Our final meal together, and Lance does his best, trying to be cheerful and happy while he eats his ground pork moussaka that Lindsey made especially for me. Afterward, though, he clings to me, his arms locked around my neck for the next two hours until he falls asleep in my arms on the couch. I lie there, hugging him tightly until his arms relax, and I carefully roll him to the side, tucking my green girl around him and sitting up. “He's out.”
“It’s nearly ten o'clock,” Lindsey notes, sitting on the floor next to the couch where she's been holding hands with me. “He's going to be a zombie tomorrow morning at daycare.”
“That's okay then,” I whisper, sliding over enough that Lindsey can sit next to me. “How about you? You've still got work tomorrow.”
“I'll be fine. I'm just in the S-1 shop. No Sergeant's Time for the MPs tomorrow,” Lindsey says, leaning into my arms. “Aaron . . .”
“It's okay. I keep telling myself that, and if I do, then it will be,” I tell her, holding her. “I'm coming back, and when I do, we're going to form a family. Somehow, we will.”
Lindsey turns her head and looks me in the eyes, her face intent. “You promise?”
“I promise,” I whisper, leaning down and kissing her. What starts as a soft, reassuring kiss deepens, and I reach down, cupping her breast and causing us both to moan.
Lindsey moans again, taking my hand. “Take me.”
We stand up, walking hand in hand to the back of my house, where my bed awaits. Lindsey looks at it and shakes her head, chuckling. “I'm so buying us a bigger bed for when you get back.”
I laugh softly as well, pulling her closer to me. “I love you, Lindsey.”
“I love you too, Aaron,” she replies, turning around and kissing me softly. We move closer to the bed, and as I lay her back, I know that when I get the chance, there's one more question I have to ask her . . . but when I get back. I won't force her to make a decision because of my deployment.
In the moonlight that comes through my window, we hold each other, our bodies and souls joined, and when we cry out, it's softly, with joy and happiness.
It's gray pre-dawn light when I ease myself out of bed, taking a quick shower and shaving before changing into my ACUs. Before I pull my top on, I kneel, kissing Lindsey softly on the cheek. “It's time for me to go.”
Lindsey mumbles, and her eyes flutter open. “I don't want you to go.”
“I know,” I whisper, not knowing why but not wanting to break the stillness. “But the taxi will be here in a few minutes. It'll take me to the airfield.”
“Wait,” Lindsey says, reaching behind her neck and unclasping her necklace. “Show me your neck.”
I bend forward, and she clasps the necklace around my neck. It's long enough that it fits, then slides underneath my shirt. “I'll bring it back.”
“I know,” she says. “It'll protect you, because it has my love in it.”
I reach down and look at my left hand, where my class ring has sat for most days since I got it as a firstie. I take it off and put it on her left hand. “I know you can't wear it, but it's the only ring I have for now. Keep it safe?”
“I'll wear it under my shirt,” she promises. “When I can.”
“Don't risk yourself,” I reply, trying not to be harsh, but still, I want her to understand the importance of this. “One person sees a West Point ring around your neck, and we're both screwed. My name is on it. So, no PT, no field work in it.”
Lindsey nods and clasps it to her chest. “I promise.”
The sound of a car outside my house and the beep of a horn break the spell, and I kiss her one last time. “I love you. I promise, I'll come back.”
“I love you too.”
In the taxi, the driver, who's probably ferried dozens of guys to the airfield just like me, gives me a sympathetic look as I put my gear bag in the back. “Ready, buddy?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, casting one last look at the house. Lindsey stands in the doorway, one of my t-shirts hastily pulled on, and she waves, even though I can see the tears she's wiping away as she does.
“That's tough, buddy. I don't know which is worse, going over alone, or going over while leaving people behind.”
I don't say anything, and the taxi driver gives up on conversation. Instead, he just drives, dropping me off at the airfield with my two bags. For the first time in a long time, I don't have a beret on my head, and the patch on my shoulder isn't the 82nd Airborne's.
Six months can't pass quickly enough.
Chapter 20
Lindsey
The weight of his class ring is comforting between my breasts, and the second dog tag chain that I wear around my neck is totally anonymous. In fact, under my duty bra, in between my breasts, about the only way anyone would be able to tell the ring is there is if someone punched me in the chest, which I doubt is going to happen.