Marco does the same. “You’ve spent your adult life doing for Laura and for your country. When are you going to do for Ryan?”
“What do you want me to do?” I put my hands on my hips, slowly breathing in and out.
Marco grabs two water bottles and throws one at me. I barely catch it before it hits the ground. “Whatever you want to do. When’s the last time you went on a vacation?”
“I was at Breckenridge with my parents for Christmas.” Marco and his family didn’t go because his daughter Micaela wasn’t feeling up to it after losing her husband last year, and they didn’t want to leave her during the holidays.
“That wasn’t for you. That was for your parents. All these deployments have you traveling, but you never actually do anything for yourself.”
He’s right, but I’ve never been good at sitting still. I get antsy and then I find myself needing to get up and do something.
“I’m leaving in a couple weeks. Maybe I’ll do something when I get back.”
“Hey, Ryan,” my dad yells. “Your mom wants to know if you’ll be home for dinner tonight.”
I let out a groan and Marco laughs. “I need to find my own place. Staying with your parents should never be allowed after you’ve moved out.”
“Agreed.” He nods. “Did that shit years ago after I moved back home. My mom babied the shit out of me.” He takes a long gulp of his water. “I have a beach house in Venice. Why don’t you spend some time there? Some time for you. It’s backed up to the Pacific Ocean. Private beach. You can go for a run. Eat on the pier. Go to a club. Pick up a woman. Get laid. Tristan has a gym only twenty minutes from there. Do something for you.”
Well, shit, when he puts it like that…
“Ryan,” my dad says, walking over. “She wants to know if you want lasagna or chicken marsala.”
Marco gives me a small one-shoulder shrug.
“Tell her I won’t be home for dinner. I’m heading out on an impromptu vacation.”
Dad frowns. “You’re leaving for your deployment soon.”
“Not for a couple weeks. I’m going to the beach. I’ll be back before I leave. Promise.”
Marco hands me a key off his key ring. “Fridge needs food, garage is empty, so you can park your truck in there. Alarm code is two-five-four-two. Have fun.”
I take the key from him. “Thanks.”
After stopping at home to say goodbye to my mom, and assuring her I’ll be back to spend time with her and the family before leaving, I pack a bag then take off to Venice.
Four hours later, I arrive and park my truck in the garage so the saltwater doesn’t fuck with it. The house isn’t huge, but it’s nice as hell. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and like Marco said, it’s literally backed up to the beach. You walk outside and the sand and water are right there.
The first thing I do is take a walk along the beach to the pier to get something to eat. I can’t remember the last time I spent time by myself. When I’m deployed I’m in a room with a dozen other guys. At the base, someone is always around. When I lived with Laura and was home, she always wanted to spend time together. She tried so damn hard to make shit work, but it was like trying to fit a square peg into a circle. No matter how hard she tried, we just didn’t fit the way she wanted us to.
When I moved back to Vegas, my parents offered to let me stay with them while I searched for a place. It’s been a few months and it’s definitely time, but since I’ll be leaving in a couple weeks and will be gone for a year, I figured it would be best to wait until I get back. I will definitely be getting a place when I get back.
I find a seafood restaurant near the pier, order a beer and a mahi sandwich, and eat outside, watching the sunset. I can already feel myself getting antsy, needing something to do, but I push it back. Marco was right. I need some time for myself. To just relax and think.
When the sun has completely gone down, I walk back to the house. I jump in my truck and grab some groceries, then spend the next couple hours on the back patio with a beer in my hand, watching the waves crash.
Around nine o’clock, I decide to call it a night. After throwing the empty beer bottle into the recycling bin, I shut the French doors and step inside. I’m almost to the bedroom when I hear a door open. My first instinct is to reach for my gun, but I quickly remember where I am and that my gun is in my truck. I’m in Venice, in some rich as fuck neighborhood.