Only she can get away with bringing him up and then making rash accusations. True accusations, I think.
The dog whimpers loud enough for us to hear upstairs. I blow on the tea. “Fine. We don’t have to talk about it. I’ll help you bathe the filthy animal.”
“Stavros would enjoy that,” Ramona jokes, shaking her head. “But, I’m sure you’re talking about the dog, so let’s go do that so you can get to bed.”
We take our tea down to the laundry room. I fill the large utility sink in the corner as she works on unfastening the collar and leash. She’s talking to the dog in a low, singsong voice. It’s when I know that this time will actually be different. I feel it deep down in my bones. She’s not going to take Stavros back. She’s also going to keep this fucking dog if its owners can’t be found.
CHAPTER THREE
The story of how I had a baby with a crack whore is long and tedious, though it’s not all bad. I’ve loved Rena for as long as I can remember. She wasn’t always bleary-eyed and obsession focused. We grew up as next-door neighbors. Rena was my first kiss, my first fuck—the girl no one else could live up to for all my adolescence. I only tell you this as my defense because I’m an upstanding man in the U.S. military. An elite. My moral compass rivals Mother Teresa. I mean, I’m not that dignified, I’m a Navy SEAL, but you get the picture. A straight-laced man with a plan and a bright future. To really understand, we have to go back. Six years and some odd months, to be precise. I was returning from a harrowing deployment to the Middle East. Friends were killed. Missions were messy. Sights were seen that I’ll never forget. My state of mind was shaky at best, and completely fucked-up at worst.
The plane touches down on American soil in broad daylight. It’s confusing when you’ve been flying as long as we have. Exiting the enormous diesel sucking plane onto a base in Southern California, I step onto the tarmac and eye the chain-link fence in the distance. There are American flags waving and you can just barely make out the smiles from the family members waiting to greet their significant others. Kids are running back and forth, pacing, trying to get the first glimpse of the father they haven’t seen in eight long months. Will their fathers even recognize them in person? Photos are liars. Bitches tune, smooth, flatten, erase, and shrink everything these days. The woman I hooked up with before I left wasn’t as advertised in her dating profile. What you expect and what you get rarely match up. Now, I have no experience with kids, but I’d imagine it’s the same. I’ve had friends have to do a double-take when they see their kids after being downrange for so long. Babies grow up and children become teenagers.
“What’s the first thing you’re going to do?” Isaac drawls. He claps me on the shoulder as he walks next to me. His wife will be here with their kid. A pang of jealousy creeps in. Not that I want a wife and a kid, but I don’t have anyone waiting here for me. I’ve found attachments cumbersome, and unpredictable.
I clear my throat. “Same as you, buddy. Grab a meal and find someone to put my dick in. I mean, you don’t have to look as hard as I do.” His eyes are locked on his wife, Tasha. I look away. “Welcome home, brother,” I say. A formality. An odd one when we’ve been living a depraved life far less than formal.
Isaac smiles at me, a real smile. Something I haven’t seen in months. “You won’t have to look very hard. You never do.” He means it as a compliment, so I take it even though a pang of regret tears through me. My friend jogs off into the crowd to get to his family quicker.
I take my time, readjusting the huge bag on my shoulder as I watch my brothers find their little pieces of heaven. That’s what they’re called around here. They chase away the bad. I don’t have that, so I’ve made friends with my nightmares.
She’s standing off to the side, away from the crowd, but I’d recognize Rena’s face anywhere. Her frame is smaller than when I last saw her about a year ago, and gaunt creases on her face mar her beauty in a way I don’t like, but seeing her at this moment fills me with it. That elusive piece. Warm memories flood my mind when she smiles at me, waving a small flag with her left hand. “Abraham Lincoln,” Rena quips when I’m close enough to hear her over the voices surrounding us. “You’re just a tall drink of water standing there in that uniform looking at me like you’re going to do something.” The phrase and nickname from our past takes my breath away. Carnal thoughts immediately rise as I flick through memories of her under me, on top of me, beside me, in every location we’ve ever screwed. More, she’s here. In the flesh. For me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
She lowers the flag by her side and tugs on a sleeve to cover a bruise on her arm. “Our parents talk. When I found out yours couldn’t make it today, I knew I had to be here.” She sniffles, running her pointer finger under her nose. “What do you say, one more try for old time’s sake?” Her gaze is serene—compelling, in ways that lend fire to my soul.
Emotion clogs my throat, and my sea bag seems to gain a
