I didn’t just have to get used to New York or civilian life. I didn’t just have to acclimate to finding work instead of having it given to me. I had to get used to being married.

Caden and I had met in a war zone. I’d been prepared to live in that zone my whole life. My family prized duty and loyalty to near fetish.

He had gotten a direct commission as a doctor in late 2001 out of a sense of duty he wasn’t explicitly raised with. He held it in his heart next to his need to be a part of a solution. He entered the army with his privilege, his money, his medical pedigree, and a cockiness usually only found in fighter pilots and bomb specialists.

We were from different countries in the same America. When I’d arrived on base, he was just another good-looking soldier who wanted to get in my pants. Another one denying he was stressed. Too boastful, too proud, too full of himself to take no for an answer.

He broke down my professionalism by being honorable, dutiful, brilliant, and just enough of an asshole to remind me he was fully a man, and just vulnerable enough to remind me he was fully human.

He also smelled nice and had a casual way of touching me that made me want to purr.

My CO had issued me a pass just long enough to fly home and get married. We did it at my parents’ house in San Diego. He had no one in New York. The night before we tied the knot, I had a vivid dream. In it, I was marrying the wrong man. On top of a tall building, guests filled the chairs. Mom congratulated me. Dad flew in on an F-14. Colin wore camo and boots he wouldn’t be caught dead in outside a dream.

And I was marrying the wrong man. No one would listen. They thought I was crazy. I woke up in a terror, convinced I was making the mistake of my life.

Then I saw Caden sleeping next to me, and the terror fell away. I wasn’t marrying the wrong man. I was marrying Caden, and he was right. I was never as sure about anything in my life as I was about him.

In New York, the last place on earth I thought I’d find myself, those first months of our relationship seemed like a dream. I remembered the blood, the explosions, the prayers uttered to a God I’d forgotten a hundred times, but the hours of gentle relief with him became more of a home base to balance against the violence I’d seen. That knowledge that no, I wasn’t making bad decisions because he was with me, became my anchor.

Before we were married, and after he inadvertently rescued me from an assignment that would have ended my career, we both got approved for R&R.

We couldn’t acknowledge each other on the streets of Amman, but in the American hotel, we could be a couple. We became intimate with the hotel tea shop and the details of our separate rooms. On the rooftop patio, he traced the red scar down my right wrist. His lips were parted a little, as if ready to kiss at any moment, and his face was lit by the sun’s reflection.

“Your eyes match the sky,” I said to him. His face was framed in the blue Iraqi ceiling.

“They’re actually holes in my head,” he said. “You’re seeing right through.”

Caden ran his fingers over the top of my hand, connecting the knuckles like a man taking territory one hill at a time. We were so deep inside each other, there was no such thing as a public place.

I hadn’t gone to Iraq to fall in love. I was there to do the impossible—talk to soldiers about how they felt in a situation where feelings could kill. It was exhausting.

Caden energized me.

He traced the scars I’d gotten when I broke my wrist. “Does anyone think you tried to kill yourself?”

“Everyone. My mother still thinks I’m trying to hide a suicide attempt.”

“Why?”

“I was a goth teen. Eyeliner out to here. The world was so boring, like, so uninteresting.” I rolled my eyes dramatically.

“Can’t imagine it.” His fingers kept tracing the scar.

“I did want to… well, I almost gave up after I broke it. I lost flexibility, and it was permanent. I wanted to be a medic.” The admission embarrassed me, because I’d failed.

“That doesn’t surprise me at all.” He lifted my face by the chin. “You’re an adventurous spirit.”

“So are you.” I nudged him.

“No, really. You’re pretty angry at your limitations.”

“Angry?”

“Frustrated. Don’t worry, we’re going to get rid of either the anger or the limits.”

“When?”

“Don’t rush. We have a lifetime.”

Jenn showed up in leggings and a gray army hoodie, exactly on time. Five in the morning like a good soldier. I was early, stretching on the summit of a huge boulder in Central Park. She joined me.

“Ronin’s coming,” she said. “That all right?”

Ronin and I had dated, if that was what you called sporadic sex in the first year of enlistment, then a long separation, then a few rolls in the hay when I was a resident at Walter Reed and he was working in Intelligence.

“What’s he doing in New York?”

We took off down the boulder, stopped at a small rock embedded in the grass, and dropped for push-ups.

“Who knows?” Ten then back up the rock.

“Really?”

“Left Aberdeen Proving Grounds.” Top of the rock. Squat thrusts.

After everything that happened at Abu Ghraib, they’d sent him to Aberdeen. Jesus Christmas on a ladder, the army was fucked.

“They sent him here? Why?”

“He’s out of uniform now.”

Our breathing became unavailable for talking as we worked out. Ronin showed up midway through, in designer jeans and a sport jacket. He may have gone spook, but he was a handsome one. Dirty-blond hair, dark blue eyes in a face that had been chiseled and pristine when we met, but was wearing its ruggedness well.

“You doing it in that jacket?” I said between finishing push-ups and running back up the boulder.

“In a minute.” He took out a cigarette and lit it.

Jenn gave him the finger. He waved.

I didn’t think I could do another. The push-ups were murder on my wrist and my lungs burned.

“One more!” I cried, heading back down the boulder.

“I can’t!” Jenn put her hands on her knees.

“You can!”

I was telling myself more than her. I pushed myself. Push-ups. Run. Squat thrusts. Run.

I fell to my knees on the grass and rolled onto my back.

Ronin slow-clapped with the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Nice work, Major One More.”

Instead of telling him to go to hell, which would have taken a spare breath I didn’t have, I held up my middle finger.

“Two from me!” Jenn held up both of her birds.

Ronin laughed and put his cigarette out under his shoe. “You’re just jealous I don’t have to work as hard as you.” He picked up his cigarette butt and flicked it toward the garbage pail. It was too far to reach and too small a target, but it landed.

“What are you doing here, Ronin?” I asked.

Jenn put in her two cents. “Did Intelligence kick you out for lack thereof?”

He held his hands over his heart. “I’m wounded.”

“No, really.” I sat up. “I’m asking nice.”

He shrugged. “Got an offer in the private sector.”

Jenn and I both asked “Where?” at the same time.

“I can’t say, and you both owe me a beer.”

“Can’t say?” I asked. “You were doing medical research.”

“I still do. But, you know, it’s still military shit. La-di-da.” He broke a piece of grass and tossed it my way. “How’s civilian life, Major? You adjusting?”

“Yeah. It’s fine.”

“She sucks at it,” Jenn interjected.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“You’re still trying to impress the brass with one more lap.”

“Shut up.” I threw blades of grass at her, but she was right. I wasn’t at home outside military life. Not yet.

“And the practice?” he asked. “How’s it going?”

“She needs clients.”

“Can I talk?” I kicked her gently.

“You’re too slow.”

“I could use some more clients.”

“Said so.”

We smiled at each other.

“Jenn here sent me a couple of guys from her art therapy group, and thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“But that’s only a couple.”

“Most of my vets are from Jersey anyway,” she added.

“Manhattan’s tough,” I agreed. “I specialized in battle trauma. They don’t grow military here. They grow, I don’t know, hedge fund managers and musicians.”

“Yeah, here’s the thing. How far are you going to push to do this?” Ronin asked, then continued before I could ask him what the fuck that was supposed to mean. “You’re far outside your comfort zone here.”

“I don’t have a comfort zone.”

“I’m asking if you’re committed, Major One More.”

“You know I am, Lieutenant Pain in the Ass.”

“Good.” He slapped his knees and stood as if we’d just ended a meeting. “I’ll send you some people. See you around.” He stepped away then turned back. “And Jenn?”

“What?”

He flipped her the bird and she laughed.

When he was out of earshot, she sighed. “Such a good-looking man with an ice-cold rock for a heart.”

“Oh, not really. He had a heart once.” I got my feet under me. “He never calls your rank.”

“No, I guess not.” I helped her up. “I never noticed.”

“I think he likes you.”

“I bet I can get to Columbus Station first.”

“Hell, no.”

And we were off for one more run.