Rank & File (Anchor Point Book 4)

by L. A. Witt

  Except . . .

  I sighed.

  Brent met my gaze. “Doesn’t seem like we have a lot of options, does it?”

  “No.” I carded my fingers through his hair. “But we’ll figure something out. If anything, we’ll just find a way to be more discreet.”

  Brent searched my eyes.

  I leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  I wanted him to believe me. So, so bad.

  But deep down, I was pretty sure we both heard the unspoken yet.

  When we were in bed together, it was easy to tell myself we could make this work. As soon as the clothes were on and we’d gone our separate ways until the next time, reality was a little harder to ignore.

  As I tried to go about my day, I could still feel everything we’d done the other night. Not just the sex. Everything. The phantom weight of him resting against my side and on my shoulder was still there, though I knew that was just my imagination. The conversation we’d had in bed had settled into some very uncomfortable places behind my ribs, in my stomach, and somewhere in the back of my head.

  It didn’t help that I hadn’t slept. All of that had kept me awake, and the fatigue was making it all worse. I was getting way too old to do this job on that little sleep.

  Not that I had a choice. The Navy didn’t do sick days, and they sure as hell didn’t do mental health days. In fact, as if out of spite, this was one of those days when I needed to have my shit together and not look like I was about to pass out. Captain Carter’s daughter and one of the maintenance guys from the flight line had been busted making out in the lot behind the Exchange, and most of my morning had been spent explaining that it didn’t matter if “she said she was eighteen” was a legitimate defense. That would be up to JAG, not us. And then, of course, Captain Carter and his wife had come to pick up their daughter, which meant a lot of yelling, threatening, and warning—all directed at me, since if I valued my career, I would make sure the man went to Leavenworth and the daughter’s name never appeared on anything, since it would damage the captain’s reputation. All the while, he and his wife completely ignored their daughter because they still hadn’t figured out that her rebellious streak—which was getting to the point of seriously damaging people’s military careers—was a desperate plea for her parents’ attention.

  By the time the Carter family had left and the security officer had taken over with the man—who by now was a terrified mess—it was almost three in the afternoon, and I was exhausted. I felt sorry for both of the kids who’d been caught. The guy was nineteen, and between her makeup, fake ID, and genes, Captain Carter’s daughter really did look eighteen. She could’ve easily passed for twenty-one. He’d seemed genuinely horrified to find out she was sixteen. She’d looked devastated on the way out because, once again, her father was more concerned about his career than about her.

  And since the family would likely be focused on how she was hurting her dad’s career, it would be just about time for her sister to act out. I gave it two weeks tops before we were bringing her in for pot possession again. I just hoped like hell that she never escalated to selling. Or if she did, that we never caught her. There were some charges her father could magically erase, but distributing drugs on government property was not one of them.

  With that debacle—or at least my participation in it—finally over, I returned to my office to wallow in my tired, distracted, depressed state of mind.

  Cursing under my breath, I sat down at my desk. Not that I could get comfortable. I was used to the bulk of my police belt, but today, it was annoying. Everything was. Especially the stiff, uneven cushion on the back of my desk chair. The Navy wasn’t exactly known for stocking its ships and offices with the latest and greatest in ergonomic furniture, and this particular chair had probably been in the Navy as long as I had. It would probably still be here after I retired.

  Especially, I thought bitterly, if I end up retiring sooner than later.

  The worst part was that, as much as it made me feel like a gigantic asshole, I was beginning to resent my relationship with Brent. There was an ultimatum in place, and though it wasn’t his fault, it was there, and I wasn’t keen on being forced to choose between a man or my career again.

  I tried to tell myself I wasn’t being fair. Brent wasn’t pressuring me, but I could hear echoes of Vince in all this. Even if it hadn’t started souring our relationship, it would. Inevitably.

  Either you give up and retire, or things are going to go to shit.

  Fair or not, I hated that I had to be the one to make the decision. Brent was too early into a promising career. I was on the cusp of retirement eligibility. If someone quit, it was going to be me, and damn if that didn’t sound a hell of a lot like, If you loved me as much as you say you do, you wouldn’t even have to think about this.

  I also hated keeping any part of my life a secret. The repeal of DADT had been a massive thing for me because I didn’t have to hide who I was from the Navy anymore. My parents still had their own version of DADT in effect, but I spent more time around the Navy than my family anyway. Being able to be openly gay was . . . fuck. Huge.

  Dating Brent was like reinstating that fucked-up policy all over again. It was like going back to the days when I could do whatever—and whoever—I wanted, but if the Navy caught wind of it, I was done.

  And as I sat here and thought about it, I decided I was done. I’d devoted too much of my life to the Navy to kiss it goodbye over a relationship with a younger man who I’d only known for a little while, and who’d probably get bored of me eventually anyway. I wasn’t stupid—he was in his twenties. How many twentysomethings had I watched get divorced over the years? That wasn’t to say he was nearly as immature as a lot of the younger Sailors and officers I’d worked with, but he was still a kid to some extent.

  A knock at my door startled me out of my thoughts. Fortunately, it was the one person whose presence I could tolerate right now—Noah.

  He stepped in with a high stack of folders on his arm and shut the door behind him. “It’s your favorite time—eval time.” He put the stack of evaluations on my desk with an emphatic thump. “You know the drill.”

  I glared at the stack. Yeah. I knew the drill. Read them. Sign them. Send them back. Or read them, kick them back to be unfucked, then read them again, and hopefully sign them. I’ll get to them.” I nudged them aside. “Probably by the end of the day.”

  “Fine by me.” He paused. “You look like shit. What’s going on?”

  “Besides a long afternoon dealing with Captain Carter and—”

  “Yeah. Besides that.” Noah took a seat in front of my desk. “You were dragging ass long before patrol brought in those kids.”

  Couldn’t get anything past him. Didn’t know why I tried.

  I sighed. “Just . . . things with Brent.”

  “Like, things between you guys? Or the reasons you probably shouldn’t be with him in the first place?”

  “Column B.”

  “Ouch. I mean, I’m glad things are good between you. But you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah.” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “I don’t know how long things are going to stay good between us, though. Because of all of that.”

  “Damn. That’s rough.”

  “Yeah. Something has to give, and . . . I’m pretty sure I know what that something is.”

  Noah studied me. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” I sank back into the stiff cushion, rubbing a hand over my face as the chair’s aging mechanism shrieked into place. The uppermost part of my police belt bit in between two vertebrae. Not enough to hurt, but enough to prod and annoy. I shifted a little, but it didn’t help.

  Just going into this conversation made me a hundred times more exhausted. “There’s no way we can keep doing this. His boss is onto him. Master Chief Holloway will catch on to me eventually. It’s . . .” I sighed and pressed the heel of my hand into my forehead, making slow, useless circles. I dro
pped my arm onto the wobbly armrest and met Noah’s gaze across the desk. “Either one of us gets out, or we both get caught and get booted out.”

  Noah grimaced. I caught myself wishing for a smug I told you so, but it didn’t come. The situation was too serious for even him to make a joke, and that did nothing to loosen the knot in the pit of my stomach.

  He pressed his elbow into the armrest and absently rubbed the backs of his knuckles along the edge of his jaw. “I’m guessing when you say ‘one of you,’ you mean you.”

  “I don’t see how it could be him. If he gets out, then he’s wasted all that time and effort he spent with the Academy and getting to where he is, and he’ll have nothing to show for it. If I get out, at least I have my retirement and benefits.”

  “Yeah, but I give it six months before you start resenting the hell out of him.”

  What could I say? He knew me well.

  “I’d be surprised if it took that long.” I let my head fall back against the chair, wincing when a piece of cracked plastic dug into my neck. “I think I already do resent him.” I winced again, this time from my admission. “God, I’m such an asshole.”

  “No, you’re not.” Noah sounded uncharacteristically serious. “You both have really, really strong ambition, and you’re not going to compromise everything you’ve worked for.”

  “I seem to recall Vince making some comments along those lines when he was on his way out the door.”

  “Will.” He sighed. “Vince wasn’t cut out for being a military spouse. Everyone knows they have to be willing to put up with a lot of shit from the Navy to pull off a relationship like that. And let’s face it—Vince was a lying, cheating asshole who deserves to be attacked by one of those little fish that swim up your dick.”

  A laugh burst out of me. “Jesus. Tell me how you really feel.”

  He shrugged. “Just saying. You deserve better.”

  “I know. And I . . . Fuck, I swear I’ve found better. He’s just not someone I can have.”

  “That sucks, man. And seriously, he’s not someone you can have. If you and Brent were both officers or both enlisted, then it could work out fine. But you’re not. It’s not his fault, and it’s not your fault—it’s the way the chips fell. I don’t think anyone can hold it against you if you’re not willing to cut your career short for a guy you’ve only known a few months.”

  I couldn’t muster up the energy to tell him how I felt about that guy I’d only known a few months. It didn’t matter, so why bother?

  He must’ve seen something in my expression, though, and asked, “What if you’d given up your career when Vince asked you to?”

  I shuddered. It was possible Vince would’ve stayed faithful if we’d both been civilians. Or maybe he’d still have cheated, but he would’ve had to come up with some other excuse for it besides blaming my job for keeping us apart.

  “I don’t know if he’d have cheated,” I said. “But I’m pretty sure I’d be resenting the shit out of him right now.”

  “You would have. Guaranteed. And if you retire over this kid, you’re going to resent him too.”

  “I know. Even if I did retire so we could stay together, that’d still be a year away. Someone’s bound to find out about us.” I let my head fall back against the chair. “Staying with him means losing my career one way or the other.”

  “And you’ll hate yourself for it.”

  I nodded.

  It hurt like hell, but there weren’t any options here. Fact was, sooner or later, this relationship would be over. The only question at this point was whether our careers—one or both—would be a casualty.

  The sound of Brent’s car pulling up outside turned my stomach. I wasn’t ready for this, but there was no avoiding it.

  I hadn’t slept for shit last night because I’d known tonight was coming. All day long at work, I’d been a step above useless, but not a very big step. Thank God for Noah—he’d run interference as much as possible, and handled anything he could. I owed him big time.

  As Brent came up the walk, I opened the door. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” He smiled, though it was weak, and slid his hands into his pockets. Neither of us said anything as he came in and I shut the door. Even after the dead bolt was in place, neither of us made a move to touch each other.

  I cleared my throat and gestured for him to follow me into the kitchen. My mouth had gone dry, and I desperately needed to do something about that before we went any further. I offered him a beer, but he went for the same thing I did—coffee. I wondered if that meant he expected to be driving in the very near future. Maybe this wouldn’t take long.

  The coffee did little to settle my stomach, but at least my tongue wasn’t sticking to the roof of my mouth anymore.

  “Listen, um . . .” I set the cup down. “We need to talk.”

  He took a deep breath and pushed his shoulders back. “Okay.”

  Silence. Long, uncomfortable silence. A million different approaches ran through my head, but ultimately, there was no point in anything but the direct one. Pussyfooting around it wouldn’t do either of us any good.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally said. “I . . . can’t keep doing this.”

  I swore I could feel Brent’s heart drop. Or maybe that was mine.

  He shifted his gaze away.

  “I want to,” I said. “Believe me, I do. But . . .”

  “I know.” He looked at me again, and the hurt in his eyes cut right to the bone. It just confirmed what I already knew.

  I should’ve cut you loose a long time ago so I wouldn’t have to hurt you now.

  I should’ve let you go before I fell this hard for you.

  My own thought made me wince. Every time I admitted to myself that I was in love with him, doing the right thing got exponentially harder.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. Because I was, and because I didn’t know what else to say.

  Brent nodded. “I know. Me . . . me too.” His jaw worked, and I wondered if he was trying to hold himself together. “I guess there isn’t much more to say, is there?”

  “Not really, no.”

  We held each other’s gazes. Never in my life had I imagined wanting a knock-down, drag-out, screaming-match type of breakup, but I wished for one right now. It was so much easier to let someone go after we’d spent an hour saying all kinds of shit we couldn’t take back. Those fights usually hurt, and so did the breakups, but at least it was more like Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, asshole. By the time it was over, we’d want nothing more than to be as far apart as possible.

  Calmly, quietly, sadly calling things off with Brent hurt in a way I hoped I’d never experience again.

  Brent broke eye contact first. “I’ll, um . . . get out of your hair, then.”

  “Okay.” I didn’t know what to say, so for lack of anything better, I added, “Take care of yourself.”

  “Yeah. You too.” On his way to the door, he paused. Slowly, he turned back to me. “For the record, I don’t regret this.”

  I wished I felt the same. I’d already hurt him enough, though. “Neither do I.”

  Something flickered across his expression. His lips tightened, and then his eyes darted away from mine. I wondered if he saw right through me.

  If he did, he didn’t say a word. He just continued toward the door, and a moment later, he was gone.

  Alone, I sat back on the couch and closed my eyes. I didn’t want to regret it. The sex had been amazing, and the time we’d spent together in between had been . . . Oh fuck, when was the last time I’d enjoyed another guy’s company like that? Brent and I came from two different worlds—we still lived in two different worlds—and yet we’d somehow fit together. First, physically. Later, so much more than that.

  I ran a hand through my hair and cursed into my empty apartment. Watching my live-in boyfriend drive away after over half a decade together had been hard. Who was I kidding—it’d been hell. I’d been devastated, and I’d broken down on my b
est friend’s shoulder because watching that U-Haul disappear around the corner had torn something in me.

  We’d gone down in flames. The fighting had been nonstop for too long. The cheating had been unforgivable. Nothing in the world could make me take that man back, but watching him go had still been one of the hardest things I’d ever done. A relief in some ways—we’d finally put out the trash fire that our relationship had become—but hard because at one time, I had loved him.

  Letting Brent go was harder for entirely different reasons. We both wanted to be together. There was no anger. No fighting. No side pieces. Nothing but an ironclad regulation that said we couldn’t.

  I’d never even had a chance to tell him I loved him, and that was a good thing because it would’ve made this hurt more. For both of us.

  I regretted dating him because I’d known from day one that it wouldn’t last. The only variable had been when it would blow up and how much it would hurt. Dragging it on for as long as we had, giving things a chance to turn into something so much better, had been an exercise in masochism.

  On the bright side, the pain of my other breakup was long gone. I could think about that relationship objectively and without getting choked up.

  So, Brent had definitely helped me get over Vince.

  Now I had to find a way to get over him.

  Driving onto the base was torture. Even my evenings were miserable. I couldn’t go anywhere in Anchor Point without thinking about Will because I couldn’t go anywhere in this town without being face-to-face with the goddamned Navy.

  When Saturday finally rolled around, I was out of bed before the sun came up, and got the hell out of town. I didn’t have a destination. All I needed was to get as far away from the Navy as I could, so I drove down the coast until there was no chance of seeing a ship or one of the harbor security boats. With any luck, I wouldn’t even see the Coast Guard. I supposed I could have gone inland instead of staying near the water, but then my dumb ass would probably have wound up in Portland, and I’d have had a complete breakdown when I saw the hotel we’d stayed in or the Chicken ’N’ Fire or that fucking garden.