Chapter 10

Liza is changing my bandages, going over my wound care instructions for what feels like the fiftieth time when I hear heavy, booted feet coming down the hallway. They slow as they approach my door, and I snap my head up, feeling hopeful. To my everlasting disappointment, Tony ducks his head in my room and my face falls, which doesn't go unnoticed by Liza.

"Just checking in to see if you're all ready for discharge tomorrow," Tony chirps.

"I guess so," I say unenthusiastically.

"So, you're going to continue with therapy?" he asks.

"That's the plan." I slide the BALLS brochure toward him.

Tony picks it up and scans the front cover. "I've heard good things about this place. I'm sure they'll get you back on your feet again, pun intended," he jokes with a laugh.

My face remains passive, and Liza nudges me. "Good one," I add, humoring him.

"All right, then, Specialist Marsh. It's been a pleasure, sir." He holds his hand out to shake mine, and I follow through with the gesture. I may not be crazy about him, but he's a good guy.

When he disappears through the door, and his bootsteps fade down the hall, I turn to Liza, who's looking at me with a raised brow.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but he's not here today or tomorrow."

We both know who he is. "You gonna make me ask where he is?"

A little smile plays around her lips like she loves lording the minuscule morsel of power over me. "On his days off, he heads up to Black Mountain."

To BALLS. I close my eyes and breathe out a heavy sigh. That means I won't see him again before I'm discharged.

Liza finishes wrapping up my leg and throws the empty packaging in the trash. Then she snaps off her gloves and chucks them in the trash, too. "Listen, I get it. Riggs is a likable guy. Honorable, charismatic, that face… but you're walking down a dead-end street. First of all, he's married to his job, and nothing comes before that. In fact, in the six years I've known him, I don't think I've ever seen him date. He works seven days a week, between here and volunteering. If you feel like you have some special connection with him, it's a testament to how good he is at his job. He tries to make all his patients feel that way."

I refuse to open my eyes and show her how deeply her words wound my pride. We do have a special connection; I felt it from the first night. And as much as he tries to maintain his cool distance from me, I know Riggs feels it too. I felt it when he touched me and I saw it in his eyes. Some things you just can't fake or hide.

"Come to think of it," she continues, "I'm not even sure of his orientation." She's saying she's not sure if he's into men or women. Both maybe? Just like me. Even if he's never admitted to anyone that he's attracted to men, I know he's attracted to me. I felt the spark between us.

Even still, I might be heading down a dead-end street, like she said. I've been hiding my sexuality for years because I felt it was a necessity, or maybe it was just easier. Who's to say Riggs isn't doing the same thing? Liza said he doesn't date, but maybe that's because he doesn't want to admit who he's attracted to.

In two weeks, I'll no longer be a soldier in the United States Army, which means I don't have to hide anymore. I still have no idea how to come out to my buddies after I've hidden myself away from them for so long, but to everyone else I meet from here on out, I can be myself. My true self. After reading Drake's letters to Brian and seeing how much time they wasted by lying, I've made up my mind. I don't ever want to be in that situation. I don't want to be the guy who lives half a life because he doesn't have the balls to face judgment from others. From the people he loves.

Fuck that.

Rhett Marsh is a bisexual man.

Rhett Marsh was a soldier in the 82nd Airborne.

Rhett Marsh is…

I don't know how to answer that last one, but I'm gonna fucking find out.

"Look at me, Marshmallow," Liza demands. "Haven't you suffered enough? Don't set yourself up for failure. Find someone who is available and willing. Focus on your health and recovery. Get your life back."

Everything she's saying sounds wise and logical, but I don't hear a fucking word because when I want something, I go get it, and what I want is Navarro Riggs.

"Enough about him," I evade, changing the subject. "I need to focus on my next steps. I've got two weeks left before my contract runs out. My Staff Sergeant is still deployed with my unit, but the Staff Sergeant I'm reporting to in my rear D unit came by to see me this morning."

Liza looks grim. "What'd he say?"

"Basically, I'm fucked. The Army is fuckin' me, deep and without lube."

"Well, that's how they like it, rough and dry."

I blow out an irritated breath. "With only two weeks left, they can't find temporary housing for me, so they're insisting I use my accrued paid leave to cover the few remaining days of my contract, essentially forcing me out. So when I leave tomorrow, I'm done. I'm out. On my own. The problem is, I've got nowhere to go. I never filled out my paperwork to transfer my belongings because I thought I was reenlisting. I've got two days to pick up my stuff and my car and get my ass off base. Also, I qualify for VA benefits, but not disability pay."

"What?" Liza shrieks. "You shattered your legs! You got shot down in combat."

"I did, but I healed." My overly bright smile is meant to be sarcastic. I give Liza two thumbs up and she snorts. "If I develop complications from here on out, I can file a new claim with the VA, but I don't have a standing one. I've got some combat pay saved up from when I was overseas, but it's not much."

"Well, fuck that," she swears, rounding the bed and taking a seat by my feet. "The day you're discharged is my day off, and I'll help you pick up your stuff and your car."

"And go where?" I ask, feeling hopeless and overwhelmed. Lately, everything feels like a series of unfortunate events compounding my sanity. It would be so easy to just give up and hide my head between my legs and cry like a little bitch, but where would that get me?

"Lucky for you, my best friend has a condo in Black Mountain. She's living with her boyfriend right now, so she's willing to sublet it. The building is safe, and I can vouch for your next-door neighbor. He's a great guy. Fair warning, though, she's going to collect the security deposit. The last tenant I recommended to her threw a shovel through the wall and splintered the front door."

"Jesus. What kind of company do you keep?"

Liza laughs. "Nash is a good guy. He's just got some dark demons haunting him."

"So, you think she'll rent to me?"

"Of course she will. Who could turn down a cute marshmallow like you?"

"God, would you quit with that shit? No self-respectin' man wants to be described as a cute marshmallow."

Liza leans forward to pinch my cheeks, and I kick her playfully with my good leg… well, half-decent leg. She laughs so hard she snorts like a little piggy, and then we're both laughing. It's got to be the first time I've heard the sound of my own laughter in weeks. Instead of making me feel better, it just makes me feel sad. I have to fight back tears as I recall my life before the fall. I used to laugh all the time, with Brian, Warren, and Ormen. My life was full of laughter. I used to take it for granted. I hope I never take happiness for granted again. It's a precious commodity that I'm in short supply of.

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but what am I gonna do with a whole apartment? I've got, like, two boxes full of stuff in storage. Some clothes, paperwork, and medals, my gaming console, and some games. I don't have shit to furnish an apartment with. I've lived in barracks housing for four years."

Liza's face pulls tight in concentration. "Let me make some calls," she suggests, patting my leg before pushing to her feet.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Can we not listen to somethin' other than… than whatever the hell this is?" I bitch. Liza just laughs and turns the music up louder, singing along to the pop song on the radio. "There, that's the turnoff," I say, pointing to the exit sign over the highway.

Two days ago, I felt overwhelmed lying in my hospital bed, feeling a total loss of control over my life. Today, I feel slightly hopeful, but also afraid to hope. After all I've been through, I can't take another letdown. Not getting this apartment would be a crushing defeat.

When the song ends, Liza turns the volume down. "So, my friend is going to meet us there. You can walk through the apartment, and if you like it, you can sign the lease. Then I'll leave your car with you and she can take me back home."

"Thanks for driving." My leg isn't solid enough to put the kind of pressure on it I would need to make the four-hour drive.

"Anytime, Marshmallow. You want to stop for lunch?"

"Sure, just drive through somewhere." Then I start thinking about how I have to buy groceries, but I'll need a ride to the grocery store. That segues into worrying about how I don't have pots and pans to cook in or plates to eat on. And then my good mood spirals right out the open window.

Fucking fuck, I'm a damn mess. I'm a soldier trained to survive under the harshest conditions, and yet here I am, not able to even fend for myself to cover my basic needs. What a joke.

Liza pulls through a fast food place, and we order spicy chicken sandwiches, onion rings, and shakes to go. The greasy goodness tastes transformative, much better than hospital food, and I can't disguise my moan of pure pleasure.

"Mmm, this tastes like gourmet cuisine after eating Womack's cafeteria food."

Liza laughs. "Okay, let's play best and worst," she mumbles around a mouthful of chicken.

"What's best and worst?"

"You have to tell me your best and worst of whatever topic we choose." She merges back onto the highway, managing the steering wheel and her sandwich at the same time. "Let's start with you. Best thing you ever ate."

This sounds easy. I can do this. I pop an onion ring into my mouth and chew as I think. "My mama's gumbo."

"Aw, that's sweet. Worst?"

"Anything I've cooked," I say jokingly.

"At least you're honest," she laughs. "Best thing I ever ate was last year for my birthday. A bunch of the girls at the hospital took me out to dinner at this hot pot place. I tried so many new things and, oh my gosh, everything was so delicious. They had to roll me out of there."

I watch her with a smile on my lips. Liza is so animated when she talks, using her expressions and her hands; she just sucks you right in. "Worst thing?"

"Anything they serve at Womack." We bust out laughing together. "Okay, best movie. Go."

Taking a sip of my shake, I try to think. "Uh, An Officer And A Gentleman. "

"Really? Nothing from after you were born?" She smirks, and I return it.

"My mama used to watch all the classics on repeat. We had the complete VHS library. I don't know why, but that movie stuck with me."

"Is that why you wanted to be a soldier?"

"I don't know. I don't think just one movie did it for me, but I had a healthy admiration and respect for the military. My mama had a thing for World War II movies that romanticized war."

She clutches her heart and says in a false southern belle voice, "How romantic. I do declare." I swat her arm. "What's the worst movie?"

Giving her a sideways glance, I admit, " Gone With The Wind ."

Liza gasps dramatically. "Rhett Butler Marsh, don't you speak blasphemy in my presence!" She catches my eye roll and adds, "I'm calling your mama and telling on you."

"Don't you dare! You know that's her favorite movie, obviously."

"So, what do you have against Scarlett and Rhett?"

"Nothing really, but after my fifty-seventh viewing, every fuckin' word they utter grates my nerves."

Liza straight up cackles. "Don't think I won't leverage this blackmail against you," she threatens.

"You break my mama's heart, I break both your legs. Then we'll be twins." I grab another onion ring. "What about you?"

"Best has to be 13 Going On 30. "

"You can't be serious," I tease.

Liza shrugs. "I love a good romance. Worst movie is anything scary or gory. I can't watch them."

"Talk about leverage and blackmail," I hint.

She swats me back, giggling. Honest to God, I've never heard Liza giggle. Didn't know she was capable of making that sound.

"All right, what's your best day?"

My chest pulls tight and I swallow. The questions are getting a little deeper now. "I'm hoping it's this one," I admit. I'm nervous as hell that something is gonna go wrong and blow my fresh start out of the water. Liza covers my hand with hers.

"It's gonna be fine, Marshmallow. Just trust in me."

With a deep sigh, I blow out my reservations. "My best day was the day I joined the 82nd."

She smiles softly. "And your worst?"

I hesitate, thinking back over the years filled with both good and bad memories, all of them unforgettable. "The same day." I can't look at her. I don't want to see sorrow or pity on her face, so I look out the window instead, counting the pine trees whizzing by.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't even have asked. Obviously, your worst day was… Anyway, I'm done with this game. Let's sing." She turns up the radio loud and absolutely desecrates ‘ Party In The USA' by Miley Cyrus.

I'm not in a singing, playful mood, but I join in just to try to force the bad thoughts from my mind. They're like bad juju, putting a hex on my good day, and I won't allow anything to jinx me today.