by KB Winters
“Not really.” I dropped my eyes to my nails and picked at the shiny lacquer my mother had insisted I get polished on before the first of the parties we’d attended. Four weeks my ass, it was already starting to chip away.
“Why not?” Lo asked.
“I tried to explain it all, but she told me to stop making excuses and to own my actions. She said that at this point, the damage has already been done, and it doesn’t matter whether or not it was my fault.”
“Nice,” Jasmine commented dryly.
“Yeah. Like doesn’t she understand that I was embarrassed enough about what happened? For whatever reason she thought it necessary to parade me—fully clothed—this time in front of all her friends as though that would prove I wasn’t some kind of weird, hippie, nudist holed up in a colony somewhere or something.”
Lo giggled and Jasmine pressed her lips together tightly to keep from joining in. “You have to admit, the whole fiasco was pretty bad.”
I threw my hands up in the air. “I know!”
I’d had a few dips in my life that could be considered low points. Three months ago, I’d hit a spot that made all those points look like speed bumps in an elementary school parking lot. I’d been out partying, celebrating a friend’s birthday at The Linx, a hot nightclub on the East Side. I ended up having a few too many to drink. Which, by itself wouldn’t be the end of the world. But, somewhere along the way, someone slipped me a tab of ecstasy and I’d ended up on the bar, stripping my clothes, and using the feather boa from a nearby bachelorette party to do a little striptease for all of the patrons. Apparently I’d been pretty good at it, cause no one stopped me, and I woke up the next day with a stack of cash.
Naturally, the people in the club snapped a billion pictures and posted them all over the internet which, eventually cycled back to my mother and all of her hoity-toity friends.
Where my friend’s had been remained a mystery. Jasmine and Lo hadn’t been there to yank me off the bar. Unfortunately.
The entire thing had been so embarrassing that I refused to leave the house for weeks afterward and lived on takeout and Netflix binges until some new scandal broke and dragged the spotlight off of my little impromptu performance. A month later, everyone had forgotten it had ever happened and were all gossiping about other things.
Everyone except for my mother, that is.
She continued to rage and stew over hour-long phone calls for weeks and in the end the only way I’d been able to get her to shut up was to agree to come home to Connecticut for two weeks and also make the rounds with her at the holiday parties thrown by all of her important friends. She’d rationalized that if I showed up, kept myself clothed, and sober, it would erase any lingering memories of my mistake and we could all move on.
It remained to be seen if my sacrifice of a week and a half of my life and endurance of too many mind-numbing conversations to recall had gone to good use—or if it was only the beginning of my punishment.
“Well I know what’ll cheer you up,” Jasmine said, pulling me out of my self-loathing.
“Besides the fact that I’m home, back in the land of the semi-sane and normal?” I asked, shifting my eyes in her direction.
She grinned. “Yes, besides that.”
“What?”
“While you were away, Lo and I finished planning our totally not lame Christmas party and in just a few days, you’ll get to wash away all the memories of your time upstate with a huge bowl of spiked party punch!”
I laughed. “Best news I’ve heard in weeks!”
“The only bad part is that Jasmine is insisting on doing all the food herself, so we’ll never see her…” Lo added, shooting our friend a disapproving glance.
She rolled her eyes. “I’ll be there! I promise! I’ve made the menu based around things that can be made ahead and then just warmed up, okay!”
“All right. But you have to promise to leave the kitchen,” I said.
“I will. Unless…”
I raised a brow. “Unless?”
She giggled. “Unless Antonio decides to come.”
“You invited him?” Lo’s eyes went flying saucer big.
Jasmine nodded and I gave an approving catcall. “Work it, girl!”
“I think we need to pop the top on this baby,” Lo said, hurrying to retrieve the bottle of pink champagne from the door of the fridge.
“Absolutely!” I went across the kitchen to the floor to ceiling hutch that contained a ridiculous amount of fancy dishes—most of which we’ve never used—and carefully grabbed three champagne flutes. Because, why not? Just because we were three friends who spent most of their time together in pajamas and loungewear didn’t mean we couldn’t get fancy from time to time.
We toasted and then took our glasses and the rest of the bottle to the living room to start binge watching our way through the night.
Damn, it was good to be home.
Chapter Five
Miles
Monday rolled around and I returned to work as normal. The following week, I’d be back on leave for Christmas, but until then, there was a lot of work to be done. As a result of a late night out, drinking and playing pool with some buddies to keep myself occupied, I woke up late and knew I couldn’t make it to the gym, so as I ran out the door, I grabbed my bag full of gear and told myself I’d get it done before heading home.
Once I got to the base, I checked in with my team, caught up with emails, and then went to see my Commanding Officer, Colonel Reeves. I knocked on the frame of his door when I arrived and he ushered me into the room with a roll of his fingers. I strode across the room and took one of the seats opposite from him. “Afternoon, Sir.”
Reeves ditched his black framed reading glasses and stared at me. “What’s up, Warren?”
“I want to talk to you about my future here with this unit,” I said, preferring a straight shooter approach to life in general, but especially with conversations with my commanding officers. It just made life easier.
Reeves nodded thoughtfully. “All right. What specifically?”
“As you know, I’m a few months away from having to decide whether I want to re-up or not. And right now, I’m still torn over what’s the best move.”
Reeves nodded. “So, you’re looking for advice?”
“Yes. But I also need to know whether or not I’m going to be getting my promotion.” Reeves sighed and I hurried to continue, “I know you told me to talk to you after the New Year, but this is too important. I have some big, life changing decisions on the horizon here and I need all the facts so that I can make the right call.”
Reeves slipped his glasses back on and for a moment, I was afraid he was going to go back to whatever he’d been working on before I interrupted. But after a moment, he glanced back up at me. “Warren, you know it’s not up to me. I don’t get the final say on how the promotions are dished out.”
“I know, sir, but you know the people who do. You must at least have an inkling. That’s all I’m asking for.”
Reeves chuckled. “So you can go nag the higher ups?”
“No,” I said, though there was a part of me that thought it might help.
Reeves continued, “We do have a slot available but listen, Warren, I’d be doing you a disservice to say I think you’d have a shot at it. There are other men in the same line that have more experience and, to be brutally honest, cleaner records.”
I nodded, keeping my jaw clenched. There was no point to lashing out at Reeves. As he said, it wasn’t his call. He was shooting straight with me and I appreciated it. I also didn’t need to ask what the issues were with my record. My eight years in the Army weren’t without tarnish. I’d gotten drunk, picked the wrong fight, and caused trouble within the ranks on a few occasions. Nothing major, but certainly not the kind of behavior the older Generals would gloss over.
“Can I ask what these decisions are that you’re facing? The things that are holding you back from making your decision on whether or not to re-up
your contract?” Reeves asked, leaning back in his reclining office chair. “You know I’ll support you either way. You make a helluva Ranger, but it’s not known as a long standing gig. Very few can do this for decades on end.”
I jerked my chin down to look at my boots. I tapped the toes against the laminate flooring. “It’s not that. I know I can do it and I love my life as a Ranger. But, at the same time, I don’t know if I have another twenty years in me.”
“Aha. So you’re thinking long term?”
I flashed a grin at him. “You don’t have to sound so surprised. Occasionally I think first and then act.”
Reeves chuckled. “All right. Continue.”
“But if I go into the reserves it will be time to start something new and I have some ideas, but I’m not sure how to make it all work.”
“Why not?”
“Cash flow.”
Reeves nodded. I could see a glimmer of suspicion in his eyes but he didn’t call me out. I didn’t talk about my parents’ money, and Warren was a common enough surname to not draw too much attention, but there was no doubt in my mind that most people in the unit knew I was a trust fund baby.
Of all the people in my life, only one person knew about the arrangement my parents and I had come to five years ago, in regards to my trust fund and my presence at the annual holiday gala. And that was Lucas. Colton didn’t know, at least I didn’t think he did. He knew I came from old money and that my parents had a lot of power in New York circles. But I’d never sat down and told him all my family shit from the beginning. Of the two of them, he’d probably understand more. His family was wealthy and he had some of the same strings attached to him. The only reason I told Lucas was because he’d picked me up from a bar when I’d had one—or three—too many to drink and needed a clean-up crew. With my inhibitions low, I’d spilled the details of a recent conversation where my parents had called to berate me about the way I lived my life and how no woman was ever going to put up with me if I didn’t get my shit together. Needless to say, I’d been pretty messed up and told Lucas the whole story the next day once I was back right side up and sober.
“On top of that, my parents are blackmailing me into getting married.”
“What?” Reeves sounded properly horrified.
“I realize it’s probably not a news flash to you, but my parents are wealthy and I have a trust. I’m sure that’s no secret around here. Anyone with an internet connection can look up who my parents are and what they do. But I’ve never really been a part of that life. At least not since I turned eighteen. No matter how much they’ve wanted me to be just like them, I chose a different path…here…in the service. Anyway, over the past few years, they’ve come up with creative ways to draw me back in, the first of which involved threatening to cut off my trust fund access if I didn’t show up every year at their annual holiday event.
“This year, they decided it was time to up the stakes. Now, they’re telling me if I’m not married by next Christmas, not only will my trust be dissolved, but I’ll be cut out of their will and be left with nothing.”
Reeves whistled under his breath. “Damn, Warren. That’s some heavy shit you’ve got to sort out.” Reeves rubbed the back of his neck as though the idea were enough to give him a tension headache.
Tell me about it.
I laughed bitterly. “Yeah. So, as if I didn’t have enough on my mind with re-upping and my future plans—now I gotta sort that shit storm as well.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Warren. I don’t really know what I can do to help. But I will say that we’d all like you to stay.”
“I know. I mean I love it here,” I met his eyes, conveying my sincerity. “It’s hard for me to imagine doing anything else. This is more than just a job to me. It’s the bonds with the guys I work with and how we all work together for the good of something so much bigger. My life growing up involved none of that. I was surrounded by selfish people who only cared about material things and getting more power by taking it from others. When I joined the Army it was the first time I could really understand what it meant to serve. The gravity of what we do weighs heavily on me. In a good way.”
Reeves nodded. “We all see that, Warren. No one questions your devotion.”
“Thanks, Colonel.” I stared over his shoulder, out the window where the afternoon sun was starting to break through the grey clouds that had hovered overhead all morning.
“This might surprise you, but most lifers are the same way. I know I was. I did my first six years and was given the option to re-up or switch to the reserves. I didn’t know what the hell I wanted to do, so I re-upped. Same thing happened another four years after that. Before I knew it, I was a lifer. It would’ve been stupid not to be by that point.”
I shifted my gaze back to him. “Do you ever regret not trying something else?”
Reeves held up his palms. “I can honestly say that I don’t. This job has allowed me to travel, meet amazing people from all walks of life, and I look around and I’m not jealous of anyone else’s life. This is just who I am now. I know they’re gonna give me a couple more years and then I’ll be forced to retire and that’s what scares me, soldier. I’m not the type who can be content sitting on a riverbank with a fishing pole in my hand and nothing but hours and hours of silence.”
I laughed. It was hard to picture. “So what are you going to do?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t figured it out yet. But I will, and you will too.”
I braced my hands on my knees and pushed up from the chair. Reeves followed suit and offered me his hand. I shook it and gave him a genuine smile. Colonel Reeves was one of my CO’s that didn’t drive me crazy. He was more like a father to me. “Thanks, Colonel, for taking the time.”
“Of course, Warren. That’s what I’m here for. Let me know if you need anything and I’ll help however I can.”
I nodded and turned to leave, offering him a salute of respect before leaving his office.
I might not have my answer, but for the moment the weight had lifted from my chest.
Chapter Six
Penny
Thanks to my trust fund baby status, I didn’t have to hold down a steady job in order to keep a roof over my head. However, over the last year, since moving in with Jasmine and Lo, I’d settled into a comfortable routine and my days were pretty much the same during the week. Most days I woke up early—well, okay, eight thirty—and went to the gym in the condo building. My favorite thing to do at the gym was to jog on the treadmill while listening to whatever album I was currently hooked on for half an hour or until the final song played if I was really into it. After that, I’d head down a few blocks to an old industrial building that had been converted into chic, open work stations. For a monthly fee, I had access to a desk and all the standard office equipment. In addition, there was a fully kitted out darkroom which I used to process my photos as I worked to create the collection that would eventually be used for my book.
I had the funds to afford a private studio, but there was something about the buzz of a bunch of like-minded entrepreneurs and creatives that was intoxicating. The coffee was good, the playlist was even better, and in between tasks, I could chat with other people and get or give feedback on the myriad of projects in progress at any given time.
It was one of my favorite places in the world.
When my energy ran low, I’d go out with friends for a drink once they were done with their corporate or Wall Street gigs, and we’d burn off the day with strong drinks and comfort food.
Although the gossip mongers would say differently, I really wasn’t much of a party girl. Sure, I liked to go out and have fun, dance and drink, but I wasn’t the type to get completely shit-faced more than once in a blue moon. And sure, every once in a while I needed a good screw, and wouldn’t mind going home with a random guy from a bar or club as long as he didn’t set off any of my—or Jasmine and Lo’s—creep detectors. And trust me, if a guy could make it past all of our tests, he wa
s solid.
It had been a long while since my last real relationship. Clayton James. Ugh. What a prick.
Eight months later and I still got the heebie-jeebies thinking about the fact that I’d ever let that man—cretin—near me with a ten-foot pole. Not that he had a ten-foot pole…quite the opposite in fact. I’d done some comparative shopping in the months since and I’d been getting the short stick for sure.
Literally.
We’d started out hot and heavy, fizzled around the three-month mark, but for whatever reason we plodded on for another year before I found out the reason we’d fizzled in the first place was because he’d been doing some girl from Staten Island the entire time.
He had a thing for firecrackers apparently.
Well, when Staten Island and I compared notes, we both blew up in his face and sent him orbiting the moon.
Staten Island—Sasha—and I remained friends. After you’d taken a turn kicking a guy in the balls with your stilettos you were basically sisters.
In any case, I was living a boyfriend free existence and loving it. Well, except the part where my mother nagged me to death to settle down and get married before my hips spread any wider, my tits sagged, and I needed quarterly injections to keep me from turning into the Elephant Man.
She was a peach. Always a great boost to the self-esteem.
Without a man around to pester me, I was finally making progress on my photography and finishing up the final layout for my book. I’d already found an agent who was shopping the concept and initial batch of photos to publishers in hopes of getting them turned into a colossal art book that would—hopefully—be eclipsing coffee table tops from New York all the way to the United Kingdom by summer time.
I took pictures of things I loved, having started out at a very young age, after my father purchased my first camera prior to our family vacation to London. I’d fallen in love with life behind the lens and had yet to fall back out. It was one thing my dad and I had shared. Something my mother never understood, not that she tried.
A few months after my father passed away, right after my seventeenth birthday, I’d started work on my book. As a tribute to his memory. Which made it all the more painful when my mother ripped it to shreds.
