“God, I’m really sorry,” Ryan said, and Ben could tell that he really was.
“So… you asked me out because you… want to hook up with me?” Ben asked.
Alarm flared in Ryan’s eyes. “No!”
“But you did until you found out that I like you. I’m sorry, but that’s extra screwed up.”
“No,” Ryan said again, then sighed as he shook his head. “I mean, look, I knew I’d be apologizing to you at some point tonight. I just didn’t expect…” He squared his shoulders again. “I’m trying to make… someone… jealous. I’m not going to tell you who, because they’re in the closet—deep.”
Ah, suddenly it all made sense.
“I thought if we went to the movies, people would see us together, and then everyone at school would be talking about it,” Ryan continued. “Because they talk about you. A lot. And I also thought that maybe if I told you what was going on, you would maybe help me out by pretending that you were really into me, and then maybe he’d change his mind about breaking up with me, and… God, I’m so sorry, Ben. I really messed up.”
* * *
Colin was crying again.
Jenn didn’t mind the lack of sleep. She’d expected it. Especially after she’d realized that the baby she’d given birth to weighed nearly ten pounds.
It made sense that Colin was often hungry—big babies needed more frequent feedings. She’d read that and was ready. But what she wasn’t ready for was the accusing way he looked up from her breast, as if to say, Really? This is the best you can do?
And she really wasn’t ready for the relentless crying. He cried. All. The. Time. The sound of his plaintive wails hit her like a knife to the heart.
At first, when she was still in the hospital, the nurses were all, Relax, your milk hasn’t come in. Once it does, he’ll settle down. But by now her milk was in. It was really in—in fact, she leaked whenever she heard Colin so much as squawk. She leaked even when she tried to sleep through it—when Danny staggered out of bed to take a turn and give their son a bottle of the milk that she’d expressed before falling unconscious.
That was the plan. If Dan got up at least once a night, then Jenn would have a chance to sleep at least a little bit—except she didn’t. She couldn’t. When Colin cried, she snapped awake.
The next diagnosis for the relentless crying was possible food sensitivities, and since her diet was Colin’s, too, she’d cut out both dairy and gluten—along with any food that was even remotely gassy. But another week had passed, and nothing changed.
Today, they’d had a visit from a friend, Kelly Paoletti, who also happened to be their pediatrician, and she’d said the word that Jenn had been dreading: Colic.
The bad news was that nothing seemed to help—there was no magic pill that Kelly could prescribe to relieve Colin’s distress.
The good news was that it would end. “It’s often called three month colic,” Kelly explained over Colin’s howling, “because it’s usually over by the three month mark. He’ll wake up and suddenly be a happy, smiling baby.”
Jenn sat there, stunned. Three…? Months…?
“Well, that’s really good to know,” Dan was saying as he held Col on his shoulder, rocking him back and forth. While his movement didn’t stop the baby from crying, it lowered the intensity of his sobs.
Danny had let his beard grow in the weeks he’d been home—his thick brown hair was longer, too. The fatigue of the past weeks only added to his mountain-man vibe. And, if anything, the angry baby on his spit-up stained shoulder made him look even more attractive than usual. His picture could’ve been in the dictionary next to Hot Dad.
Jenn, however, belonged next to Hot Mess.
She sat silently as Dan and Kelly discussed options—of which there were really none. Wait it out, take turns, take breaks, and get help were Kelly’s main “strategies.”
Jenn must’ve looked shell-shocked because there was suddenly a weird silence, and she realized that Kelly and Danny were both gazing at her.
“You okay, Jenni?” Kelly’s question was obviously a repeat, and Jenn managed to nod.
But then she surprised everyone in the room, herself included, by bursting into tears.
* * *
SEAL Candidate Petty Officer Third Class
John “Seagull” Livingston:
My swim buddy—that’s the guy I’m paired up with for this phase of training—his name is also Jon but without an H. But it sounds the same so it’s nickname time. His name is Jon Jackson, so you’d think Jack, right?
Nope. Too easy. He’s Timebomb.
I think maybe he nicknamed himself, but when I tried to do it, like, Yeah, I’m John, but you know what? They call me Rocket, so… Everyone’s like, No, they don’t. They call you Seagull.
And I go, Whaaat…? Why? Playing it dumb. And I try to walk away, but they follow and they’re all like, Man, you know—Jonathan Livingston Seagull…?
Like I’ve never heard that before.
So yes, okay, the other kids called me Seagull—back in middle school after some genius rediscovered that ancient book and everyone started reading it. I thought we’d outgrown that here at BUD/S, but apparently not.
Anyway, one candidate—his name is John, too. John Schlossman—his nickname is either Schloss or Hans. It’s because he looks like one of those Nazi recruitment posters—all chiseled cheekbones, blond hair, and blue eyes, so Hans makes sense, especially since it’s German for John. But then Hans starts calling me Rockette, like the dancers in Radio City Music Hall? Maybe it’s because I’m from Brooklyn—or maybe it’s just because he’s… Well, he’s insecure. Let’s just leave it at that.
Anyway, I figured Seagull’s better than Rockette. And honestly I’d rather be known as Seagull than Nazi-boy Hans.
(Falls silent for a moment)
Man, I’m all inside my head about Hell Week. It starts tonight. I should be sleeping.
* * *
Ben stood in the mall, outside of the movie theater multiplex, smack dab in the middle of his own bad romantic comedy. Served him right for not suggesting they see Sherlock Holmes or Crazy Heart or, God, anything but the new Twilight installment.
But okay. Here he was, and here was Ryan, too, looking at him with genuine apology and hope in his pretty eyes. Ben had seen enough dreaded romcoms to know that many used the trope where the “friend” who helps the hero win the heart of his alleged true love actually became the guy’s real true love by the movie’s end.
But how often did that happen in real life?
If he did this favor for Ryan, he’d have to go in with exactly zero expectations.
“If I do this,” Ben said, and the hope in Ryan’s eyes flared, so he emphasized, “If. You’re going to have to tell me who he is. Closet Guy.”
Ryan was already shaking his head no. “You don’t know him.” He was pretty good at it, but he was definitely lying.
“I won’t tell anyone,” Ben said. “Because really, how does it work if I don’t know who it is? We’re supposed to be putting on a show for him, aren’t we? I’m not stupid—eventually I’m going to figure it out if you keep going Grab me now and the same guy’s always glaring at me.” He looked around. “Is he here? Does he work in the mall?”
“No,” Ryan said. “He’s working tonight, but… not here. And I really can’t tell you. His family is… Well, it’s bad for him. At home. If his father, or God, his brother found out that he’s gay…” He shook his head.
Ben was back to perplexed. “So how’s he supposed to make whatever grand gesture you’re hoping he’ll make when he sees you with me—” As he was saying the words, he suddenly understood. Ryan didn’t want this kid—whoever he was—to publicly declare his undying love, and thereby come storming out of the closet with a spray of rainbow-colored glitter.
“I’m not looking for a grand gesture,” Ryan confirmed. “I was okay with things the way they were. He graduates this year, and he’s got a real shot at a scholarship. Until th
en…”
“So you were seeing him on the down-low,” Ben said. “That’s kinda shitty. You’re really okay with that? And what happens when he goes to college and still doesn’t come out?”
“He will,” Ryan insisted. “Maybe not right away, but… eventually.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“He will. Look, you don’t know him the way I do,” Ryan said, apparently giving up the You don’t know him approach. “He broke up with me because he didn’t want to keep doing this. He hated that I had to sneak around to see him. He said it wasn’t fair—to me. He’s kind and he’s sweet and—”
“It’s not fair to you,” Ben pointed out.
“I don’t care,” Ryan insisted. “And okay, I care a little bit—mostly when he pretends that he hates me. See, sometimes we plan to meet, like in the bathroom at school, but if someone comes in, he makes like he’s hassling me.”
Wait a minute…
“He’s a really good actor,” Ryan continued, “and yeah, it can feel a little too real sometimes, but—”
“Oh, my God,” Ben said as he suddenly knew exactly who Ryan was talking about. “Are you freaking kidding me? Wade O’Keefe?!”
Ryan’s reaction—swiftly looking around to make sure no one had overheard Ben’s outburst—was answer enough.
Wade O’Keefe was the biggest homophobic bully in the school—and that biggest was both figuratively and literally. “Shit, Ryan, he’s a psychopath!”
“Shh!” Ryan hissed sharply, adding in a whisper, “He is not! That’s just an act! You don’t know what he’s really like! He’s different when we’re alone!”
About a month ago, Ben had come to what he thought was Ryan’s rescue when Wade had trapped Ryan and two of his nerdish friends in the boy’s room at school. The larger boy—Wade was both a senior and a football player—had been lurking outside the door, taunting them and keeping them from leaving. Or at least that’s what it had looked like at the time.
“So what was that, that I walked into?” Ben asked Ryan now. “You and O’Keefe had plans to meet, only your friends show up so instead of walking away, he gets mad and treats you like crap?”
Ryan’s cheeks were flushed with what had to be a mix of embarrassment and shame. But he was angry, too. His intentionally quiet words came out with significant heat. “That’s not what happened. Yes, we planned to meet. We were meeting. If you must know the truth, we were in there, together, in one of the stalls.”
At Ben’s eyebrow lift, he blushed even more, adding, “We were just making out, okay? We weren’t… Although, yes. I wanted to. Because yeah, the sneaking around sucks most of the time, but it can also make the times we do get together pretty freaking hot. So we were doing that, when Billy and Chris walked in, and Wade panicked. He had to make it look like he’d trapped me in there—”
“No, he didn’t,” Ben countered.
But Ryan spoke over him. “—like they stopped him from, I don’t know, sticking my head in the toilet or whatever—and they definitely believed him. Us, because I was playing along. Get away from me! I’d just pushed him out the door when you showed up.”
Ben’s own altercation with Wade had quickly turned violent—and both boys had gotten suspended.
“So you just let that happen?” Ben asked. “The fight?”
“I’m so sorry about that.”
“You know, Wade wasn’t pretending when he’d tried to slam my head into the wall,” Ben said. After getting kicked out of school, he’d gone to the hospital to make sure he wasn’t seriously injured. He was all right, but his headache had lasted for days—forget the long-term pain he’d gotten from Eden and Danny for getting suspended.
He was still dealing with it. In order to return to school, both Ben and Wade had to attend a series of early morning meetings together, discussing anger management and non-violent solutions to conflict with Ms. Standfast, the shiny new school guidance counselor. And wasn’t that fun? Every Tuesday for six weeks, they were each supposed to bring along one of their parents—or in Ben’s case a guardian—although Wade nearly always came only with excuses. It was a total pain in the ass, and they still had two more hellish weeks to go.
“He had to make it look real,” Ryan defended Wade. “That, plus he’s not your biggest fan. He’s jealous. He alternates between hating you, and trying to talk me into dumping him and going out with you.”
“Even though I’m allegedly a player?” Ben asked.
Ryan shook his head. “Wade never believed that. He was the only one who ever… I should’ve listened to him. He knows a lot about reputations and rumors, I guess.” He sighed. “So, will you help me? Please?”
Ben shook his head. “You know, you’re not going to solve anything by playing games. You need to talk to him.”
“You really think I haven’t tried?” Ryan looked like he was going to cry. “He had a fake Facebook profile that we used to connect—but it’s gone. He deleted it. He even changed his email. I’m afraid to call him, because his brother might see his phone, and… Look, I was hoping if he heard that I went to the movies with you, maybe he’d call me.”
Tears brimmed in his eyes.
“Shit,” Ben swore. “All right, but why hope that he hears we went out? Why not let him see it for himself? He still works at Burgers Plus, doesn’t he?” Normally, Ben avoided the B-Plus like the plague because Wade O’Keefe worked there. “I got a mad craving for a chili dog, and I’m pretty sure you’re buying.”
“Thank you!” Ryan threw his arms around Ben’s neck and hugged him, and Ben closed his eyes as he hugged him back, already regretting it.
* * *
SEAL Candidate Petty Officer Third Class
John “Hans” Schlossman:
I have a plan—a strategy, if you will. For surviving Hell Week. My swim buddy’s a guy named Kurt—his middle name’s John, of course. But let’s face it, he’s just not going to make it. Same deal for Timebomb’s buddy, Seagull.
I mean, I’m not going to trash talk either of them, but… sweet, sweet Jesus.
But Deeb—that’s short for DB which is short for Da Bomb, which is short for Timebomb. Gotta love a guy who’s got nicknames for his nickname, am I right? But he and I have gotten pretty tight. As long as we hang in, we’ll eventually get to a point where they’ll buddy us up. I’m sure of it.
I think that’s the challenge the instructors are throwing at us—pairing both of us with less-thans. I mean, Kurt’s a good guy. Don’t get me wrong. He’s just not… good enough.
And yeah, I’ll carry him for as long as I have to, but when he decides he’s done, I’m not going to try to talk him out of it.
As for Seagull…?
No comment.
* * *
“Hey,” Dan said. “Hey, hey, hey, Jenn, Jenni, it’s going to be okay!”
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry!”
“Why are you sorry?” he asked, but just then she realized that he had both of his arms around her. Not only that, but Colin wasn’t shrieking in her ears.
She could still hear him, but from a distance.
Dan—best husband in the world—immediately knew what she was thinking and said, “Kelly took him into the backyard, to watch the sunset. She told me to tell you that this overwhelm you’re feeling is called a postpartum hormonal fucking, and that it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Jenn had to laugh, even through the tears that would not stop. “She did not say hormonal fucking.”
“Actually,” Dan said, pulling her even closer as he rubbed her back, “she did. She said she’s a two-time survivor herself. She also told me to tell you that she’s prescribing you a pair of noise-canceling headphones. She really wanted to write you an Rx for a night in a hotel—”
“No!” Jenn pulled back in alarm. “I’m not leaving Colin!”
“Yeah, shhh,” Dan said, reeling her back in. “I told her that. But we have dozens of friends who are dying to help. Let’s let them. Star
ting right now. Kelly’s gonna stay with Colin, and we’re going to go out and get some dinner and eat it without the constantly-crying-baby soundtrack.”
And again, as if he could read her mind, he added, “She’s a pediatrician, Jenn. And she’s got her phone with her. You can text her for updates, every five minutes if you want.”
Jenn didn’t answer. She couldn’t bring herself to say yes.
Danny accepted her silence as the non-no that it was. “We don’t have to go fancy, but I’d love to go a step above survival food.”
That was their new nickname for pizza, tacos, and Chinese take-out. They’d been eating quite a bit of survival food, starting well before the end of her pregnancy.
“But someplace fast, so we can get back home quickly,” Jenn said, wiping her face on her sleeve.
“I’m not sure that’s the point,” Dan started, but swiftly acquiesced. “Turkey burgers and salads over at the Plus…?”
Again, he didn’t let her say no. “Hats,” he said. “For both of us. To cover our crazy new-baby hair.” He dropped his favorite boonie onto her head, and put on a baseball cap.
He put Jenn’s cell phone into her bag, carrying it in one hand as he interlaced their fingers with the other. He pulled her through their little house, calling out to Kelly, “We’ll be back in about an hour!”
“More like forty minutes,” Jenn corrected him.
But before she knew it, Danny had her out the door and in her car—his truck was parked in by Kelly’s—and he was pulling out of their driveway and heading towards town.
CHAPTER THREE
Still Sunday
LT Peter “Grunge” Greene:
I like to start Hell Week with a run on the beach. Full uniform. Boots in the soft sand. Rubber ducks overhead. That way, the boat squads get a chance to work together before we decimate ’em.
The run’s really just a prologue. A warm up.
The biggest challenges during Hell Week are the fatigue, the cold, and the human body’s frailty. You get a stress fracture, or you dislocate a shoulder—and you’re out. You’re medically rolled back, so it’s not as bad as ringing out. Whereas you ring that bell, you’re out of the program for good. If you’re rolled, you get a chance to heal, but you have to do the training all over again.
Ready to Roll Page 3
