Soldier On (7 page)

“Oh, I don’t know,” I reply. “Maybe because he was chickenshit . . . kind of like the guy who kissed a girl on a library ladder and then ran out of the room like he was on fire.”

Brandon chuckles. “Who knew Westley and I had so much in common?”

The evening passes quickly. Too quickly for me. I’m too comfortable, wrapped in his arms as if we’ve been together for years. I sneak a peek at him as he watches the sword fight between Inigo Montoya and the Six-Fingered Man.

“You’re missing the end,” he whispers.

Busted.
“Sorry.”

At the end of the movie, when the grandfather talks about the five most passionate and pure kisses, I can literally feel Brandon’s gaze on me.

I tilt my head in his direction. “You’re really missing the end.”

He pulls me closer as his eyes flicker to my mouth, and I nearly laugh because this moment is completely cheesy and predictable.

But I don’t laugh. I don’t even breathe.

I’m impatient, so I lean in, kissing him softly. Weaving my fingers into his hair, I pull him closer. Brandon groans and presses his body against mine. He’s soft and warm and I feel it again . . . the butterflies or somersaults or whatever you want to call it that lets me know that this isn’t just an ordinary kiss, and Brandon is no ordinary guy.

And I know, deep in my heart, that I’m in trouble.

“You know, you never answered my question,” Brandon says.

The movie ended an hour ago, but we haven’t moved from the couch. I’ve never understood why couples make out in the backseats of cars. Couches are so much more comfortable.

“Which question was that?”

“Who could you date?”

“Hmm.” I pretend to ponder. I mean, really, shouldn’t it be obvious by now? “Someone who is kind-hearted. Someone who walks old ladies to the door of the coffee shop. Someone who looks sexy in a paisley apron.”

He smiles and twirls a lock of my hair around his finger. “What about a Kentucky Wildcats fan? Could you date one of those?”

It’s a fair question, considering my Indiana roots and my love for Hoosier basketball.

I wrinkle my nose. “I suppose.”

“Good to know.”

We both laugh, and he buries his face against my neck. He really likes my neck.

“Honestly, there’s only one type of guy I could never date.”

Brandon lifts his head. “And what type is that?”

“I could never, ever date a soldier.”

His entire body stiffens.

“You won’t date a soldier?”

His voice is flat. Robotic.

“No, I won’t.”

“What do you have against soldiers?”

“I have nothing against soldiers.”

“But you just said—”

I shake my head. “I have nothing against soldiers. It’s the military I have a problem with.”

“What’s the difference?”

I gaze into his deep brown eyes. They look tortured now. Sad. And I have no idea why.
Have I offended him?
Maybe his dad was in the military or something. Surely he would have mentioned that. Wouldn’t he?

“Do we really have to talk about this right now?”

“I . . . think we do.”

I sigh heavily. “The difference is that I can admire and respect the people who put their lives on the line for me. I just don’t think young men and women should be forced to choose between their country and their family.”

Brandon blinks. “But the military doesn’t make them choose. No one’s been drafted since Vietnam.”

This is getting deep. And uncomfortable.

“Brandon, maybe we should just watch another movie.”

“This is because of your dad, isn’t it? Because he got killed in Desert Storm.”

“Well . . . yes. Don’t you think that’s a good reason?”

He lets go of me, and I immediately miss him.

“Your father died doing something courageous and brave. Something he felt was his duty. That should give you comfort. You should be proud, Steph. You should be honored.”

I leap to my feet. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s being told how
honored
I should feel that I never had the chance to meet my father.

“My dad was killed by friendly fire when his helicopter was shot down over
Khafji
, so no, I don’t feel honored. I feel robbed. I grew up without a father, and my mom was a widow at the age of twenty.
Twenty
. So you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t feel honored.”

I take a deep breath and try to calm down. The last thing I want to do is cry in front of him.

“You really feel this way? You really hate the military that much?”

“I really do.”

He looks at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time. He nods once and rises to his feet.

“I should go,” he whispers.

What?

“You don’t have to,” I tell him, but he’s already reaching for the door.

“I have to get up at five, Steph. I’ll talk to you later.”

I watch him go. I have no idea what happened in the past five minutes. No idea why he’s reacting this way. Clearly, I’ve insulted him. I just wish I knew why.

So much for our first date.

CHAPTER SIX

Brandon

Sweat rolls down my face as I groan loudly, giving the bag one last quick kick. I haven’t kickboxed in months. Now I remember why. Everything burns. Everything hurts. And the pain is welcome. It reminds of what a dumbass I am.

With a tired grunt, I collapse against the mat.

I’m so pissed at myself. And at her. But most of all, I’m pissed at my stupid heart because it was leading me down a path I have no business going down, and it was
this
close to convincing me to make the biggest mistake of my life.

What was I thinking? It’s not as if I have time for a girlfriend. Hell, I barely have time to sleep. And in four months, I’ll have even less time. I’ll be training all summer. After that, only God knows where I’ll be.

Not that it matters.

And maybe that’s the part that pisses me off the most, because it never mattered. From the very beginning, I had zero chance.

Zero.

I close my eyes and think back to the few conversations we’ve had.

Did she really have no idea?

“Dude, you just beat the shit out of that bag.”

The voice is vaguely familiar, but I don’t care enough to actually open my eyes.

“Isn’t that what it’s for?”

“Well, yeah, but I’m not sure how I feel about Steph dating somebody with so much rage. She’s a sweet girl and—”

My eyes snap open at the sound of her name. I look up to find Xavier standing over me. He’s sweating like a pig, too. Probably just came from practice.

“Brandon, man, you look like hell.”

“Well, that’s exactly how I feel, so . . .”

He offers me a hand, and I take it, because my legs are jelly. Standing hurts, but again, that’s okay. I need the constant reminder that I’m an idiot.

“Thanks. You’d never know I run two miles a day.”

Xavier hands me a clean towel. “Running and kicking are two entirely different things. Different muscles. Different techniques.”

I don’t really care, but I don’t want to be rude. “Yeah. Well, thanks for the towel. I’m just gonna hit the shower.”

I’ve just turned to go when I feel his hand on my shoulder.

“Seriously, man. Steph is a sweet girl and one of my best friends. I need to know.”

I sigh and turn back around. “Need to know what?”

“Are you always this pissed off or are you just having a bad day?”

Xavier’s a good guy, but it’s not like I can really talk to him. Anything I say will be told to Tessa, who in turn will tell Steph.

It’s like I’m in high school all over again.

“Just a bad day, Xavier. That’s all it is.”

“Good.”

We make plans to play basketball sometime before I head to the shower. The hot water does very little to ease the soreness in my muscles, but I don’t mind the pain. It’ll remind me to keep my mind on my obligations and off the pretty girl who is destined to hate me.

Just because I’m a soldier in the U.S. Army.

“What’s wrong?” Christian asks.

I thank Ms. Linda for the muffin before heading for a secluded booth in the back of the Grind.

“Can’t a brother call his sister twice in one week? Why do you assume something’s wrong?”

“Because I know you.”

I roll my eyes. That’s her answer for everything these days. The sad part? It’s totally true, which is probably why I’m calling my sister to get advice about a girl.

“Maybe I’m just homesick. That’s possible, you know.”

Dead silence.

“Fine. I need your advice.”

For the next ten minutes, I spill my guts. I tell my sister about the New Year’s Eve kiss and meeting Steph again in class. I tell her about
The Princess Bride
and Steph’s big brown eyes and how she’s literally all I can think about. And then I tell her about Steph’s dad, and the war, and how she despises anything that has to do with the military.

“Brandon, surely you can understand why.”

“Not really, no. I think it’s immature and irrational to hate soldiers who put their lives on the line for her each day.”

“Lord, now you sound like Dad,” she mumbles. “Did she say she hates
all
soldiers? Did those words actually come out of her mouth?”

“No. She just said she could never date one.”

Dead silence. Again. My sister is never speechless.

Finally, she sighs. “Oh. I see.”

“You see what?”

“This is not good, Brandon.”

“What? What’s not good?”

“You really like this girl.”

“And that’s bad?”

“I think it’s terrible.”

Unbelievable.