to 100 Fairytale Lane.”
I see the driver collect the cash with one hand as he keeps driving. “Fairytale Lane? You have a princess waiting there for you?” he laughs. “My daughter likes American cartoons. I see all the fairytales, but they are mostly about knights rescuing a princess from monsters and dragons. Honestly, my friend, I don’t think you should attempt a rescue this evening. Your eye is swollen, plus you look and smell like shit. If you’re planning on being someone’s knight in shining armor, I highly suggest you wait to do it another night.”
I touch my left eye. It is swollen and it’s beginning to throb, but I still want to see the kid and I’m confident I still have enough beef to take on the general if he gets in my way.
“It’s not a rescue,” I say. “I’m not rescuing anybody. I just need to see if my kid is okay.”
“You have a kid?” the driver asks. “I would not have guessed it.”
“Yeah,” I say and lie back down across the back seat because I’m beginning to feel sick again and my eye hurts.
Within thirty minutes, I hear the cab’s brakes squeak and I struggle to sit up. When I open the door, I fall out, landing on my face, and I hear the driver call out to me.
“You okay?” he asks.
I realize he may have been right. Maybe tonight was not the best night to come inquire about the kid.
I struggle to get back up on my feet, but something deep inside me says it’s going to be worth it. I figure I need to do what a soldier does, especially when he is down, and as I’ve done in training. I need to keep going.
And it is worth it, because the second I see it—the castle, I’m overwhelmed. I want to cry like the lost, lonely little kid I once was who had no home.
But I also want to set the castle on fire. I want to break all the windows and bust down the doors and fuck shit up so bad until Camilla Cougar’s castle is nothing but rubble. I’m so pissed, but I can’t fuck it up—the kid is in there.
I need to get in.
“Would you like me to wait?” asks the driver.
“No,” I tell him. “Things might get ugly. I might have to fight the big ugly dragon.”
The cab driver laughs. “At least you are still drunk. It won’t hurt as bad when you get burned,” he says and I shut the door and watch him put the car in reverse.
As the yellow taxi drives away, I think about Buckler. She was a good soldier and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting to make sure her kid is okay. If I get burned, I figure I’ve done my job as a compatriot and friend.
I slowly make my way up the wooden steps and onto the front covered porch. I have no idea what time it is. I see only Camilla’s car parked in the garage, so I don’t think the general will be here.
I lightly tap my swollen eye. I can’t see out of it, but I’m fairly confident I still got some fight left in me if the general is here. Plus, he’s older. I’ll totally kick his ass if he gives me any shit. Besides, I remind myself, I’m not here for Camilla; I’m just here to visit with the kid or at least check on him.
I knock on the door. I wait for a few minutes, but no one answers; so, I knock again, but this time a little louder.
Still, no one comes and now I find myself pounding my fists on the door and calling out, “Camilla!”
Finally, the porch light comes on and the door opens. I feel an ache in my chest at the sight of my cougar who looks more like a tiny little kitten. The vision of her makes my eye hurt even worse. My heart is pounding so fast and hard, it makes my eye feel like it’s about to pop.
“Gunner?” she whispers. “What are you doing here? What happened
to you?”
“I’m here for the kid,” I tell her. “I wanted to make sure Buckler’s kid is okay.”
“He’s fine,” she says. “He’s sleeping.”
I inspect Camilla standing in the doorway wearing an off-the-shoulder pink cotton nightgown that stops at her knees, which I’ve never seen before. It’s different from the panties and sports bras I’m accustomed to seeing. It’s sexy and pretty at the same time, but it also makes her look like a mom.
“You took my kid,” I say.
“Your kid?” she laughs. “You mean Buckler’s son? Was that you who also filed for adoption?”
“Yeah, it was me,” I say. “I paid a lot of money only to get denied. So, can I see him or do I need to fight your boyfriend?”
“Gunner, you’re drunk and you look like you just got into a bar fight. I don’t have a boyfriend and I can’t let you see the kid.”
“So, you’re not seeing the general?”
She laughs softly as she clings to the edge of the door. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but no, I’m not seeing the general. In fact, I’m not seeing anyone and I don’t intend to.” Camilla stops laughing and looks me in the eye. “I have other priorities now.”
“Like the kid?” I ask.
“Yes, I have kids.”
I nod. “So, you have more than one?”
She smiles. “Yes.”
“How many?”
“I have a daughter that I adopted. She’s Filipino and she’s had some medical issues, and I’m hoping to keep Buckler’s son, if he’ll have me.”
“You were talking to your daughter in Filipino the other day—the day you picked me up from the hangar.”
Camilla grins and nods.
“And it was your daughter in the hospital on the last night we were together before I deployed?” I ask.
Camilla nods again.
I’m upset she never told me, but after everything she’s confessed, I can understand. I was right to believe Camilla wanted a family and I figure she didn’t want her daughter to meet someone who was about to turn around and leave on deployment for a long time. I just wish Camilla would stop underestimating me.
