Chapter Twenty-One
Maverick
“Goddammit! Toss me the bottle of Febreeze, man. It smells like a fuckin’ whore house on a Saturday night,” Stone yells.
Our room in this camp, if you can even call it that, is small and full of sand. At least it’s not a tent. At least it has walls. Plywood forms the dividers and the floor. The door creaks because it doesn’t shut properly. That fact doesn’t matter much. Even if someone made it as far as inside our camp, which isn’t possible, the second they step into this room they’d be dead. Not like, “hey man, you’re dead meat,” either. Like a bullet in between your fucking eyes dead. I pull in a deep breath and wince. It’s hot here.
I throw the bottle at his head. “Like you even know what a whore house smells like, you pussy.” Most of the guys do know the exact eau de skank scent of such a place. Stone doesn’t. Believe it or not, I don’t either. Standards, people. He catches it before it hits his head…the quick asshole.
The second I landed in this fucking dust bowl, something inside of me switched. It’s time to work. Of course I miss Windsor and all the comforts of home, but I’m just as comfortable in this cramped shack as I am in my four thousand square foot house. Part of the glory package is dealing with such conditions. I gladly accept all the shit aspects to be able to do what I love. I was made for this life. Not many can say that.
I tell Stone to stop spraying the plywood with Febreeze because the linen breeze is giving me a damn headache. He tells me the stink is coming from the wood. Morganna’s habits are so ingrained in him that he doesn’t even realize when he’s acting like her clone. Minus the tits, of course. When we’ve cleaned the room as much as possible, I hang a huge American flag. It takes up the entire plywood wall of our room—reminding me why I do what I do. It’s my good luck charm, too. I never deploy without it.
With all the menial tasks done for the day, I let myself think of her. I hike myself up into the top bunk, because Stone won the arm wrestling match for the bottom bunk, and open my laptop. The Internet connection is always splotchy and doesn’t work most of the time. I don’t have enough bars to call Windsor on Skype so I type her an e-mail, which will be our main form of communication while I’m gone.
*****
Winnie Bear,
I can’t call because too many fuckers are downloading ass fucking porn right now. I’m officially “home”. I’m jetlagged and it’s hotter than Dante’s inferno, as I’m sure you’d expect. How is everything back in VB? How is Goose? I love the name you chose, by the way. The photo you sent of you guys in bed made me jealous. I want to be in between your tits licking your face. Keep the pictures coming. They make me feel like I’m there. I’ll send you some if you want, too. Although I’ll probably look pretty damn scary in a couple weeks with more facial hair than Borat and Bin Laden combined. Try not to cream your panties thinking of that. Come to think of it, maybe you just want dick pics?
I want to start up our game. I’ll tell you one thing about me that you don’t know and when you write back you tell me something about yourself. Scary, deep shit. Sound fair? Our relationship won’t suffer from the distance, I promise. So here is my one: I want us to work, Win. I told Morganna that I wanted you more than I’ve wanted anything else. The words were true, but they surprised me because I honestly never thought I’d want anything more than I want my career. It’s a big thing to do what I do. It gives me something that I know I’ll never be able to get from another job. But when I jumped out of that airplane with you strapped to my chest, I knew that I needed to keep you there…close to me. Close to my heart. Because your honesty and trust gave me hope. Hope that one day I’d have more than just passion for my career. I feel greedy sometimes. Who deserves the job and the girl? I thought Stone was a weird freak of nature for having “it all.” Now I have it, too. When I hold you, I realize how lucky I am.
My parents aren’t good people, although they’d like everyone to believe they are some upstanding citizens with scrupulous morals. They did give me the foundation to be a great man. But morals aren’t everything if it affects your own happiness. I’m telling you this because your relationship with your own mother reminds me a lot of…me. We’re both lucky. Life tastes sweeter because of our past. Solid foundations are built with tough love. Remember that when you deal with Kathy.
Stone just got in. He’s twerking to get my attention. I miss you already. The picture of you is taped on the wall by my bed. It’s the first thing I see when I wake up and the last thing I look at before I close my eyes. You’re on my heart and in it. Gotta go, babe. Tell me something.
You’re everything,
Mav
Maverick,
Goose peed on the freaking floor three times yesterday. Gretchen said it’s because he has a brain the size of a pea and I should forgive him, but I’m not sure, although his cuteness makes up for it (mostly). I wish you were snuggling with me too. What will we do with Goose when you come home? He’s going to get pretty jealous if he doesn’t get the spot between my boobs at night. He might whine so loud we can’t sleep! Tell me more about where you’re living. What do you eat? What do you do all day?
Virginia Beach is good. The weather is changing. Not that I really appreciate it. I’m stuck in the office for fifteen hours a day. Don’t worry, it’s what I prefer. It helps the time go by faster. I have more appointments and paperwork than I can handle. Who’s doing your taxes, by the way? I know a CPA who would love to polish your coc…work your numbers real good.
I almost feel like you were just some perfect dream. I’m going to wake up one day and all I’ll have are memories of you and I’ll wonder if they’re even real. Does that make sense? I miss you so much. Not just because you’re so good at sex, but because I feel like a little piece of me is missing. I’m always aware something isn’t there. I’d compare it to forgetting your cell phone at home, but it’s so much more than that. It hurts my heart.
I went out to “lunch” with the Rosy Team yesterday. Those women are ridiculous in good ways and in bad ways. Did you know there are twenty-five different ways to give a blow job? Or that one of the wives is writing a romance novel about Navy SEALs? Crazy, right? Another one, who will not be named, had to go to her car because she got a SF call in the middle of lunch. Know what SF means? Hint: not Special Forces. It means Sexy Facetime. I don’t even want to know what she did in her car, in the parking lot of a restaurant. Can we do a non-public SF call? :)
Marney did give me some good ideas on what to send you in a care package. Do you want anything specific? Or should I just use my best judgment? I guess all of us “girls” are going out next month. It’s supposed to be a big deal. Morg says I should start shopping for a dress and shoes now. I’m going to invite Gretch because she doesn’t believe me when I tell her what these women talk about. Any idea what I should expect from a Rosy Team rager? Tips? Tricks to avoid back stabbing?
I love your “tell me something” game continuation. A way of pushing the relationship forward in the absence of…not being together. You totally made me cry with your one thing. Just so you know. It was very poignant because Krazy Kath is actually coming to visit me for a while. Number five still hasn’t returned. She says she wants to bond with me, but hello? Everyone knows she’s lonely and wants someone to harp on. Windsor is a perfect candidate. I may end up hurling myself off a tall building. Not really, but I’ll probably wear headphones the entire time.
Which sort of leads to my one thing: I’ve been crying a lot since you left. Not just because you left and will be gone for a long ass time either. Things make me cry that shouldn’t, because I’m not typically a crier. Kathy, of course, has that skill perfected, but commercials and rom com movies? Jesus, what is the world coming to? What is wrong with me? Everything is sad. Songs on the radio, too. I’m sensitive to everything around me. Morganna told me it’s normal, although I’ve never seen her shed one tear her entire life. She tells me “it upsets me when Stone is away.” I wish I could be as stoic as she is.
Your love changed some fundamental part of me. The wall I built around myself for so long is completely toppled down. I’m open. That’s something even my psychiatrist couldn’t achieve after years of therapy. You did it. It’s all because of you. I like to think it has something to do with the fact that falling for someone changes a person, but I also know it’s because it’s YOU I fell for. I didn’t expect to feel so strongly about someone after Nash. But being with you made me realize I didn’t love Nash. He was my safe choice. My safety net—when the going gets tough, you want that type of person. But jumping into the unknown with you? It has been the best decision I’ve ever made. So as I sit here crying while I write this, know it’s your fault. All of it. Touch your chest and pretend it’s my hand.
Forever and ever yours,
Winnie Bear (That’s pretty cute.)
P.S. Get a Facebook. Even a fake one. That way you can keep up with all the photos I post! Thank you for the flowers you sent to my office. And the six dozen you sent to my condo…and for the ones you sent to my mother’s house even though you knew I wouldn’t be there. So coy. They’re beautiful.
Winnie Bear,
Out of your entire letter I zeroed in on one thing. I’m a man, after all. Yes. Yes. Yes. Let’s have a naked Skype session, Facetime call—whatever. You naked is my favorite sight. What happens after I see you naked is my favorite thing in the universe. I’m not sure how I’ll handle the insanity of seeing you naked and not being able to touch you. That seems like a type of torture even I’d be unwilling to deal out. Cruel and unusual. I’m willing to deal with it, though. My hands are kind of shaky just thinking about touching you naked. See what you do to me? I better not think of you when I have a gun in my hand. :) How about tomorrow 7 a.m. your time? I know it’s early, but the time difference is a bitch. I have some training to do the rest of the night. Stone will be gone, too. Not that he wouldn’t want to see you naked, but I’d have to kill him if he did.
I got a Facebook account last night. I’m sure you’ve already accepted my friend request. I’m Julio Bigcock. My main photo is none other than Bob Saget. I thought you’d get a kick out of that. I hate to admit that you’re right. I like the Facebook. I got clicking and couldn’t stop. The picture Gretchen took of you after you got home from a run, all hot and sweaty and delicious looking, is my all time favorite. Send me a copy? Also the one of Goose wearing the sign around his neck saying “I peed on Mommy’s briefcase and liked it.” Made me laugh out loud. Maybe doggy training camp is in order?
We eat horrible cafeteria food here. Sometimes it’s okay and other times it’s bad. They have a salad bar that makes me nervous because I’m not sure how fresh the vegetables are, but it’s better than the fried alternatives. Last time we were out this way, Stone got so puking sick from eating shellfish that now he refuses anything that doesn’t come out of a can. It was pretty bad. Ocean dwelling seafood in the middle of the desert is a bad idea—always. Morganna is constantly sending him boxes of food so he doesn’t starve. He’s such a pussy. (He also says hi.)
My camp is safe. I’m sure that’s what you really want to know. The second you leave the gates it’s a whole different ball game. The locals don’t want us here. Their bullets tell us so. They think we’re the enemy. Which is a joke because we’re trying to protect them from people who kill themselves without thinking twice. It’s fucking sick, really. We’re working on educating the people here (in between doing what we’re really here to do.) Maybe it will be safer one day, though I’m not sure if I’ll be around to see it.
A night out with the girls sounds like fucking trouble. You should go, though. They aren’t all bat-shit crazy…I promise. If you’re going out locally, I probably don’t have to worry about every swinging dick trying to bring you home. With a group of women that hot most guys just “know” without having to be told. In case they don’t, you should tell them your boyfriend packs heat—in the pants and on his hip and that he’s killed for smaller indiscretions. If that doesn’t scare them off, go get Morganna. Tell me more about these twenty-five blowjobs. Color me intrigued.
I’m sorry you’ve been sad. That’s a fact I could probably go without knowing, but I’m glad you told me all the same if only for the reason that you realize you never loved Nash. That comforts me in a weird, fucked up way that I’m ashamed of. I want all of you, Windsor…now and forever. I can’t control your past, but if I could, you would have always been mine to love.
Something you don’t know about me: I have an addictive personality—emphasis on addictive. That spans all areas of my life. Some things you could guess, because of how wrapped up I get with the things in life I pursue. But others you won’t know unless I tell you. Alcohol. I was the world’s most highly functioning alcoholic. You know about my bad past with my parents. Stone finally admitted to telling you about how they don’t agree with my life or my choices.
Don’t worry, I’m not mad or upset. I’m almost relieved. It makes it easier to admit this now. I drank to remember, Windsor. It was the only way I could remember the days when I had a loving family without tainting the past with their estrangement and the following bitterness. I’m better now—mainly because Stone has kept me this way for five years, but partly because it almost ruined my career—the one thing that’s always been steadfast and sure.
You’re my new steadfast so I want to be honest with you. Looking for my picturesque past at the bottom of a bottle only worked for so long. I was reckless with my life and the lives of those around me because of a fucking hang up. It even sounds ridiculous as I admit it now. At the time alcohol was the only thing that I felt I could control. I’d get really drunk and still be good at my job. It was like one more challenge I wanted to conquer. Before I knew it, I couldn’t work or live or breathe without a drink.
That’s when Stone stepped in like a muscular, tatted up, vagina-dicked angel. I love Stone for a million different reasons. He saved me when I couldn’t and didn’t want to save myself. I’ll owe him for the rest of my life. That’s what brothers are for though. I’d do the same for him. The person I am today wasn’t the person I was five years ago, Windsor. It’s been a progressive change leading up to the day I met you. The ascension of Thomas Maverick Hart was complete the night I looked into your blue eyes and you stuttered “no thank you.”
Selfishly, I’m asking you to accept this part of me, because it will always be a part of me whether you know it or not, unfortunately. It hurts because I know you deal with a family member with an alcohol problem. It’s not fair to you, but in the spirit of honesty—here it is…a snippet from my dark past. This got a little deeper than I intended. I’m better, but I’m not fixed.
My only addiction these days is you. I promise.
I wish it were your hand on my chest,
Maverick
P.S. I’ll see your sexy ass tomorrow. What I have planned for next week is even better than flowers. Just wait. Oh, and Goose can whine all damn night if he wants. We won’t be sleeping.