I brew some, confident at least that she'll like the blend since it’s hers, starting the kettle on the stove. I'm just getting the cups down when I hear her behind me, and I turn, surprised. “Thought you'd be chilling out.”
“I just wanted to say thank you for watching Lance today,” Lindsey says, going to the freezer and opening it up. “Share a slice of pound cake with me? It's my weakness, the Sara Lee frozen pound cake. I buy one about once a month, pre-slice it, and then nuke it on bad days or if I do a really good PT session.”
“Deal,” I reply, making the tea while Lindsey portions out the pound cake and starts the microwave. After it's done, we take it all into the living room, where she sets it down on her coffee table and settles in. “So, what kept you late?”
“Right at 1700, we had an incident in the barracks. That took up a lot of extra time, and it’s why I'm stiff.”
“What the hell happened?” I ask, shocked.
“My shoulder went bouncing off a wall when someone thought that I could be shoved out of the way when two guys found out they were seeing the same girl,” Lindsey says with a light groan. “Thankfully, I've got Monday off because of it.”
We sip our tea, sharing the pound cake. It's store bought and still delicious, and I smile at the homeliness of it all. “That was pretty good,” I tell her when I finish the cake but still have half a cup of tea. “Hanging out with Lance is about the most fun I've had since getting to Bragg. I seem to be a bit of a homebody otherwise.”
“I know what you mean,” Lindsey says, shaking her head. “You . . . you know, it's not easy.” She sets her tea down, looking up at me. “I know loneliness, Aaron. I've been going to bed with it for four years too.”
“Did you ever . . . well, did you ever try and just hook up, just to try and break out of the rut?” I ask. “I tried, but I just couldn’t do it.”
Lindsey nods, biting her lip. “Same with me.”
She leans toward me, and I can see in her eyes the warmth, the connection that's been missing for all these years. I didn't know it at the time, but I gave her more than a child and a gold chain four years ago. I gave her a piece of me, and I see it in there, waiting for us to just come a little closer. I reach up and run my thumb along one perfect cheekbone, so close that all we have to do is . . .
My phone rings, startling us both, our lips just an inch apart, her breath tickling against mine, and it's with real regret that I sit back. I grab my phone and look at it, sighing. Captain Bradley. “Yes, sir?”
“The battalion commander just got a call from the MPs. You need to come in. Got a problem with your platoon, Lieutenant.”
I close my eyes, feeling my dreams shatter. Lieutenant. Always, first and foremost, Lieutenant. “Roger that, sir. Need me in uniform?”
“Negative. Civvies are fine. Top's already notified your Platoon Sergeant, so get here ASAP.”
“Understood, sir. I'm ten minutes out. I'm on post already.”
Captain Bradley hangs up the phone, and I put it away, hating my phone. I look at Lindsey, who smiles softly and nods. “Go. Duty calls.”
I get up and go to her door, Lindsey following me. “Lindsey?”
“Yes?”
I swallow and look into her eyes, wanting to say so much more than I have the time for. “Tell Lance I had a great day, and I'd like to do it again soon. Call me this week?”
“I will. And again, thank you.”
Ten minutes later, I'm still fuming over the interruption, about ready to kill whoever the fuck just ruined my evening. Parking my car in front of the company headquarters, I see that the CO is already there, and while I'm getting out, Pillman pulls up. “Evening, sir.”
“A perfectly fucked up one,” I reply, returning his salute. I take a deep breath and go in, trying to calm myself. We go into the headquarters, knocking on Captain Bradley's door. “Sir?”
“Come in, you two. Let me fill you in,” Captain Bradley says, sighing. “We'll get to run through all this again Monday morning anyway, so have a seat. Let's be quick about it, it's twenty-three hundred hours, and this is not where anyone should be at this time on a Saturday night.”
“You mentioned the MPs, sir. What happened?” I ask, sitting down. Captain Bradley's in jeans and a t-shirt himself, and he looks tired. “One of mine?”
Bradley nods. “Specialist Hardy got himself into a fight at the bowling alley after putting down a few too many beers. The staff broke it up, but he punched out a reservist Major.”
Oh, shit. Getting drunk and fighting is one thing, but to punch out an officer? A perfectly good way to fuck up your time in the Army. “He's cooling his heels, sir?”