by M. S. Parker
I just wished my fiancé was as understanding.
I called Bruce two more times, both times leaving a voice message about my leave because he hadn’t picked up. It was hurtful, I had to admit, that he didn’t go out of his way to answer my calls. We’d known each other for so long, had dated on and off since junior high. We’d been friends even before that. It was hard enough that he never supported my tours without him completely ignoring my calls.
Wilkins had told me more than once that Bruce was a lost cause, and lately, I'd begun to believe it. We'd been exclusive to each other since we were sixteen, engaged by nineteen. He’d been the only one for me, but since I'd enlisted, I had a feeling that things were one-sided on that account. I'd never confronted him about it, but recently, I had to admit that part of the reason I'd stayed quiet was because I didn’t want to hear the answer. I just couldn’t deal with that kind of a discussion and still function optimally in battle.
I could almost hear the excuses he'd make if I did ask. He made them about other things often enough.
You’re never around. You’re off playing hero. I have my needs.
It always made my blood boil to hear him talk like that, but I couldn't deny that strengthening my relationship with Bruce was one of the reasons I was thinking of not re-enlisting. I kept telling myself that things would be better when I was home full time.
My seatmate kept up a steady stream of chatter as we stepped out into the main concourse where she was smothered by a man double my size. I smiled at them, watching various other passengers share welcomes with those waiting for them. I looked around for Bruce but couldn’t find him in the crowd.
I frowned as I looked at my phone again, wondering if I’d missed his call. Nope. Nothing there. I double-checked to make sure I'd turned off airplane mode, then scowled as I wondered if he’d forgotten about the flight, even though I'd sent him a text message to remind him of the time and gate number. What was the point of having a cell phone if he didn’t answer?
When it came to being there for me, Bruce needed to step up his game. I didn’t really feel like spending the rest of my life with someone who could so easily forget that I even existed. Not showing up at the airport was just one more time he'd let me down.
I decided to step back a bit, giving him the benefit of the doubt, already feeling the fatigue setting in. At some point, I’d have to trust that he would come through. I was just waiting for the day for that to actually happen.
By the time Bruce finally answered my call, I was sitting in the airport coffee shop with my bags and a hot cup of cappuccino in front of me, regretting not taking up my brother's offer to have him skip his classes and pick me up.
When I heard Bruce slur his greeting, as if he was just now waking up, I forced myself to swallow my anger.
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Honor?”
“Yeah,” I said, taking a sip from my coffee, savoring the flavor. “Where are you?”
“I’m in bed,” Bruce coughed. “Why?”
Annoyance flared. What the hell? It was the middle of the afternoon. “You didn’t get my messages? Any of them?”
“What messages?”
I gritted my teeth. “I’m at the airport, Bruce, waiting for you to pick me up.”
“You’re what?” He suddenly seemed wide awake. “When did you get there?”
“There?” I asked, ignoring the question. “What do you mean by there? Where are you?”
He hesitated before answering, “I’m in Vegas, Honor. I took some vacation time and flew out yesterday. I'm sure I told you.”
It took every ounce of energy and willpower to keep my voice level. “You can’t be serious?! I have leave for two weeks, and you're in Vegas? I called you three times in the past two days. Why didn’t you pick up?”
“Damn, take it easy, babe. I didn’t see them.” He sounded more annoyed than I thought he had the right to be. “But, hey, since you’re still in the airport, just hop on a plane and come here. You’d love the room.”
I sighed heavily, trying to calm myself down. “I just got in, Bruce. I’m not about to jump on another plane.”
“Why not? You’re already jet lagged. You could catch a few hours of sleep on the trip.”
I closed my eyes. I shouldn't have to explain this to him. “I’ve already been in the air for more than twelve hours. I’m not getting on a six-hour flight to Vegas just because you forgot about me.”
Hot tears pricked at my eyelids, and I took a shaking breath in an effort to keep them back. Fatigue and frustration were doing a number on my usual composure.
“Listen, I’m sorry, I really am,” he said, his voice turning sexy and low. “I had no idea. Please, just get on a plane and come here. Spend your leave with me. We can get married in Vegas, baby. Isn’t that what you always wanted? An exotic wedding?”
“Having Elvis marry us isn’t my idea of exotic, Bruce.” My head was starting to pound.
There were times when arguing with Bruce was completely useless. I blamed it on the fact that, for the past seven years, we'd spent ninety percent of our time together in different states. Sometimes different continents.
I remember Rogers once telling me that he admired how well we were keeping a long distance relationship going. It was times like this that I wondered how functional that relationship even was.
“Okay, seriously, give me a break already.” Bruce broke into my thoughts. “I thought you wanted to get married. Isn’t that why we’re engaged in the first place?”
I bristled. “We’re getting married because we want to, not because you’re trying to make it up to me.”
“Make what up to you?” Bruce shot back. “I had no idea you were coming back today, Honor. Let it go.”
“I called you three times!” My frayed temper boiled over, and I knew I was talking too loud. “Left three messages and half a dozen texts. You couldn’t bother to check your phone?”
“I was busy,” he argued, his voice full of anger.
“You’re in Vegas! What the hell is keeping you busy?”
“Stop shouting,” he snapped. “I don’t need this right now.”
He didn't need this?
“I just got back from Iraq, Bruce. Iraq. You’re an investment banker in Boston who's on vacation in Vegas. I’m the one who doesn’t need this. All I wanted was to come home to my family and spend some quality time with my fiancé before I had to hop on a plane back to hell!”
“You’re going back?”
I was suddenly glad that he wasn't here, because if he'd said that to my face, I probably would have hit him. I struggled to lower my voice. “Have you not listened to a single word I’ve said?”
There was an awkward silence that lasted forever as each one of us waited for the other to speak. When it was apparent that neither of us would break the silence, I hung up before I would say something I regretted.
For the first time since I'd known him, I hated Bruce.
My hands shook as I stared into my coffee and tried to get my temper under control. I had no idea how much more of this I was willing to take. Long distance relationships were hard enough, and I didn’t need the extra stress of a fiancé who couldn’t care enough to work at it.
The phone in my hand rang, and I didn’t need to look at the caller ID to know it was Bruce. He'd probably come up with a dozen other ways of how this was my fault. Enlisting when he'd made it clear that wasn't what he wanted made everything since that moment my fault. I let it go to voicemail and tried my best to compose myself. I didn’t want to break down completely. Not here. I needed to pull my shit together myself enough to decide if I wanted to wait for Ennis to be done with his classes, call my parents, or rent a car. Right now though, I couldn't think.
The third time he called, I answered just so he wouldn't keep calling.
“Come to Vegas,” he said without any preamble. “Come to Vegas and let’s get married.”
He really didn't get it. He thought askin
g me to fly out to see him and change our status from engaged to married would fix what was broken between us.
“I can’t, Bruce.” The fatigue I felt before settled even deeper into my bones. “I need to think about a lot of things. I need to rest. I need to go home and see my family. Talk to them about what I want to do.”
I didn't mention talking to him about decisions influencing my future. My future. I sighed. I didn't even think of it as our future.
“Just get on a plane, babe,” he said. “I’ll pay for it.”
“It’s not the mon–” I started but realized that whatever I said right now, it would just go right over his head. I sighed. “I’ll try and book a flight out on Saturday.”
“Why wait until Saturday?” He sounded petulant, like a child rather than a twenty-five-year-old man. “You said it yourself. You could be here in six hours, not two days.”
Ennis once said that Bruce was one of those people who thought the world revolved around them and didn't understand why anyone would want to do anything other than what he wanted. Over the past couple years, I'd seen that side of Bruce more than I cared to admit.
“I’ll call you later tonight.” I hung up before we started shouting at each other again.
It took me another hour to get up from my seat, mostly because it took that long for my brain to quiet down. I called my parents and let them know that I’d be renting a car and driving out. Neither of them seemed surprised that Bruce hadn't shown up. I didn't tell them about Vegas. They already weren't fond of my fiancé. I didn't need to add any additional fuel to that particular fire.
Now that I'd decided what to do about transportation, I quickly found the closest Budget Rental, filled out the paperwork and gave the man behind the counter my driver’s license. He asked me about my trip, and when he found out I was stationed in Iraq, started bombarding me with questions. Apparently, his cousin was stationed there too. I didn't recognize the name but let him carry on a one-sided conversation while he entered my information into the computer.
I took the keys and made my way outside, led by the man as he started to talk about why he couldn’t enlist, as if he owed me some kind of explanation. By the time I was behind the wheel and driving away, the throbbing in my temples had turned into a full-blown headache.
I needed real food and sleep. Like two days' worth of both.
My parents had a small house outside the city, a suburban haven where my father felt he was farthest away from the noise. After a childhood of moving from base to base, I'd been thrilled when we'd moved into a permanent residence.
I'd often talked to Bruce about buying our own place in the same neighborhood, but he'd always shot the idea down. He'd grown up three houses down the street, but he now said he needed the life of the city to thrive. It was funny that how, only now, I was starting to clearly see the things I'd ignored about him before.
It wasn’t like me to keep my head in the sand, to refuse to address what was right in front of me. I pressed my fingers to my temple. Why now? Why him? Was I so desperate to achieve my happy ever after that I’d clung stubbornly to the one man I’d always thought would share it with me?
Every argument we ever had came rushing back. It was like my mind was re-playing everything for me, hinting at the fact that maybe, just maybe, it was about time to let this whole thing go. To let Bruce go. The thought of it made my stomach turn, but another part of me realized this was merely a prequel to the emotions I would feel if I actually went through with it.
Maybe him not being here was for the best. Besides, I needed to spend time with my parents.
It was only when I was on McClellan Highway that I finally rolled the window down and breathed in the Boston air. The Chelsea River whispered at me from my left, and I let out every ounce of negative energy inside me, finally allowing myself to smile. Bruce could wait, I thought to myself. For now, it was just good to be home.
The screeching to my right yanked me from my pleasant thoughts, and I turned my head to see a blue sedan spin out of control. I slammed on the brakes and swerved, hoping to avoid a collision as I cut across the highway. I waited for the impact, but it never came. My car’s front bumper barely missed the other car as it skidded and flipped.
Before I could swerve back, the loud screams of a horn told me the danger wasn't over. My turn had me right in the middle of oncoming traffic and drivers who were going too fast to stop. In front of me, a truck was trying to brake hard, but I knew there wasn't enough room.
I braced myself as the truck slammed into my car, the force bending the driver's side inwards, the window and windshield showering me with safety glass. I closed my eyes to protect them, my hands holding tight onto the steering wheel as the entire car turned. Before I knew what was happening, I was upside down, the truck’s tires screaming behind me, my rental flipping once, twice, three times, until it slammed down on its wheels.
I heard more screeching, and somewhere in the distance, a crash that told me things weren't over yet. It was going to be a pileup, and the only thing I could think of as I sat strapped into my seat, unable to move, was that these people would need a doctor and that I was the first on the scene.
The world went fuzzy then, and I heard someone shouting in the distance. My eyes opened and closed as I tried to stay conscious. I felt a hand grab my shoulder, barely registering the man shouting at me, asking if I was okay. I looked at him, frowning as his face seemed to flicker and change. He tried to unlock my seatbelt, and for a second I saw the whole world around me shift, saw my car and the road disappear, morph into an empty, open field. And then things went back to the real world. Cars and blood and noise.
“Can you move your legs?” the man asked me.
I mumbled something incoherent, trying to tell him that he was working the wrong seat belt, when the entire world around me darkened, blurred. The last thing I felt were his hands under my shoulders, trying to pull me out of the car, and then...
Nothing at all.
3
I was never much of a believer in anything supernatural or paranormal.
It had nothing to do with upbringing since my parents were both Catholics. They'd raised Ennis and me in the church, but it had mostly consisted of baptisms and holidays. They hadn't been overly religious, but if asked, they'd both have said they believe in God.
I never had, not really. Maybe once I'd believed in the concept of a general higher power. Then I went to Iraq. The deaths I saw, the sheer incomprehensible darkness that man had towards one another, well, it made what belief I'd possessed falter.
Maybe that was why I couldn't understand what was happening.
At one point, I thought I saw a bright light, something along the lines of a tunnel, like the kind of images people talked about when they died. Then, in a flash, it was gone, replaced by only darkness and flashing lights, different colors, each blinking long enough to capture my attention, making me turn my head towards it before being captivated by another.
“Honor?”
I turned my head towards the voice, the image of Bruce materializing out of the darkness. The smile he’d always used to win me over flashed across his face as he seemed to float towards me, hand outstretched, welcoming.
“Come to Vegas,” Bruce said.
I frowned at him, and just like that, he disappeared. It was like his entire being broke apart into tiny particles that blew away as if he'd been made of pure dust that sparkled and shone as it flew around me in a whirlwind of tiny colors.
“Who are you?”
Another voice, one I couldn’t make out. Far away, yet close at the same time. I felt a pressure on my shoulders, and then it was gone. I was floating in an ocean of nothingness, my legs kicking out slowly. I remembered videos of astronauts in space and how they floated about their space stations in zero gravity and wondered if this was how they felt.
Was this what death was like? Was I in space?
“Honor?”
I looked around, swimming to adju
st the rest of my body toward where the sound was coming from. I saw Bruce again, but he was younger now, the boy I'd first met before sixth grade. He was barely eleven then, with his ruffled hair, Pacman t-shirt, and high-tops, sitting on his BMX as he looked at me.
I smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back. He was looking past me at someone else, and before I could turn my head to see who, a little girl ran past me. Dressed in jeans, and a ridiculous green shirt and braids, I instantly recognized my middle school self the first day I'd met Bruce.
“That is so cool,” she – I – squealed as she grabbed Bruce’s bike. “Can I ride it?”
I smiled. I remembered the first day I tried the bike, Bruce running beside me as I raced down our street, the wind in my face, my eyes closed as I enjoyed the feeling of flying. We had spent the entire day together. The first of many days together.
I felt a small ache on the right side of my knee, and I looked down to see something glowing there, a reminder of a day Bruce and I had snuck out after dark and had tried to ride the bike down the hill behind our houses. I'd fallen, I remembered, scraping my knee against a rock, the blood coming from the wound scaring both of us, but not enough to run home and face our parents. Bruce had tried to stop the bleeding as best as he could, and I'd done everything I could not to scream bloody murder.
I smiled. We'd been so innocent then, the only worries in our lives being what our parents would do if they caught us outside when we weren’t supposed to be.
“You should get one,” child-Bruce told the little girl by his side. “Then we can race!”
I grinned.
“Grow up, Bruce!”
I almost laughed as I heard the snarky tone that was my go-to voice for the first two years of high school. I saw the teenager I'd been then, my long hair tied back in a ponytail, kicking at Bruce as he tried to shoot at me with a water gun.
“Come on, Honor!” he teased. “Show me what you’re made of.”
I remembered how much I'd held back from hurting Bruce that day, my feelings for him mixed and perplexing. The boy who was sometimes charming and sometimes a complete ass. I'd fallen for him hard even though we'd both agreed to keep things casual for a while – so what we had didn't go against his “one-month policy.”
