sea for months at a time?"
"Yeah, I leave real soon, in fact."
She shakes her head. "Then I know enough."
"Seriously?" I ask. "You want me to go?"
She closes her eyes, breathing slowly through her nose as if it's taking all her concentration to nod her answer.
"Goddammit," I say, reaching for my clothes. I pull them on, looking at her as she folds in on herself as if she can't bear to look at me. "You don't know shit about me, Sweetheart."
She doesn't answer, just buries her face in her hands and begins to cry softly.
I want to stay, to console her--to make sure she's all right--but she told me to go.
And I won't stay where I'm not welcome. It's why I left for the Navy in the first fucking place.
I leave through the back door, so her brothers won't see me--the last thing Sweetie needs is to be hassled by them right now. And I'm glad to see the house is empty, but I can hear some people out in the front yard. Crossing through the backyard, I walk back to base, hating that the man I am isn't enough for her.
If she only knew.
I understand her fears to some extent-- lots of men join the military and walk away from their families--but fuck, lots of men do that every damn day no matter their profession.
I joined the Navy to stop that cycle. To fucking give myself a chance. To do better and be better.
The life my family wanted for me wasn’t one I wanted.
I wanted to be my own man.
When I get to my bunk, I fall into bed, trying to remember every last detail about that Sweetheart tonight. She has no fucking clue how special she is. There are a thousand things I wish I had asked her about herself. Her hopes and dreams and how I can be the man she needs.
Finally, I fall asleep, wishing like hell I was in her bed, with my arms wrapped around her. Sure, I'd like to fuck her all night, but more than that, I want to protect her. Her brothers are sketchy, the shit going down in that house isn't acceptable. She deserves a safe harbor to rest her head each night.
I want to be that man for her.
I don't know much, but I know this: I will see her again. And when I do, I'll make sure she knows I'm not like her daddy.
Just like I'm sure as fuck nothing like mine.
Sweetie
Days go by and I try to forget. But every time I look at myself in the mirror, all I can do is remember.
When that sailor's eyes locked on mine--he saw me.
But I didn't see him.
I looked at him and saw only strength and power, but I didn't see his heart. His soul. I judged him without giving him a fair shot; a chance to show me who he was.
Then I kicked him out, told him to leave.
Didn't even say goodbye.
"Sweetie, what's your deal?" Smith asks. "You're staring at the wall like some cuckoo bird."
"Hey, don't give her a hard time," Porter says. "She's still pissed at us for the party."
They're right, of course-- I am pissed about the party. A gun being shot in my house is not acceptable--ever.
Nixon steps into the Grim Reapers Tattoo Shop after taking a smoke break. "My next appointment here yet?" he asks.
"They canceled," I tell him, my eyes flitting to the appointment book in front of me. "No more appointments until tonight--that goes for all of you. Looks like a three-hour dead zone here at the shop." I push my glasses up my nose and stand. "I'm gonna get my lunch from the backroom."
"We're gonna head out then," Porter says. "Call us if there's a walk in."
"Where are you going?" I ask. It's out of the ordinary for them to leave during the day.
Nixon grunts. "We have some business to take care of."
I look at my brothers, not trusting them. "You're going to do something stupid, aren't you?"
"No, we're just gonna let some people know you can't mess with us."
A sinking feeling fills my gut. "Don't go after the guys who came to our house."
Smith shakes his head, fists already clenched. "What, and let people think they can come to our home and fuck around?"
Porter chimes in: "Dad would be proud of us for taking care of business."
Trying to keep my cool I walk away from them muttering under my breath. "Dad was a drunk. Not exactly a hero."
"Hey, Sweetie," Smith