half-eaten burger got cold. “What is he, sixteen?”
“Twenty-two next month.” Fuck. Lucas was closer in age to Kit than he was. And yeah, chicken-scrawny and young-looking. A proto-him, minus the demanding basic training regimen and boxing that had filled him out at eighteen. “Fourth of four boys. Me and Lucas scored the luck with Mom’s hair.”
“Aww, are you fishing for compliments, Blondie?” She waggled the phone and the beer. “I’d ruffle those golden feathers for you, but I don’t have a third hand.”
He pulled the slick bottle from her grip and took a swallow. Mouth where hers had been. Almost a kiss. He fucking ached for a real one, a sunset, fireworks, bonfire, laughing, full-body-press of a kiss. A perfect moment with relaxed, teasing Katherine. “Problem solved.”
“Cocky.” She rubbed the top of his head in a speed challenge. Probably left a haystack behind. “Your brother have trouble with authority, too, or is that just you?”
“Might could.” He’d let Lucas stay with him last summer to head off those problems. Show him opportunities and job advice. Give him a break from being stuck in-between boyhood and independence. “He’s bunking at home, going to community college. It’s rough, being an adult living in your parents’ place. A whole pack of frustration. Unnatural, right?”
She clenched the phone’s protective shell as her back stiffened. “Oh?”
Hell, she wanted the bad boy. He’d have been irredeemably down that path without one goddamn miracle of an Air Force recruiter shoving literature at him.
“Think about it—you can drive and vote and maybe drink, but they’re still up in your business, setting the rules.” A curfew. A slam against friends who, okay, yes, ripped off the mom-and-pop gas stations and encouraged him to do the same. Pocketing shit here and there, skating by on a fucking tsunami of luck and look-the-other-way-ism because boys will be boys. “It’s not like Dad suddenly believes in democracy because you turned eighteen. You’re a grown man stuck in a place where everybody sees you as a kid, at least in my family. You gotta have respect for anyone who can hack that mission. I couldn’t. Partly why I blew out of the house and enlisted the day after graduation.”
The travel. Fucking Hawaii in the brochure the recruiter handed him, and visions of warm sand and perfect waves had him signing his name without a second thought. Nobody mentioned they’d be sending him to Texas for basic first, hours from the gulf and no leave time to enjoy the summer swells at Padre Island.
“Respect, yeah.” She passed him the phone and rolled her shoulders. “You and your dad didn’t get along so good?” Elbows on the table, she settled in with the rest of her plate. “But the military turned you around?”
“The military kicked my ass. Sherwood—Rob—turned me around.” The good influence scraping off the barnacles of his older brother’s bad habits. The wiser-than-eighteen man who’d slammed the books open on his desk and demanded he learn the goddamn material because no way would the class leave him behind, no matter how hard he tried to prove himself a fuck-up. “I owe him for that. Huge debt.”
Like the one he’d paid on his first visit home. Dress blues neat and clean, shoes polished until they glowed, and three crisp hundreds, straight from the bank, in his pocket.
The two-pump gas station on the corner had been their favorite spot to hit. The owners were old, the cashiers young, and the unblinking security cameras for show. The old man had been behind the counter. Good, because he hadn’t had to ask for him with his throat screwed tight. Bad, because the confession reminded him of every time he’d taken advantage, and the apology couldn’t set things right. The money covered the financial loss, but nothing excused his callous behavior.
* * * *
“I dunno if you remember me, sir. I used to come here a lot with my friends.”
The
“Twenty-two next month.” Fuck. Lucas was closer in age to Kit than he was. And yeah, chicken-scrawny and young-looking. A proto-him, minus the demanding basic training regimen and boxing that had filled him out at eighteen. “Fourth of four boys. Me and Lucas scored the luck with Mom’s hair.”
“Aww, are you fishing for compliments, Blondie?” She waggled the phone and the beer. “I’d ruffle those golden feathers for you, but I don’t have a third hand.”
He pulled the slick bottle from her grip and took a swallow. Mouth where hers had been. Almost a kiss. He fucking ached for a real one, a sunset, fireworks, bonfire, laughing, full-body-press of a kiss. A perfect moment with relaxed, teasing Katherine. “Problem solved.”
“Cocky.” She rubbed the top of his head in a speed challenge. Probably left a haystack behind. “Your brother have trouble with authority, too, or is that just you?”
“Might could.” He’d let Lucas stay with him last summer to head off those problems. Show him opportunities and job advice. Give him a break from being stuck in-between boyhood and independence. “He’s bunking at home, going to community college. It’s rough, being an adult living in your parents’ place. A whole pack of frustration. Unnatural, right?”
She clenched the phone’s protective shell as her back stiffened. “Oh?”
Hell, she wanted the bad boy. He’d have been irredeemably down that path without one goddamn miracle of an Air Force recruiter shoving literature at him.
“Think about it—you can drive and vote and maybe drink, but they’re still up in your business, setting the rules.” A curfew. A slam against friends who, okay, yes, ripped off the mom-and-pop gas stations and encouraged him to do the same. Pocketing shit here and there, skating by on a fucking tsunami of luck and look-the-other-way-ism because boys will be boys. “It’s not like Dad suddenly believes in democracy because you turned eighteen. You’re a grown man stuck in a place where everybody sees you as a kid, at least in my family. You gotta have respect for anyone who can hack that mission. I couldn’t. Partly why I blew out of the house and enlisted the day after graduation.”
The travel. Fucking Hawaii in the brochure the recruiter handed him, and visions of warm sand and perfect waves had him signing his name without a second thought. Nobody mentioned they’d be sending him to Texas for basic first, hours from the gulf and no leave time to enjoy the summer swells at Padre Island.
“Respect, yeah.” She passed him the phone and rolled her shoulders. “You and your dad didn’t get along so good?” Elbows on the table, she settled in with the rest of her plate. “But the military turned you around?”
“The military kicked my ass. Sherwood—Rob—turned me around.” The good influence scraping off the barnacles of his older brother’s bad habits. The wiser-than-eighteen man who’d slammed the books open on his desk and demanded he learn the goddamn material because no way would the class leave him behind, no matter how hard he tried to prove himself a fuck-up. “I owe him for that. Huge debt.”
Like the one he’d paid on his first visit home. Dress blues neat and clean, shoes polished until they glowed, and three crisp hundreds, straight from the bank, in his pocket.
The two-pump gas station on the corner had been their favorite spot to hit. The owners were old, the cashiers young, and the unblinking security cameras for show. The old man had been behind the counter. Good, because he hadn’t had to ask for him with his throat screwed tight. Bad, because the confession reminded him of every time he’d taken advantage, and the apology couldn’t set things right. The money covered the financial loss, but nothing excused his callous behavior.
* * * *
“I dunno if you remember me, sir. I used to come here a lot with my friends.”
The
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