Chapter Eleven – NOW

 

 

Kyle:  You asleep?

Liv: Yes.

Kyle: Sassy girl

Liv: So I’ve been told.

Kyle: Are you & Matilda busy this Saturday?

Liv: Matilda has a dance recital in the morning.  Our afternoon is free.

Kyle: I want you both to come out to the academy.  See what I do.

Liv:  Um… I don’t know, Kyle.  Is that allowed? Is it safe?

Kyle: I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t safe or permitted.

Liv:  Of course. Sorry.

Liv:  I think that sounds like fun.  Matilda will love it.

Kyle:  Good.  I’ll text you directions in the morning.

Liv: Okay.  Night, Kyle.

Kyle:  Dream sweet, Liv.

 

Saturday rolls around fast.  Matilda’s dance recital is held at the town hall, and I sit in the audience for two hours, watching the kids in Matilda’s class do their dances.  They all look so cute on stage, dressed in their matching sparkly blue leotards and black tulle tutus.  Matilda’s hair is pulled back in a tight bun and the teachers have put a little makeup on all the girls.  They twirl and spin, do splits and dance around, shaking their booties, keeping in time with the music.  I’m so proud. 

When it’s over, we decide to grab lunch before going to the academy.  Kyle texted me directions yesterday morning like he said he would, and it’s a thirty-minute drive from the town hall.  Once we’re in the car, I hand Matilda some makeup remover wipes and she wipes her face clean while I drive.

“Shall we get subs or a bucket of fried chicken?” I ask as I stop at a traffic light.

“Subs!”

“Subs it is.  Did you get all the makeup off?”

“I think so,” she replies.

“Good girl.”

We order our subs and I make sure to get a can of pop and a cookie each too, then we’re back in the car and driving again.

It’s just after one p.m. when we turn off the main road and enter through the gates of Greenwich Army B.C.T. Academy.

“What does B.C.T. stand for, Momma?” Matilda asks.

“No idea, sweetie.  You’ll have to ask Uncle Kyle.”

The gravel drive leads us down to a sprawling area filled with large, shed-like structures.  As we get closer, I notice different sections are set up, like a ropes course, a mud-filled trench, a huge rock wall, and a square filled with sand.  There is also a pile of enormous wooden logs and concrete blocks. 

“This looks foreboding,” I mutter to myself.

I park the car, and as we climb out, we’re greeted by Kyle.  He looks even more handsome than usual.  He’s wearing an army uniform with INSTRUCTOR WESTWOOD embroidered on his pectoral.  He’s covered in sweat and mud, and it only makes him look more delicious.

“Uncle Kyle!” Matilda greets him in her usual cheery manner. 

“Hey, sweet pea.  How was your dance?”

“It was so much fun.  I got an award.”

“Good girl.”

“We got you a sub.  What does B.C.T. mean?”

“Good to know. I’m starved.  B.C.T. means Basic Combat Training,” he tells her.  “Now, come on, let’s go eat.”

Matilda peppers Kyle with questions on the short walk to one of the old sheds that houses a kitchen.  Like any good uncle, he indulges her, answering every question she asks. 

“Are you going to make a fire?” Matilda asks, looking at the huge logs as we pass by them.

He chuckles.  “No, they’re for a teamwork exercise.”

“Are there any recruits here right now?” I ask as we sit down at the table.  I hand Kyle his sub, soda, and cookie.

“No, we’ve got a new group arriving tomorrow.”

We eat our food and afterwards Kyle gives a tour of the property.  He explains what the different areas are used for as we go along.  Matilda runs ahead, balancing along a wooden beam that outlines a giant sand pit.

“Wow.  It seems so intense.”

“It is.  We have to make it that way so the men and women who succeed are those who want it the most.  Who have the desire and drive deep inside to never quit.  We make them uncomfortable, cold, hungry, and tired, because going to war, there’s every chance they’re going to experience those situations for real, and we need to ensure they’ve got the training to help them live through it.”

“It makes sense,” I say.  “What about things you can’t train them for, like if they’re caught by the enemy or something?”

“We have drills that we put them through to give them the tools they’ll need to survive.  When they leave here, they know whatever they experience at war, they’ve already been through here.  It’s why they call it Hell Week.”

“Shit,” I curse on a whisper.  “Did you have to do it?”

He nods once sharply.  “Every military personnel has been through it, babe.  It’s why we’re the people we are.”

“Were you scared?”

“Fuck yeah,” he responds without hesitation.  “I was eighteen, cocky, didn’t know what to expect.  I left basic training a different man.  A better man.”

“I bet lots of people quit before it’s over.  I think I would,” I tell him with an unsure laugh.

“Eighty percent quit.  The twenty percent who complete the week are beat down, but not to destroy them, the opposite, in fact. It’s when we’re at our weakest that we grow the most.  You throw a piece of metal in a fire, pull it out, beat on it, and repeat, what happens?”

“Uh…”

“The metal gets stronger,” he answers for me.  “That’s what we do here.”

“It’s actually pretty incredible,” I find myself saying.  “I’m glad you found a purpose after being discharged,” I add softly.

“It found me, babe,” he replies just as soft.  We stop walking and I look up into his eyes.  He reaches for me, cupping my jaw and brushing his thumb across the apple of my cheek.

“Uncle Kyle!  Can I walk in the mud?” Matilda calls out, interrupting the moment.

“No way!” I instantly shout back.

Kyle’s shoulders shake with his silent laughter.  I can’t help but smile in return as I take in his relaxed face and twinkling eyes.

“I think she gets her adventurous side from you.  I can’t imagine Brant playing in the mud,” I mention, and Kyle grunts his agreement.

“He preferred Legos.  I preferred climbing trees.”

“Yep, she definitely takes after you, then.”

We finish up the tour and say our goodbyes.  Kyle still has work to do before the recruits arrive tomorrow, and he has an early start.  He walks us to the car and buckles Matilda in before coming to a stop near my door.

“I won’t be around much for the next week, but I’ll call or text, okay?”

“You don’t have to,” I reply, although my stomach twists as soon as the words leave my lips.

“I’ll call or text,” he repeats emphatically.

“Okay then.  Have a good week.”

He leans down and brushes his lips across my cheek.  My heart pounds in my chest at his close proximity as his cologne fills my senses.  I bite my lip to stop a moan, and clench my hands to stop from reaching up to feel the heated skin where his lips touched.  He throws Matilda a cheeky grin and a wink, then he waves us off.

Exhausted from her busy day of dancing and exploring, Matilda naps on the drive home, which leaves me alone with my thoughts.  Every fiber of my being seems drawn to Kyle.  It’s almost as if our souls recognize each other and are relentlessly trying to fuse together.  The longer I fight the attraction, the stronger it becomes.  The harder it is to ignore.

As I pull into our drive, an unexpected thought occurs to me.  Do I really want to keep fighting against the obvious longing I feel?