Chapter Two

Ben

Three years later

“I’ve been drinking heavily since I became a SEAL. I don’t need to go out tonight,” I say, holding my stomach at the reminder of alcohol. “Last night I tied one on so hard my intestines are still violently angry at me.”

Harper moans her dissident about the situation. “It’s your twenty-first birthday. Did you take a beer shit yet?” Harper asks. “You have to eat cake. We’d eat cake if I were there.” She swings from topic to topic so quickly it makes my head spin.

“You sound like such a kid when you ask me questions like that. Was beer shit something you overheard in class, Harper?” I smile. She hates when I single her out as different than her peers. Funny, it’s the reason we’ve stayed friends all this time. I shift the phone from one ear to the other. She called to sing me happy birthday, like she does every year. “I’m sorry.” Apologize before she rebukes. I’ve learned that about her. Harper can’t get mad after I say I’m sorry.

She sighs. “I’ve been to plenty of college parties. Maybe not the kind of parties you go to. I’m not into hookers and blow,” she remarks, a hint of ice in her voice. “We’re more refined than that.” Low blow. She goes straight for the jugular by bringing up the life I could have had if I hadn’t joined the Navy instead of going to Harvard with her.

The terror attacks that rocked the world did so in an all-encompassing, freedom stealing manner. I watched the widespread destruction sitting on Harper’s bedroom floor. We spent weeks, right there, in that same spot, watching the President of the United States give speeches and news reporters with terrified faces offer updates on the death toll. Harper’s aunt was killed in a parking garage at the mall here in San Diego.

Our friend Peter’s mother and father were killed when their cruise ship was hijacked by terrorists. His grandma stepped in as both parental figures after. The attacks were widespread, encompassing every country and almost every city in the world. Every form of destruction was used, from a simple automatic weapon, to car bombs, and IEDs strategically placed to cause the greatest amount of death.

My hackles didn’t go down as the world changed, and as I watched tears pour down Harper’s face as we buried her aunt, mere days after that fancy dinner birthday party. I’d silently made up my mind. I didn’t tell anyone of my decision because they’d try to sway my mind. Mostly I didn’t want to disappoint them, because I knew without a shadow of a doubt I wasn’t going to Harvard. I was going to join the Navy and be a goddamn Navy SEAL.

Destiny was forced by the terrorists’ hands. It wasn’t easy to get in the physical shape required for BUD/s and Hell Week. In fact, the process was the hardest thing I’ll ever do in my entire lifetime. The numbers of Americans wishing to enlist were pouring in after the terrorism washed across the world. Patriotic men and women, just like myself, switching plans to make their lives better used. Harper didn’t talk to me for a full week after I told her about my plans. My parents went into a somber period where I’m sure they mourned the life they thought I’d have. Explaining I would have a more fulfilling experience serving my country did little to quell their fears. With good reason.

Our world fell apart that day. Nothing will ever be the same. It’s an impossibility. Martial Law lasted so long that we stopped counting months when it seemed commonplace. Curfews and road blocks were the new normal. Grocery stores were wiped out and you found fresh produce when you were lucky. Some of the power plants around the U.S. were affected and some citizens went months without power. It reminded me of the apocalypse—or some TV show where zombies lurk around corners waiting to chew off your face.

Harvard seemed so far away. Who goes to school to learn when national security is threatened? It was surprising how quickly life returned to something familiar. Harper left on time, and something resembling our old life resumed.

“Your birthday is coming up. Want to fly to come see me? I’ll buy your plane ticket,” I offer when the conversation falls into a lull. We live two completely different lives. Harper has her nose stuck in a book while I have my gun shoved down some asshole’s throat. I grew up fast, and sweet Harper is still catching up in all of the ways she’s always lacked. “We can celebrate both of our twenty-first birthdays then.” It’s a peace offering.

“I guess,” she says.

I tell her I have a long weekend next month and we talk logistics in case I’m not able to pick her up at the airport. My job in the military is steady. My schedule isn’t something I can ever count on, though.

“Do you have your own place again or are you sharing with…those guys?”

Laughing, I try to picture her crinkled nose and upturned lip. “You know rent is crazy expensive out here. I’m rarely home. Rest assured I do have my own place again.” I lived with a few SEALs right after I graduated BUD/s. Harper came down with her parents to visit me and she was horrified. Mostly because it was her first glimpse of my life after her, and it was nothing like it was supposed to be.

She grumbles under her breath. “They looked at me like I was lunch. Right in front of my dad!” Harper exclaims.

“I told them you were single. They asked.”

“I don’t need your help with men, Ben. Please.”

She doesn’t date. I know it for a fact. “Mark your calendar then. I’ll get your ticket squared away and email you the confirmation. We’ll have cake and whatever else you deem birthday worthy.”

“I can live with that. What’s your new place like?”

I make my way to my bathroom and glance around. “Uh, I’ll have to clean up before you come.”

She scoffs. “Still not a housekeeper, huh?” It’s been a whole year since I’ve seen Harper. We have one of those friendships that never change. She’ll arrive and it will be like no time has passed at all. “Am I sleeping on the couch?”

I should have known that’s what she was fishing for. “No. Sleepover in my bed, of course. Flashlights and Captain America comic books.” I bite my lip to stifle a laugh.

“Ha. Ha. We’re not kids. We can’t sleep in the same bed anymore. That’s just weird. Boy, girl platonic relationships don’t function that way.”

I’m not sure how else they’d function. We’ve made it work our entire lives.

I tsk her. “It’s only weird because you said the word. It’s completely normal. When do your exams finish up?”

Harper starts in with her college talk, telling me of her exams and her linguistics professor and the boy she studies with, who has bad breath. I’ve named him Stinky Stuart, even though his name is Marcus. It irritates her when I don’t use his real name. It irritates me that even I can tell Marcus wants her for more than studying and she doesn’t realize it. I don’t tell her that either. I don’t have rights to Harper in that regard anymore.

She’s the pipe dream I gave up when I became a SEAL. My cell chimes with a text message. It’s from a number not saved in my phone.

I had fun last night. Call me later?

Swallowing hard, the memories from my drunken escapade last night come rushing back. My hands in blond hair. Her mouth on my dick. I swipe to delete the message quickly.

“Benny, I have to go. My Jazzercise class starts in fifteen and I’m about to blow a gasket with these upcoming tests. I might even stay for two classes.”

Shaking my head, I reply, “Still with the Jazzercise? I may not clean well, but at least I don’t participate in the geekiest thing alive to combat stress.” I can’t make fun of her too much because I used to go with her when we were growing up. Her mom would drop us off out front with our sweat bands strapped to our foreheads. We’d wave her away, with gritted teeth and red faces. Wouldn’t want ole’ Mom to embarrass us at Jazzercise class, now would we?

I ask if Harper remembers it, and of course she does. We end our phone call the way we always do, with laughter and good memories. I feel so much better after we talk. The fuzzy, familiar feelings only she can give vanish bit by bit until I’m empty and alone again. Soon, she’ll be here and I’ll be able to fill the reserves again.

The random number texts me again, but I delete the message before reading it in favor of looking up house cleaning services.

++++

Sweat drips down the sides of my face as I hold my breath and steady my gun. The wet wood and drywall surrounding us makes for a horrendous smell and I can’t help but wonder how many mold spores I’m inhaling in this abandoned, nasty building. As a kid, I was obsessed with geeky things like Stachybotrus chartarum, better known as black mold. It can cause cancer and infections that take over an entire human body. Puffing out my cheeks, I try to hold my breath a little longer than I should.

My buddy Tahoe is in front of me. He squeezes my thigh with his free hand, signaling we’re moving into the next room. I reach behind me and return the gesture to the SEAL behind me. We’re stacked against the door, silently pursuing the people hiding behind it. We’re not in a third world country stalking evil predators. We’re in a fucking abandoned office building in Florida. This is our new normal. Fighting on American soil, in seedy places, taking out those who threaten our fucked up freedom. When people talk about the price you pay for freedom? Yep, that’s me. Paying that shit a million times over.

Someone from inside the room fires a gun and the bullet whizzes by my shoulder and lodges into the wall across the hallway. I can’t let the near hit affect my mindset, though. I take a deep breath and confirm I’m okay with a brisk head nod. Tahoe grabs my arm and looks me up and down. It’s a frantic gesture as he scans for blood or anything amiss. I hiss out a long breath as the front man gives the order to move in by signaling a hand gesture. It’s only been a few seconds since the bullet flew through the wall, and we’re obviously compromised. The scent of gun powder fills my awareness and in response I tighten my grip on the weapon.

With precision and speed, the first SEAL enters the room and gunfire lights the atmosphere like the Fourth of July. I keep my gaze focused at the door opening as my three brothers enter before me, folding around the door, each heading in separate directions to clear the room effectively. Voices cascade around me as I enter the dimly lit room for my turn. They took out the bad guy the millisecond they entered, so by the time I’ve entered the threat is gone. This time, at least.

I’m still breathing hard when someone yells, “Clear!” And we set out for the other rooms in this hallway. The Intel crew sweeps in behind us to case the room and the body to find anything of use. It’s become an exhausting effort to root out the people responsible for the terror attacks that rocked our world. It’s not just the terrorists, it’s also those who helped fund it, and those who helped organize the attacks.

All in a day’s work. I tell myself this on repeat as I try to forget about the stray, deathly bullet. The rest of the rooms prove less hazardous and we’re on our airplane heading somewhere else just as dusk sets.

My friends talk about the mission and pat me on the shoulder as they pass by my seat on the plane. I’m solemn, a little more silent than I usually am. I’m an extroverted introvert on a good day. Keeping to myself comes naturally, but when close calls rear, like they’ve done before, I shut down almost completely. Tahoe flashes his phone in front of my face. It’s a pair of big, fake titties. He spits into a clear soda bottle, and then takes a seat in front of me, our friendly exchange all but over.

My cell phone is in a dirty backpack sitting in the seat next to me. I pull it out and open up the notes to write a message that will never see the light of day. Sometimes I need to write things down to remind myself that I’m still breathing, that my reality is firmly planted in the same place it has always been.

When the light fades and the mute darkness washes over me, I don’t think of anything except every memory that has you in it.