Until the World Stops - L.A. Witt Page 0,10

I was) and “I’d rather wait until I’m out of the Navy” (which I did).

On paper, everything was working exactly the way we’d envisioned it.

But holy shit, in practice, it had turned out to be a lot more complicated than just coexisting and staying out of each other’s way. Who knew it would suck so much to live with the guy I hadn’t been able to stand when we’d worked together?

Maybe I wasn’t being fair. Tristan wasn’t a bad roommate. He was clean. He didn’t let things turn into science experiments in the back of the fridge. He dutifully took care of our cat and treated her like the fluffy little goddess she was. That last part was seriously cute, too. Sometimes I quietly fumed when he was playing with her or snuggling with her on the couch because it was really hard to dislike someone who was telling Tilly how pretty she was and letting her have a tiny lick of his ice cream. Especially when he smiled at her that way. Christ, for someone who knew how to get on my last nerve, he had the most gorgeous smile.

And I mean, he wasn’t a bad guy. He really wasn’t. We were just two guys who obviously weren’t meant to live together. The way we’d locked horns at work should’ve been a clue, but no, we’d had to figure it out when he used the dryer as a laundry basket instead of taking out his clothes, or when we could never quite remember whose turn it was to do the dishes or empty the dishwasher. How much of that was incompatibility and how much was left over from the Navy, I had no idea, but—

The guard shack door opened, jarring me back into the present. This time it was Chief, probably coming in to do post checks. Not that he needed to, but micromanaging made him feel important, so whatever.

He thumbed through the desk journal, then watched the monitors for a minute. I wasn’t sure what he was watching for—we could literally look out the window and have a better view of the gate and the street approaching it. The cameras were mostly useful at night, or when one of the local porcupines came shuffling up and wanted in or out (and yes, of course we opened the gate for them—we weren’t monsters).

Apparently satisfied nothing was happening on-camera, Chief turned to me, and his expression hardened slightly. His voice took on a faintly sarcastic edge as he asked, “So, MA1. How’s married life treating you? Honeymoon over yet?”

I wanted to grit my teeth, but instead plastered on a well-practiced and perfectly pleasant smile. “Everything’s great. How about you?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. So did mine. Oh yeah, he knew Tristan and I had never liked each other, and he’d been as shocked as anyone when we’d eloped two weeks before Tristan’s discharge. But I knew as well as anyone that Chief and his wife couldn’t stand each other, and that if she ever found out how much time his ass spent on Tinder, he’d be lucky if all she took was half his retirement.

You ever try to fuck with me like you fucked with Tristan, I will send your wife a screencap of your profile. Do not test me, Chief.

Though sometimes I wondered if she did know. Hell, she had to know. There was more contempt and resentment between them than there ever aspired to be between me and Tristan.

If she did know, it was in her best interest to keep it quiet until he retired. If the Navy found out, he’d get punted out just like Tristan had, especially since there actually was a reg to the effect of Thou shalt not commit adultery, you dirty fucker. I had a feeling she was biding her time until he retired, and then she’d divorce his dumb ass, take half his retirement, and move on with her life.

Man, that had to be miserable, being stuck with someone like that.

In fact, it was miserable. At least Tristan and I didn’t have kids. God knew who’d get custody of Tilly when that time came, but we’d cross that bridge when we came to it.

Sometimes Chief stuck around to shoot the shit with whoever was in the guard shack or to regale us all with the latest conspiracy theory he’d been “researching,” but today he stopped at the dig about married life. After skimming over the desk journal again for some reason, he left,