a losing battle (free at last Book 2) Page 7

  “I love her.”

  “I know, but there’s nothing moving. I’ve known you for two years now, and you haven’t made one bit of progress on that front.”

  “At least things haven’t gotten any worse,” I say quietly.

  He nods. “But is that good enough for you? You deserve a girl who’s over the moon whenever she sees you. When we get a weekend off, she should be there waiting for you at the gate, jumping into your arms when you get out, pushing her hot pussy against your dick and whispering in your ear that she’s not wearing any panties.”

  “Yeah, man, she should!” I punch his shoulder. “But look at you giving me advice. Your girl ain’t here, either.”

  “She lives in fucking Texas,” he grumbles.

  I laugh. “You love Texas.”

  “Not when it’s so far away,” he says. “But that’s my point, see? Your girl could be standing at the gate.” He gives me a somber look.

  I scratch my neck. “I just can’t move on to another girl.”

  “Why not? It’s abnormal not to fuck around when you’re barely in your twenties.”

  I take a few deep breaths. “I feel like I have to earn her.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “And earning her means you’re not allowed to fuck anybody else?”

  “I want to show her I’m waiting for her.”

  “Does she know you’re doing that?”

  “No.”

  “Wouldn’t it make more sense to tell her?”

  I put my hands on my neck. “She would tell me to go have fun.”

  “And that’s exactly what you should be doing, for fuck’s sake!”

  I nod. “Yes, but even if she did say that, subconsciously, she’d probably think I’m showing my true dedication to her by not doing it. So I wouldn’t do it. It would make her feel bad. And…you know, I don’t want that.”

  “Fuck, man! You’re overthinking this. You’re thinking like you have a pussy. Don’t get me wrong, man, I love pussy, but I wouldn’t want to be one.”

  “Hey, ladies,” Donovan calls over to us, “how about some Prosecco to go with your deeply emotional conversation?”

  “Fuck you!” I call back.

  “Is it true what they say about you, Tilman?” Rivers shouts.

  “What do they say about me?” I ask, even though Killian is warning me, shaking his head.

  “That you’re still a virgin?”

  I shrug. “Why don’t you ask your mom?”

  Everybody in the room breaks out in a loud Ooooh! Mom jokes always do the trick.

  Rivers gets up and comes at me, gesturing like an angry baboon. “Leave my mom out of this!”

  I give him an arrogant grin. “She said something similar before I fucked her four times.”

  “You little fuck!” he screams, launching himself at me. But before he reaches me, Donovan has him in a headlock.

  “Calm down, man! Don’t let him provoke you,” he says quietly before releasing him.

  Shaking his head, Rivers taps my arm. “Last warning, Tilman. Next time, I’m going to kick your ass,” he snarls.

  I get up, emphasizing every inch of our height difference. “We’ll see about that, shall we?”

  Before Donovan can interfere, Rivers punches toward my face. I dodge it, grab his wrist, and throw him on the floor. Swearing, he climbs to his feet and squares up, preparing to launch another attack.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Killian on standby.

  Rivers stands in front of me, breathing heavily. “Somebody needs to teach you fucking Marine assholes some manners.”

  “Did he just insult the Corps?” I ask Killian.

  “I think so,” Killian says.

  I raise my hand, and with one well-aimed punch, I knock Rivers out.

  Everybody else in the room stares at me. Rivers is smaller than me, but he’s strong. They don’t take any pussies at BUD/S. Everyone in the room knows the value of my little demonstration here.

  Killian and I walk back to our spot in the corner. “I don’t think we have to worry about that asshole anymore,” he grins, adding, “Killer.”

  “Did you say something, Texas?” I joke.

  He laughs and proceeds to finish his letter. I just sit next to him and think about Mac.

  10

  Mackenzie

  Carter is spending less and less time in San Diego. And whenever he is here, we fight. Every little thing turns into a major argument, and every major argument ends with Hunter.

  “I can’t find my cufflinks,” he calls from the bedroom one night while I’m in the bathroom brushing my teeth.

  “Onna dresher,” I mumble, my mouth full of toothpaste.

  “They’re not there, for God’s sake. Can you stop moving my things around all the time?”

  I keep brushing my teeth and say nothing. No point arguing when he’s in such a bad mood.

  “Mackenzie! I’m talking to you!”

  I rinse my mouth out before snapping, “I didn’t touch them.”

  “But they’re not there!”

  I go to the bedroom and look on top of the dresser. “They were here yesterday.”

  “And where are they now?”

  “I have no idea!”

  “I’m sick of this!”

  “I didn’t do anything with them!”

  “Where are they, then?”

  “I don’t know!” That’s how all our conversations go these days. We used to be kind to each other. But now? Once the ugly green monster of jealousy rears its head, you just don’t stand a chance against it, do you?

  “Am I responsible for everything?” he screams. “It’s all up to me! Me!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I thought we were partners, but you just expect me to do everything without ever doing anything yourself. I can’t go on like this!”

  “What? What have I ever expected from you?”

  “Everything! I have to make the money, keep the business going. And what are you doing? Nothing! You’re just living the good life at my expense.”

  I’m stunned. How could he say that? None of that is true! Sure, I’m not paying rent, but only because he didn’t want me to. I remember a similar fight starting out of the blue. Lauren…his ex-wife. I bet this has something to do with Lauren.

  Besides rage, I can discern something else in his tirade. Pain. For the first time, I get the feeling that he hasn’t gotten over his breakup with Lauren, that he has never processed the fact that his wife cheated on him. “Carter, that’s not fair. I’m not using you. And I’m not cheating on you.”

  “That’s what you say,” he grumbles.

  “You are transferring the way you feel about Lauren to me, Carter. I never used you. Lauren did. She was the one who made you feel you weren’t worth anything. Not me.”

  His hand cuts through the air. “You’re all the same.”

  I step toward him, trying to be calm, which is getting increasingly difficult. “I’m not like that. And you know it.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Do I? So what about Hunter?

  I should have known where this was going—as usual. It’s getting ridiculous.

  “There’s nothing going on between Hunter and me.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  I nod silently before taking a deep breath and reaching for his hands. “What are we doing here?” I say softly. “If you don’t trust me anymore, if you have completely stopped trusting me, then what’s the point of our relationship?”

  For a moment, he interlaces his fingers with mine, but then he lets go. “I have no idea,” he says. “I really don’t.” Then he turns around and storms out of the room.

  As usual, I’m crushed. How can I save our relationship? And more importantly: Do I want to?

  I don’t even know anymore…

  There was a time when I thought Carter was the love of my life. If I still felt like that, I would definitely fight. I would do anything to get him back. The fact
that I’m pretty apathetic about this should tell me something, right? Maybe it’s time to let go. Maybe I have to acknowledge that the end is nigh.

  But how do you let go of something that has been good for such a long time?

  How do you finish something that used to be so important to you?

  Because even if Carter is acting like a complete asshole at the moment, he used to be good to me. And good for me. I was able to be myself with him. I felt like I’d arrived in a good place, somewhere I belonged.

  Maybe that’s what is making it so difficult for me to break out of this increasingly toxic relationship.

  And what about Hunter?

  “Mac?” Carey calls from downstairs.

  “Yes?” I yell, stepping into the hallway.

  “I’m leaving.”

  I hurry downstairs and give him a hug.

  “What was that for?” he asks, amused.

  A little embarrassed, I tell him, “To get you through your first day.” Today is the first day of Carey’s EMT training, his first step to becoming a paramedic. He and Carter tend to fight about this, because Carter would like his son to do something more business-related. He’s angry that both of his sons have opted for what he calls “lowly work” and says they’re wasting their potential. He tends to think you’re only worth something if you make a lot of money.

  Carey smiles his Carey smile. The one that makes so many women swoon—and that’s not an exaggeration! “I’ll survive,” he says.

  “I hope so. Wouldn’t know what to do without you.” Oops, somehow a few tears came out with those words.

  Carey’s quiet for a moment. “Did you guys have another fight?”

  I’m angry with myself for forcing Carey into this position again. I shouldn’t be dragging him into this! He should be having a good time, relaxing, just being young!

  “It’s all right.” I look away, chewing on my bottom lip and kneading my hands. Real convincing.

  “Nothing’s all right, Mac. Nothing.” He gently puts two fingers under my chin. “I’ll always be here for you. Always. No matter what happens. I promise.”

  I nod. “Come on, you’ve got somewhere to be.”

  He kisses me on the cheek. “I love you, doll.”

  “I know. I love you too.”

  When he leaves, I go back upstairs and stand before the dresser. Where could the cufflinks be?

  I know it’s stupid, but somehow, I feel we might have another chance if only I could find those stupid cufflinks.

  Sliding open the drawers, I carefully check each one, then underneath the dresser, and, moving it away from the wall, behind it. But they’re not there.

  11

  Hunter

  “Get up! Now!” our drill instructor yells through the barracks. “It’s my favorite week! And what’s my favorite week called?” His assistants are throwing us out of bed. Just fast enough, I pull on my pants and step into my boots.

  “Sir, Hell Week, sir!” we all shout at the same time.

  “Exactly!” he shouts back, laughing diabolically. “For the next five days, your asses are mine!”

  They chase us outside, to the courtyard, where we gather in formation. The DI paces back and forth in front of us. “You all think you’re hard-asses, but I give you twelve hours before the first of you gives up. All you need to do is ring the bell to put yourself out of your misery. Two thirds or more of you will not get through Hell Week. There’s no point fighting it. The next five days are going to break you. Do us a favor, little girls, and don’t waste our time.” He turns to march in the opposite direction. “We always love to see first-day quitters. Any takers?”

  Nobody moves. The DI comes over to Killian. “What about you, pretty boy? Want to ring the bell and go back to your mommy?”

  “Sir, no, sir!” Killian screams.

  The DI gives him a condescending look, as if he’s thinking, We’ll just see which of us is more stubborn.

  After he walks us over to the beach, we have to carry dinghies up above our heads, lift tree trunks the size of telephone poles, and do push-ups in the sand. Day and night. In five and a half days, we’re only allowed four and a half hours of sleep. The only thing we get plenty of—which is a real improvement over boot camp—is food. To beat the cold, we need to chow down. And if a guy doesn’t, they force him to.

  It’s for these same reasons that I haven’t been trying to build more muscle recently. Muscle drags you down like lead. I have put on some fat, which insulates you against the cold and gives you a better chance of survival. Besides, I can still get my six-pack back after BUD/S.

  In our first night alone, we lie in the cold water, the surf torturing us. We swim in the ocean for hours, hypothermia our biggest enemy. More push-ups, more dinghies, more crawling through the mud, more rolling around in the sand.

  This is about testing us to see how much we can take, how we deal with excessive physical training, how tolerant we are to pain and cold. Up to 80 percent of us are going to give up. Only those who really want this will get through Hell Week.

  We are constantly in motion, running, doing push-ups, swimming, paddling… We never get a quiet minute, and we learn that we can only survive as a team. How could you lift a tree trunk the size of a telephone pole alone? We are a team, and we have to get through this together.

  And then we have to stand still. Our hands, faces, and uniforms caked with mud, we stand up to our hips in water, the cold wind driving tears into our eyes.

  The salt water burns inside all my scratches and wounds, and I shiver, freezing. I’ve never been so cold in my life. I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again.

  “Texas?” I say quietly.

  “Yes?”

  “Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I hear some murmuring, but most of us are quiet. Saving our strength to make it through Hell Week.

  We hear the command to grab some food and sprint out of the water, shoving our way through the crowd, trying to be the first inside the mess hall. Totally spent, I’m almost falling asleep as I start shovelling peas and mashed potatoes into my mouth.

  “That’s it, children. Back outside! Move!”

  One last bite and we’re running outside again, getting into formation in the courtyard with the giant bell.

  “Nobody giving up yet?” the DI asks, sounding gravely disappointed. “You want more? I got more!”

  So we do it all again. We run through the sand with the dinghy, without the dinghy, with the tree trunk, without the tree trunk. We paddle the dinghy through the surf and out into the water. After twenty-four hours, we’re so exhausted we could sleep for a week. Rivers nearly falls into the water with fatigue, and I have to grab him and hold him inside the boat.

  Then they put us back in the water for hours on end. In the cold, we tread water, trembling. When we’re allowed to come out again, they make us do more push-ups, torture us in the surf, and make us crawl through the mud some more…

  And then the bell sounds for the first time.

  Shock runs through me. What does that mean? When I look up, I see our first comrade admitting defeat. But it seems more like a victory for him, because he’s walked back to the beach and handed donuts and coffee, while we’re still suffering out here.

  The DI walks through the rows of our formation with a megaphone, trying to convince us to quit, parading donuts in front of us, showing us how great it would be to step out right now. I grit my teeth. I don’t want to give up. I cannot give up. I want Mac to be proud of me. I want to be the man she deserves.

  When our second night begins, I have never been so tired, so exhausted, in my entire life. That is the only thought drifting through my body. It feels like all my brain cells have died off. This is the worst thing I’ve ever experienced. Every fiber of my body is screaming. It is complete and utter madness to force so much pain and suffering upon yourself. Voluntarily.

  The DI’s voice is soft as he offers us a way out of our pain. It sounds so tempting. So
incredibly sensible. Just ring the bell, and it’ll all be over. One thought keeps me from doing it. Mac. I cannot give up, because it would not bring me one step closer to Mac. I have no idea whether this madness is going to impress her, but I have to try.

  And, finally, it’s time for food again. Food! God, food! I have never heard a word so beautiful! We sprint inside the mess hall, though we were faster forty-eight hours ago. I put the fork to my mouth, and feel mashed potatoes on my tongue before I lose consciousness.

  Killian nudges me. “Wake up!”

  He drags me up and outside to the courtyard, where they make us do push-ups again. Back to the beach, back into the ocean, back into the freezing cold. But they ring the bell more and more often now, and every time, my mouth waters when I smell the coffee served to the quitters.

  At the beach, somebody is having a party. There’s a campfire, laughter. The smell of charcoal and barbecued meat wafts over to us. God, what I wouldn’t give to be there with them instead of standing here. It’s right there a ways down the beach—I could just ring the bell and leave. It is my own decision. Nobody can force me to stay.

  Now and then, the medics take a look at us, so nobody suffers any serious damage.

  Again and again, the bell rings, and the sound is so sweet! It symbolizes the end of the pain, a hot shower, food, sleep… Every time I hear the bell, I want to give up, want to join my companions. I mean, it’s okay not to make it through this. Hardly anybody makes it. But every time I want to give up, I see two shiny brown eyes in front of me, soft, brown hair, and long, sexy legs in a beautiful little summer dress.

  I don’t want to do anything but sleep—a sweet, blissful nothing—and maybe dream of her. And then have a steak. God, steak!

  “Into the water!” the command comes.

  I let myself drop into the water over the edge of the dinghy. We swim back to shore, lie in the surf, and crawling through the sand.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” I hear somebody say next to me and look to see who it is.

  Donovan is getting up. Even though my hand is so tired, even though every single one of my muscles is aching, every tendon is screaming, I grab his arm and drag him back into the sand. “Does a sailor give up when there’s a Marine still left in the race?” I ask him quietly.