Grid Iron Bad Boy: A Football Romance (23 page)

“
T
hree days
?” I squeak.

I’m searching his face for signs that this is a badly timed joke. There’s no twinkle in his eyes like when he mixed mustard with frosting and gave me a lifelong aversion to cupcakes. There’s no trace of a smirk on his lips like when told me his grandparents were nudists right before we pulled up to their house for a nice Sunday supper. Instead, I’m met with the same earnest stare as when he first told me that he loved me.

“Mack, what are you talking about? We have school on Monday. Why are you fucking with me?” His eyes don’t change. He doesn’t bust out laughing and revel in the “gotcha” moment.

“I know we do. I’m just going for a campus visit. Once you’re admitted, you can go check out the school for a week and get a feel for it. I’m not going for good until July.” He runs his hand over his dark brown hair and sweeps it down over his neck.

My mind is spinning out of control. I might black out.
Am I drunk? Is this a dream?

“You’re serious? You just decided to drop this on me? On prom night? How long have you been planning this? When did you even apply?” I’m being tossed around on a sea of anger and despair.

I’m drowning.

“I didn’t want to just drop it on you. I applied last summer and I’ve been jumping through all their hoops for almost a year. It’s a huge process. I had to get endorsed by our congressman. My athletic ability, my SAT scores, my leadership skills, like every little thing had to be proven and was analyzed. I didn’t want to do all that, to try so hard and then have you and everyone else pity me if I didn’t get it.”

“This is crazy!” I jump to my feet and grab my clothes. “I can’t believe you’d make a huge decision like this,” I hop on one foot as I try to get my foot back into my twisted panties, “and not even mention it once.” I step into my dress and tug it back up over my shoulders, “what about my scholarship here? You know I can’t just walk away from that and go out east. Dammit, I haven’t even applied to any schools in New York! Zip this up will ya?” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder and Mack complies. His fingers send little tingles down my spine, but I blink hard and bury the sensation letting my disbelief and confusion rule the show. “Didn’t you think about me for one second? What kind of an asshole does this?”

If he wanted to make me yell, well he got his wish.

“Whoa, hold up. Of course I thought about you, but are you thinking about me? Christ, I thought you’d be proud of me. I thought you of all people would understand how important this is to me. You’ve known that I wanted to join the military ever since Ben …” his voice wavers.

I remember when his brother died. It’s a day our entire nation remembers and mourns. We were fifteen and Mack was so proud of his big brother going out to New York City for a low level finance job after graduating college. We watched in horror as the twin towers were attacked. They tumbled down in slow motion, over and over, on every news station in the country.

Mack and his parents held onto hope that Ben had called in sick that day, or showed up late. However, as they left voicemail after voicemail that would never be returned, I watched the hope slowly deflate out of their bodies.

When we saw the groups of strangers and co-workers standing on window ledges, their hands forming a chain of solidarity as they jumped from the burning buildings, we cried. I held Mack in my arms as his body shook with sobs. He screamed at the television as he choked on his tears, “Why are you jumping? You can still get out! Why are they jumping?” He wanted so badly to believe that somehow they could still be rescued. Like there would be a back stairway that wasn’t a burning column of smoke. Like there would be a ladder high enough to reach them.

It was the only time in my life that I’ve ever seen him cry.

Later, when it was finally confirmed that Ben had perished that day, Mack confided in me that he actually hoped his brother had been one of the jumpers. He liked the idea that he met God on his own terms, and didn’t suffer.

I’ve known since that day that Mack wanted to join the military. Since the day he had lost Ben, the day our nation had its heart torn out, he’d sworn he’d fight the war on terror if given the chance. However, I’d always thought he would join a local unit and that we’d still have our life together here in Colorado. I had no idea that he would try to join the most elite military academy in the country. But then again, Mack never does anything small.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to get into West Point? They only accept, like, ten percent of the people who apply you know,” he continues. “You can’t be over twenty-three, you can’t be married, you can’t have kids, you have to pass the interviews, the mental testing,” he’s ticking off each point on his fingers.

He’s running out of fingers.

I shut my eyes for a second and take a deep breath. I feel like I’m watching each milestone of our future together disappear with every admission criteria he rattles off.

“Community leader,” Mack says.

Poof!
There goes the vision of us as a cute elderly couple on a Sunday stroll.

“Medical testing,” he continues.

Poof!
Our wedding evaporates from the timeline.

“Fitness test,” his voice is distant now.

Poof!
The futon sex and ramen dinners shrivel up and blow away in a pile of dust.

“Are you even listening to me?” I open my eyes and Mack is standing in front of me. The inches between us feel like miles. For the first time, I realize he still hasn’t gotten dressed, his hard muscles and thick cock are as exposed as his soul and I can’t bear to look at any of it.

“Yes, I was just thinking. I
am
proud of you, Mack. I really am.” My voice cracks. “But what about us? I thought we were forever, you and I.” Fat tears gather in the corners of my eyes and I blink quickly.

“Lauren, we can still be together. There’s lots of couples who do the long distance thing through college.” He gently grasps my hand and for just a fleeting moment I believe him. I mean, sure, I’ve never heard of a long distance relationship working, like ever. Hey, I could be wrong.
Right?

“And then what?” Reality creeps back in, cuffing me in the back of the head. “What about when we graduate? Won’t you have to go on tour? Or get posted? It doesn’t sound like this is only four years of distance, Mack. It sounds like a lifetime. I … I just can’t do that.”

“What are you saying? You want to break up?” His face twists up and his eyes squint like the revelation is blinding him. Surely he must have thought this was a possibility?

“No, I don’t want to break up. I want you to stay here and go to Colorado U with me, like you made me think you were going to. I want you to grow old with me and I want to have your babies someday. You’re the one running off to the east coast to make yourself feel better about a bad memory.” I bite my tongue but the words had already slipped out. I can’t take them back. Mack steps back like my stupid remark physically knocked into him.

“My brother,” he seethes the words through his teeth, “isn’t just some memory. And if you can’t support me and my dream, if you can’t be fucking happy for me that I earned something and fought hard for it, then this looks like it was the best decision of my life, cause it’s saving me from waiting another ten years to find out what a waste of time this relationship has been.”

My hand flashes in front of my face like a hummingbird wing, a sting spreads through my palm as it lands across his cheek. Luckily, the sound of the slap drowns out the sound of my heart breaking. We both stare at each other, tears blur my eyes and slide down my cheeks.

“I want to go home,” my voice is ice. Mack doesn’t grab me and pull me close, or run his hand through my hair and tell me it’s all going to be ok. Instead, he slips his clothes back on and steps up into the golf cart, staring straight ahead, his jaw is set.

I slide in next to him and we sit in silence as we drive back toward the country club. The air has a chill to it now and as it whooshes around my ears, I can hear our love story again on the wind. But this time, it’s being told in past tense.

And nothing will ever be the same again.

"
I
'll be
happy when we're done winning over hearts and minds for the day, sir." Corporal Thompson mutters as the camera crew is busy taking shots of the landscape for their footage.

Landscape. That's hilarious. By landscape I mean endless sea of sand. We're not on high enough ground to really enjoy the mountains that Afghanistan has to offer, instead we're deep in her bowels. Gritty, dirty, brown expanses for as far as the eye can see.

"Keep your head up, Corporal. This last Shura will be about forty-five minutes and then we can get back to the base for some grub." I reassure him.

Truth is, I'm not so sure how much time we should be wasting on these Shura expeditions either. Every time we trek all over hell's half acre to meet the village elders and have a pow-wow with them about how we’re here to help, not hurt, them and their kids, I can't help but feel like we're the butt of a national joke.

People aren't idiots, they know a propaganda campaign when they see one. It's difficult to occupy a country in war and also try to convince its citizens that you're not the enemy. That's the real battle, and I'm not sure we're ever gonna win that one.

"I'll tell ya, I can't wait to get back. I hope with the time difference it's not too late to get a hold of Nadine," Thompson squints and twists his head as he tries to solve the time zone equation in his head. "Three weeks. It's crazy how it's so short, but feels so long."

"It'll fly by, Corporal." I reassure him.

But I know it's a lie.

Kids waiting for Christmas ain't got nothing on us. After over 14 months of duty, the last three weeks will make molasses look like an Olympic sprinter. In some ways it feels like I was just getting settled into camp yesterday. In other ways it feels like this stretch of time has somehow expanded beyond my own lifeline. Like I was born into this war. Like I’ll die from it.

"Don't worry, you'll be back with her soon."

I watch as the camera crew from CNB gathers around the silver haired news anchor who's come to capture a glimpse of our time over here. They've been following us for damn near a week, pulling guys aside with little interviews, and generally disrupting our routine. It's the nature of the beast though. Without news coverage, we'd get no support back home. People get too caught up in the morality of the war, and forget that there are
real
people torn from their
real
lives fighting it.

The news guy, Cooper Sanders, has been great as far as these guys go. He's been real gung-ho about experiencing everything for himself. When I first met him, I wrote him off as just another Hollywood type. Full of Botox and bravado, but he's kept up with us pretty good. Even running an obstacle course we threw together, in full gear, just for shits and giggles. He’s good in my books. Even if he does wear make-up.

I let my eyes travel over to his personal make-up artist, Tiffany. She’s clearly been watching me for a while cause her face lights up like a light bulb when she notices my gaze.

I shouldn’t have fucked her.

"I hope you're right, Captain," Thompson continues. "I just got a bad feeling ya know? I know there's only a few weeks left, but I keep thinking this is when we're gonna get in the shit. If I could cut it short and go home today, I'd be on the first flight out. I just wanna be back with my woman and meet my son!"

"We know, Thompson. We know." Corporal Armstrong interrupts. "Most of the guys just wanna get home and get some poon, man. You though ... all you keep going on about is meeting a baby. Me, I'm gonna get back to the US and try to make babies with every girl who gives me the time of day. Just try to make em, mind ya. Not get all hormonal about actually having them, like this guy." Armstrong throws his arm around Corporal Thompson’s neck and tugs his head under his armpit in a headlock.

"Screw off, Armstrong," he twists his head back out and takes a step back. "I'm not getting hormonal, I've got my first kid back home and I've never even met him. You don't get it. Until you can find someone who'll love you for more than a night, or for more than fifty bucks, you won't understand."

"Well, your mama don't mind all the fifty dollar bills I've been throwing her way. Just sayin'" Armstrong teases him.

"Man, my mama is a nice lady. I keep telling ya, she's a good, God loving woman. She wouldn't have nothing to do with your low-life ass." Thompson smiles. After more than a year together, the guys all chuck shit at each other and laugh it off pretty quickly. They say that the Marines is a brotherhood, but I'd say it’s more than that. I'd always gotten along with my own brother, but the bond I have with these guys runs deeper than blood.

"What about you, Captain? You gonna get home and find yourself a good woman to settle down with? Or you gonna throw fifty bucks at Thompson's mama?" Armstrong asks with a twinkle in his eye. Thompson gives him a nudge in the ribs with his elbow but doesn't say anything to defend his poor mother, this time.

"Nah, you boys know I'm married to the Marines. She's been keeping a roof over my head and feeding me three square meals a day since I was eighteen." I answer.

“From the doe-eyes that make-up chick’s been watching you with, I’d say you already slayed some pussy over here, didn’t ya?” Armstrong says too loudly.

He hasn’t changed since the jock I knew in high school. When I first got off my leadership course and was assigned leadership of this platoon, I was shocked as shit to see him in my ranks. Cameron Armstrong was our school’s big quarterback. He was supposed to head off to university and play college football for the Colorado Buffaloes.

Instead, he followed his gut to the military. I’ve asked him, off-side, if he regrets it. He said the only thing he’d ever change is that he would have joined the army sooner. That being said, Armstrong’s contract is expiring soon after this tour and he’s made it clear that he’s still gonna go play college ball. We like to bust his balls and tell him the Buffaloes won’t take on a geriatric like him, but he just brushes it off. Truth be told, if anyone has the swagger, skill and gumption to get out of the military and go back to school to play some football, it’s Armstrong. I look forward to watching him play one day.

“Keep it down, Armstrong!” I hiss, popping my head up like a gopher to see if Tiffany heard. From the friendly smile on her face she didn’t seem to. Or, if she did, she didn’t care. Instead, she bats her fake eyelashes at me and gives me an exaggerated wink.

Don’t dip your pen in the company ink, they say. Even though she’s not military, she’s here under our care. I should’ve known better than to fuck her brains out the first chance I got. And the second. And that third time was just greedy. Damn it, fourteen months is a long time with my old right hand, palm-ala. It’s not like you can just go into town here and pick up chicks. That’s a good way to get your dick blown off.

“I knew it, you dog.” Armstrong’s eye’s light up. He’s got me and he knows it. “Good for you, Captain. I would’ve got in there myself, but you must’ve been waiting at the ready for her, huh?”

“Something like that.” I brush him off. The last thing I want to do is get into the nitty-gritty of how I fucked big tits Tiffany over there in the back of a U.S. military vehicle. I don’t need rumors like that following me around.

"Whatever, you two have no idea what you’re missing by chasing all that tail all the time. Someday, if you’re lucky, you guys will find someone. I'm telling you, when you find a girl like my Nadine, it puts all this in perspective. I never thought anything would be more important to me than the army, but now I've got my son and my woman. It just changes man, you'll see. You'll meet someone who'll throw you off your game and make you forget all about this," Thompson sweeps his arm across the dusty landscape.

"Ha! Wanna put some money down on that one?" I shake my head; I can't even imagine a world where anything means more to me than the military. It's just the way I'm built. "Nah, you can have your domestic bliss, Thompson. I've got all I need with the army."

"Hey, Captain!" Cooper Sanders trots over to us, dust billowing around his feet as he takes each step. "We've got the shots we needed now. Thanks for being so patient with us." He smiles and his eyes crinkle into a spider web of fine lines. However, no other wrinkles form on his face. For a man with a full head of silver hair, his face is suspiciously free from aging.

"All right, form up!" I stand up straighter and call out to my platoon. Our group is forty strong, plus the CNB crew adding another eight. The men stop gaggling around and line up. They know that our break is over.

"We've got one more Shura to do, then we'll be calling it a day. I know it's been a long one. I know you're tired and hungry and your body just wants your bunk, but let's end this on a good note, boys!" I call out, and watch my guys straighten up and shake off the oppressive heat and dirt to focus on our next job. You can always count on a soldier to put the job first. I would trust each and every one of my boys with my life.

No question.