Collateral (20 page)

club. Ear-hurting noisy, but we weren't

looking for conversation. Lucky us

(or not, depending on how you look

at what happened later), the SDSU

crew team was there, drinking, too.

I went to the bar, ordered well tequila.

For some reason, the guy—Jaden—

standing next to me noticed.
Have

you ever tried Trago? It's brilliant.

I started to say something flip,

but then I turned to look at him.

Despite my certainty that no guy except

Cole could ever again make my pulse

pick up speed . . . I caught my breath.

“Trago? I bet it's expensive, huh?”

Speaking of brilliant. His smile?

Totally.
More expensive than Cuervo,

for sure. Would you like to try it?

He pointed to the full bottle on the top

shelf of the bar. Obviously, it was too

pricey for most of the clientele.
My treat.

I should have smiled, thanked him,

and said no. Instead, I shrugged.

Next thing you know, I was drinking

shots of the best tequila I'd ever tasted—

with a gorgeous guy, so not my Cole.

He was a pretty good dancer, too.

Is it creeps up on you. Good tequila

is even sneakier. Especially when

you're totally enjoying the company

of the guy who keeps pouring shots

for you. He bought the whole bottle.

Truthfully, I was grateful to spend

the evening with him. Brittany deserted

me early for some guy she hit it off with.

The last thing I wanted to do was sit

there, drinking alone, with increasingly

drunk guys hitting on me. Jaden,

of course, was hitting on me, too. But

at least he was respectful about it,

especially when the Trago loosened

my mouth and I started talking about

Cole. He was sympathetic.
No

one in my family was ever drawn

to the military. Certainly, I would

never join up. I respect those who

do, but it must be really hard for you.

At some point, I started to feel

selfish—for wanting to talk to any

guy other than Cole, and for hoarding

this one, when I had no plans to do

more than talk. “I should probably go

and let you tempt some other girl

with the rest of this tequila.” I started

to stand, but he put his hand on

my arm. Stopped me with a simple:

Don't go.

You run into a guy who actually

appreciates your IQ as much as

your bra size. Okay, often those

guys are gay. But not always.

Jaden and I connected in a very

special way. As friends. Turned out

he had regular fuck buddies.
No

one I could get serious about.

No one as interesting as you.

I'm not sure what he found so

interesting. I didn't feel special.

But I was glad that he thought

I was. Over the next month—May,

and heading into another summer

vacation for me and graduation

for Jaden—we hung out regularly.

Anyone seeing us together would

have thought we were a couple,

and other than the sex thing,

I suppose we were. Under other

circumstances, I would have fallen

totally in love with him and if I were

to be honest with myself, I'd have

had to admit complete infatuation.

What I wasn't at all sure about

was if our budding relationship

was because of Cole or in spite

of him. When I stopped to worry

about that, guilt crashed into me.

I'd given Cole my word that I'd

never cheat on him. I wasn't. Not

really. Was I? Was it okay to carve

my heart, give a tiny fraction to Jaden?

I knew Cole wouldn't think so. But

I still hadn't heard a single word.

If he really cared, couldn't he find

a way to let me know he was alive,

he was whole, he was still in love

with me? Instinct told me he was fine.

Logic insisted the silence wasn't

his fault. I had a pretty fair idea of how

things worked beyond the wire.

So what was up with me? It all came

down to hormone-rattled emotions,

confusion at my confusion. Love,

I thought, should be straightforward

commitment, unencumbered by private

doubt, internal debate. It should be static.

As that summer rolled in,

hotter than usual. I decided

to stay in San Diego. In Lodi,

there would be questions.

About school.

Which was relatively good.

About my major.

Which I hadn't changed yet.

About Darian.

Who I hadn't seen in months.

About Cole.

Who . . . I couldn't say.

Mostly, I wanted to surf.

To work and save a little money.

To wait to hear from my soldier.

To spend time with Jaden.

My dad didn't seem to care one

way or another. But when I told

Mom I wasn't going home,

the first thing she said was

What aren't you telling me?

For whatever reason, I broke

down and confessed. I steeled

myself, waiting for her to berate

me. After all, she was the one

who had been cheated on for years.

Instead, she commiserated.

You're young. You should

be having fun, not spending

so much time alone. Tell me

about Jaden. What's he like?

“He's smart.”

No smarter than Cole.

“He's ambitious.”

Ditto Cole. Just with different goals.

“He's wealthy.”

That one impressed her. Me, not

so much. I planned to make my own

way, regardless.

“He's gorgeous.”

No more so than Cole. One dark,

one blond. One blue-eyed, one

amber-eyed. And I had no preference.

“He's athletic.”

Tennis champ. Rowing champ.

Decent surfer, too. Cole could

no doubt run circles around him,

even if he couldn't ride a board.

The comparisons were inevitable.

Eventually, it came down to one

very major difference.

Jaden was a civilian.

Cole was a Marine.

That made me decide not to see

Jaden anymore. We'd had a lovely

day at the beach. Dinner after. Drinks.

We stood, arm to arm, leaning against

the deck railing outside Jaden's Spartan

little house. A huge harvest moon smiled

over the horizon and the sky was clear

enough to reveal a feast of stars. We

were talking about the future. His. Mine.

Not ours. But that felt like a given. So

when he leaned down, brushed my lips

sweetly with his, it felt right. For a moment.

Then the wrong of it came crashing

down. It wasn't a demanding kiss, not

even suggestive. But it wasn't Cole's,

and I knew before I could ever welcome

another man's kiss, I'd have to say good-bye

to my soldier. “I love you,” I said, and I

meant it. “Please take me home.” And

he understood that I had made a decision.

Jaden and I are long-distance friends now.

We talk from time to time. He's getting

married soon. They sent an invitation,

but I can't be at the wedding.

That night, I wasn't near certain

I'd made the right choice. I wasn't even

sure the day after, when I finally got

word from my close-to-promotion soldier.

In his mind, I shouldn't have worried.

Besides, all those silent days were

just a part of the job description.

He didn't see, would never know,

how relief barrel rolled over me

when his handwritten letter arrived.

Hello, my beautiful lady. How I wish

I were there with you, instead of killing

time in this god-forsaken land. Seriously.

God probably looks down on this place,

wondering what the fuck he was thinking.

As I write this, the thermometer outside claims

it's one hundred nine degrees. That's well after

the motherfucking sun has set. It is relentless,

only rivaled by the wind, which I think is doing

its level best to clear the desert of sand.

I can't share too many details about what I've

been up to. Suffice it to say the great American

masses only know as much as they're allowed

to by The Machine. It's all good. No need to know.

I volunteer for the ugliest stuff, not only to fight

the oppressive boredom, but also to impress those

who can give me a leg up. Rank means more

than better pay. It means plum assignments.

Once I get back to Al Asad, I'll test for lance

corporal, and will make it no problem. Then I

plan to put in for sniper training. I'm the best

shot in my unit. That includes moving targets . . .

Did not include chocolate or soap.

Or anything else that would melt

easily, sitting in the back of a truck,

stalled in the brutal heat. He did ask

for cigarettes. He always did, though

I never saw him smoke when we were

together, never smelled tobacco on him.

Every time he requested them, I had

to wonder who he became “over there.”

This letter told me not to ask the dirty

details. How filthy were they, really?

On some level, I understood he was

trained to kill. His unspoken words

shouted,
I have killed!
But just who

did he kill? Combatants? Innocents?

Scorpions, rats, snakes, and dogs?

Did they all die the same way? Did he

watch? Laugh? Desecrate death, sick

celebration? Despite his assertion

that the average Joe shouldn't know,

video footage was surfacing via

the Internet. I never found Cole's face

among the most reviled. Had I, would

I have forgiven him summarily, or might

it have tarnished my belief in us?

Because, despite Jaden, despite weeks

of worry, despite the unsettling image

of moving targets in Cole's crosshairs,

one fact remained. I loved him.

Are primo. If I were

a girl, they'd make me wet.

As it is, they make me

hard.

It's about being the best.

Truth be told, any

half-ass grunt can manage

to

aim a SAW at a milling

crowd, flatten it out.

And most civilians can

understand

how to draw a straight

bead on a paper bull's-eye.

What's infinitely

harder

is assessing wind and

distance to intelligent prey,

aware of you trying

to

estimate their path and

speed. Thwart evasive

action, it's impossible to

deny

unparalleled skill at the kill.

Cole Gleason

Of a marriage proposal can only

look like one thing: a solid no.

“Let me think it over” means,

“I'm really not sure.” But whether

that's not sure of “you” or “me”

or “us” doesn't much matter.

Uncertainty is tantamount

to “something here is wrong.”

And yet, I say yes, and I say

it with little hesitation. Maybe it's

the five-year-old-on-Christmas-

morning expression on Cole's face.

Or maybe it's the two bottles

of champagne we've consumed.

Possibly, it's the craving to bring

a higher level of legitimacy

to our relationship, in the eyes

of the Corps, not to mention

the rest of the world. Whatever

it is, I push away every notion

of “something here isn't quite

right,” and accept the gorgeous

two-carat diamond in platinum.

Cole slides it on my finger.

“It's a little big, but it's beautiful.”

We'll get it sized. And it should be

beautiful. It cost a good chunk

of ten paychecks. I love you, Ashley.

I'll be back in May, so we can have

a June wedding. If that suits you.

I breathe a huge, silent sigh

of relief. I half-thought he might

suggest doing the deed right now.

“I think I can pull it together by

June. There's a lot of planning

to do.” Despite my reservations,

excitement trills. Every girl dreams

of her wedding. Including me.

Cole rushes ahead.
When I get

back, I'll go active reserves, and

we can move to Wyoming. We can

stay with Mom until I find work.

Then we can start a family. Two

kids. Maybe three, depending.

“Whoa! Slow down. Wedding first.

Family later. And don't you think

we should discuss little details like