“They ordered us out to send a message back. ‘Don’t fuck with the United States Army’.” One hand moved to touch the place over a deep, impressive scar I hadn’t asked about. “That was where I got this one. And it was worth it. I left my soldier behind because I had to, but I sent the sons of bitches who killed him to their own graves. If he had to go, so did they.”
So much of war is answering offense with reprisal, only for your enemy to take offense at your reprisals and mount their own offensives. As a doctor, and as a teacher, I spend a lot of time questioning this cycle. Analyzing it. Asking if we could learn to break it, and save lives in the process.
This time, I had no questions. There’s no honor in finding a wounded man and sending him to his death as a message to your opposition. They didn’t have to do that. They made choices. Choices receive consequences.
I nodded. “A box for your medal, then. Also some ice cream. It’s an ice cream kind of weekend.”
“No complaints there. Get your shoes.” He stole another kiss, then turned to go.
I almost ran into him when he paused in the doorway. “What?”
He squinted at me. “Did you say your brother’s name is ‘Johann’? Johann and Sebastian? Really?”
I stared back. “My parents named their kids after a composer. Yours named theirs after cities in Wyoming. You really going to try to storm the moral high ground here? Don’t try it. This time,Ihave the high ground.”
I lost the high ground to a playful headlock. I’m a scientist, not a professional wrestler, okay?
18FORWARDING ADDRESS
“You will not getyour deposit back if you throw your tie into the garbage disposal. Come here,” Jackson said. His eyes sparkled with humor and mischief. That didn’t help because it meant I wanted to take this stupid penguin suit off, not put it on.
That urge, by the way, is ahuge problemin life with Jackson. The man is the kind of temptation that derails social engagements by changing shirts, because once you’ve seen his chest, you want to see the rest. It’s like spotting the game-console-shaped box under the Christmas tree then agitating to open presents on December third. I have the self-control of a toddler in sight of the world’s messiest cupcake when I see him.
He had his shirt on, at least. A dress uniform shirt. And dress jacket. Dress shoes. Dress pants – another shame, because it meant he had pants on – and he had his dress hat on the table by the door. The full “look at me I am a non-commissioned officer who’s been to Mars” getup. All dressed up and somewhere to go.
I hadmostof a tuxedo on. Except, you guessed it, the bowtie, which I couldn’t convince to sit straight across my neck. The left half of that thing wanted to cuddle my chin with the vigor of a hungry cat bribing me for breakfast.
Jackson had a point. I stopped dangling the bowtie over the garbage disposal. “Sergeant Sadler, would you please order this stupid tie to do what it’s supposed to? Make it drop and give you twenty?”
Laughing, Jackson took the tie away and looped it around my neck. This had the advantage of putting him close, with his arms around me, and I took shameless advantage of this circumstance by leaning in to kiss him. It wasso gratifyingto feel him melt into it, distracted from his duty, and wander off into the same gutter I’d splashed in all day.
“You’re a bad man, Bastian Sadler,” Jackson murmured against my lips. “And we aren’t gonna make it to that stupid mixer this way.”
“Oh, darn,” I said, and pilfered another kiss. “How horrible. Threaten me with a good time.”
That kiss turned into a third, and tried to run for a fourth but got tagged out short of home plate. “I did not go through the measuring and acquisition process for this uniform just so it could stay on the kitchen floor,” he said, then nipped at my lower lip.
“I hereby declare you No Fun,” I said, but I took a step back and let him fix my tie. He had it on the first attempt and his smirk gloated his superiority at me.
I pulled a face. “Fine. You are both No Fun and Champion Tie Master. Let’s go get this thing over with.”
I put my phone in my pocket, because my futility needs exercise, as well as the portable charger. Just in case. Over the last few days, I hadn’t put a lot of effort into coaxing my electronic hockey puck to life. I didn’t want to find more messages from Joan.
Hindsight showed me that I should have blocked her from the start. I didn’t want a restraining order against her. Hell, at this point, I didn’t need one. She had never threatened me, or done more than pester me. Saving the messages would do nothing more than show a pattern of contact and the fact that I’m too bloody polite to hitblock.
Dana, though. Dana had oozed into my orbit the Monday after I’d told Joan to stop contacting me. We’d endured a spate of small talk before Dana initiated a gentle but persistent campaign to justtalkto Joan. She had an important topic to discuss. No, she hadn’t told Dana what it was (that was a lie, and we both knew it). I’d left Dana with an abrupt word about not discussing Joan further, and I’d avoided her since.
The next time the phone lit up, I would block Joan’s number. I would block Dana’s number, too, and if I needed to have any more conversations with her, I’d do it with administrative witnesses present. Then I’d ensure my data backed up to the cloud and pray for the sweet, sweet release of a new device.
We took Jackson’s truck. All the cool kids show up to a formal mixer wearing dress uniforms and tuxedos while driving a truck. In fairness, my beat-up Subaru wouldnothave been any cooler. The truck at least had pristine paint, clean seats, and did not look like a golf ball with tires.
“How did a rich boy never learn to fix his tie?” Jackson asked as he navigated us towards the Broadmoor.
The organizers of this mixer had spared no expense when they chose a venue. The Broadmoor had served up swank to people who felt like putting on the ritz for a pair of centuries. Locals of Colorado Springs had some pungent opinions of the company, but no one could deny the sumptuousness of the resort. Attending an event there was a treat for most people.
“My father had Ideas, with a capital I, about how ties should look.” I waved toward my neck to indicate my tie without touching it. If I touched it, it would end up crooked. “It never mattered if I adjusted my tie to perfection. The moment I saw him, he’d just frown and redo it. I stopped bothering. What are you giving me that look for?”
Jackson had thrown a cast iron side-eye at me. “I’m waiting for the other boot to drop.”