Aubrey changed into a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting sweater.
She grabbed Jack's duffle bag off the floor by the dresser and plopped it onto the bed before unzipping. After triple checking to make sure she packed the essentials, she brought it into the family room, tossing it next to his shined boots, molle backpack, helmet, and vest.
Swiping the remote off the coffee table, Aubrey turned on the news to catch the weather. As soon as the story changed to the conflict in the Middle East, she shut it off. Her mind couldn't take anymore madness for the day, and it wasn't even five in the morning.
With cold temperatures and frost expected overnight, she retrieved his heavy winter jacket. He made it no secret how much he despised wearing it because it restricted his movements too much. But him coming home sick would only make them both miserable.
Satisfied everything's accounted for—he'd sign out his M4, Beretta, and magazines of training ammunition from the armory—Aubrey headed into the kitchen to make Jack's customary pre-deployment breakfast.
A peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Not just any peanut butter and jelly. He rabidly insisted on eating that too sweet all-in-one concoction, where the peanut butter and jelly are mixed in the same jar.
Aubrey learned the hard way not to deviate from what's wonted. When Jack left for a three-month patrol of the Kosovo-Serbia border, she had made him a sandwich with crunchy peanut butter and raspberry jam. After he got home, Jack did nothing but bitch for three days, blaming everything that had gone wrong on Aubrey and that stupid fucking sandwich. She tried explaining to him that his precious Goober didn't exist in the former Yugoslavia, but Jack, a monster of habit, didn't care to hear her excuses.
From then on, she had her brother ship it from the States. It ended up costing a small fortune, but it stopped the fights. That's all Aubrey cared about, anyway. So long as he's not bitching at her, she's happy.
As she finished smearing the last globs of Goober onto both slices of bread, Jack emerged from the bedroom. He was tucking the olive green t-shirt into the waistband of the dark camouflage trousers when he gazed up at Aubrey. Under the bright lights in the kitchen, she got a good glimpse of him for the first time in days.
He looked awful. Red-rimmed, sunken eyes. Dark circles so vibrant against too pale skin, it's like he's walking around with shiners. He seemed thinner, too, despite Aubrey not being able to remember a change in his eating habits.
She smiled weakly, handing Jack the plate.
Not bothering to sit down at the table, he wolfed it down in the middle of the kitchen like its been weeks since the last time she fed him.
"Do you have plans this weekend?" he asked in-between bites.
"Not really." Aubrey poured him a glass of water from the Brita pitcher in the fridge. She handed it to him, and Jack chugged half of it. "Cleaning. Catching up on laundry, grocery shopping. Charlotte talked me into tutoring for a couple hours, so yeah… fun stuff."
Jack polished off the rest of the water, tossing the glass into the sink. Aubrey shuddered when it sounded like it shattered. She couldn't muster the strength yet to see if there had been another casualty. He'd broken so many glass cups over the years, Aubrey accepted responsibility, being too stubborn to make the switch to plastic flat and drink ware.
"If they invite you to go out, I don't want you going." He stuffed the last bite of sandwich into his mouth. "I don't want you glued to the news either."
He shoved the plate into her hands. She rolled her eyes, but thankfully Jack was preoccupied with washing his hands to notice. Aubrey put the plate in the dishwasher.
"I can't go out, and I can't watch television. What… am I grounded or something?"
Shutting off the water, Jack didn't look at Aubrey as he dried off his hands with the towel on the counter. Jack cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders. He's stuck between a rock and a hard place. If frustrations got the better of him and he blew up, she'd question if he really took the two Ativan. Then her brazen remarks were testing his patience.
"Don't twist what I said, cupcake." Heading into the family room, Jack grabbed his boots and flopped down onto the couch. "You know exactly what I mean."
Aubrey plopped beside him, curling her arms around his shoulders. Jack pushed her off of him and bent at the waist. He didn't need her hanging off of him while he was lacing his boots. She tucked her legs underneath her, but still stayed close.
"What if it's just dinner; no bars. Can I go then?" she whined. "Please, Jack! Pretty please with a cherry on top!"
"Don't beg. You're not five-years-old. And the answer is still no."
Keeping Aubrey confined within the walls of the apartment was never a good feeling. Letting her go out, interact and have fun with the other Army wives was something Jack wished he was a keen on, but he thought they were terrible influences, eager to poison his sweet, too naive girl with twisted morals, making her think it was okay to seek the comfort of zealous civilian men who possessed zero qualms about keeping the bed warm while their husbands were gone.
Jack never considered himself to be the jealous type. He trusted Aubrey; she never gave him reason not to. Still, her unadulterated faithfulness wasn't enough to stop the dormant insecurity which reared its ugly head at the worst times. Aubrey's eye didn't stray from him, but he always saw how their eyes wandered to her.
Jack didn't appreciate other men thinking they could swoop in and play with his toy while his back was turned.
"Oh, come on. I'm dying to go out."
He snorted. "I just took you out last month. How quickly we forget, hmm? So ungrateful."
"That was the Army Ball! Totally different; we had to go." Jack stopped blousing his trousers and gazed at Aubrey. His eyebrows cocked, and his eyes were dark, unamused. It made her heart flutter. She changed her tone. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'll rent some movies from Blockbuster. Plus, I've got reading to catch up on."
Turning his attention back to blousing his trousers, tension pulled his muscles taut again, the disappointment radiating off of Aubrey not helping the nerves which were already rubbed raw. He glanced sideways at her, clenching his jaw so hard his teeth almost shattered to dust.
Why did she always have to do this? Turn so docile with eyes glassy and full of dejection.
For a split second, Jack wanted to yell at her for not putting up a fight.
Picking at an imaginary hangnail on her thumb, Aubrey sucked in a sharp breath. The calamity dissipated, morphing into something hotter, boiling. Her heart pounded in her ears. For the first time in months, her hands trembled from something other than fear.
It wasn't fair. He was going out to have his fun for the weekend. And after what happened earlier, she deserves at least one night of wearing a dress which fit a little too snug, pumps pinching her feet a little too much, and drink enough vodka to help forget the nightmare her life was slipping into.
Aubrey couldn't bite her tongue any longer.
"It's just," she breathed. "I bought a new dress."
Maybe she wasn't a lost cause after all.
Jack's attention piqued, but he refused to give any of it to her.
Come out and play, cupcake. Show Daddy you haven't turned vapid; haven't lost your thirst for a fight. Run that mouth—say something you fucking know is gonna tick me off.
His mouth filled with sawdust as the spiking anticipation made him go a little lightheaded. Jack didn't have to look over to Aubrey to confirm his suspicions. He already knew she was glaring at him, pouting like a fucking child because the word no wasn't something she was used to hearing. Jack was man enough to admit all the blame for that couldn't be dropped on her father's shoulders alone. He was just as guilty, indulging her every wish and command. It was almost impossible to tell her no. And the more she fought—the angrier she made him—the more inclined Jack was to give her what she wanted. If she's willing to square up with him, go toe-to-toe, and survived, Jack didn't think twice about handing her the world on a silver platter.
"It's dark purple… kinda short. Hugs all the curves you love. I was really hoping I'd be able to wear it for you, but if you're gonna make me sit at home on a Friday night like some pathetic little virgin, I guess you're giving me no choice than to go behind your back and—"
The words became stuck in Aubrey's throat when Jack lurched, wrapping both hands around her neck. He pushed her onto her back, head colliding with the armrest of the couch. Straddling her, he planted one foot on the ground, and the other knee tucked between her and the cushion. His fingers bit into the soft arteries.
Aubrey curled her hands around his flexing biceps. The mild pressure wasn't enough to scare her. She knew the difference. Aubrey still had to tread carefully, now more than ever. In dangling the threat of garnering the attention of another man in front of Jack, there was a fine line between keeping him in the foreplay of it all, and pushing him too hard so he'd lose grip on his control.
"I'm not paying you enough attention… is that what you're telling me?"
Aubrey hooked a leg around his waist. She let go of his right bicep, sliding her hand up his chest and neck, shoving her middle and ring fingers into his mouth. He clamped down, hard enough to make her wince but not enough to break the skin.
"I'm not as stupid as you think I am. I know you're busy," she said. Aubrey's tone was so clear and sweet, it shot straight through Jack's groin. "I can't expect you to always be around to give me what I need."
Jack pressed his fingers into her neck a little harder, still in control. The added pressure made Aubrey tighten her leg curled around his waist, her heel digging into his lower back. The wild glint in her eye, the one begging him to fuck her senseless, was the reassurance to keep him grounded. He pushed her fingers out of his mouth with his tongue, a glob of saliva soaking into the emerald fibers of her sweater.
"And what is it you need?"
Aubrey lowered her hand, cupping his crotch. She squeezed his erection. "A man who knows how to please his woman. Not one who cums too quick and leaves me to take care of myself."
This fucking bitch.
She's baiting him, and it almost worked until he looked at the crystal clock on the side table. Jack eased up on the pressure, letting more blood flow to her brain.
"We don't have time, Aubs."
"Of course we have time." She un-fastened the first button of his trousers. "All you need is two minutes. Two and a half, tops."
Jutting off of Aubrey, Jack couldn't tear her jeans and panties off fast enough.
He threw them to the floor, then stood up to un-fasten his trousers and push them and his briefs down to his knees before sitting back on the couch. Aubrey didn't hesitate to climb onto his lap, sinking down on his cock. The warmth of her wrapped around him never ceased to leave him unfazed. Jack threw his head against the back of the couch and bit his lip. The warm, shocking, fuzziness, like television static, exploded through every inch of him. When Aubrey rocked, Jack snapped back, grabbing her hips to hold her still.
He set the pace; not her.
It was rough and wonton. Her squeals and the way she squirmed against him, Jack knew it bordered on being unpleasant, painful. The slickness coating her walls was quickly turning dry, making the friction a little too much even for him to handle.
Jack licked his fingers, slipping them between her legs to rub circles on her clit. He relented on the frantic thrusts, stopping altogether.
Aubrey bit her lip to suppress her cries as she moved her hips back and forth, fucking herself on his fingers and stationary cock.
She was getting wet again.
"C'mon, don't be so quiet for me now, sweetheart," he panted.
Aubrey refusing to make the slightest bit of noise was irritating. With her eyes closed, he knew just how he'd take it from her. Still working her clit, he sucked the forefinger on his other hand into his mouth, coating it thickly in saliva. He moved stealthily and fast, slipping it into the puckered hole she loved him playing with.
Her eyes sprang open, as did her mouth. The burning sting of being forcefully stretched open made Aubrey stop moving. She gripped Jack's shoulder, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes as she wriggled to accommodate the prodding digit.
"Oh, God—fuuck!" she cried.
Jack eased his finger in and out, feeling her flutter around him from all angles. She started moving her hips again, the sensation of being so full twisted into something far more delicious as the pain tapered away.
"You're a fucking cunt. You know that, Aubrey?" He pressed his fingers firmly against her clit, relishing in the way her face scrunched with the focus on chasing her orgasm. It was difficult to tell whether she heard him. "Making Daddy work this hard to get you off when you don't fucking deserve it."
She cried out again; music to his ears.
"Why won't you just cum already? Am I not good enough for you, hmm?"
Aubrey was fighting her orgasm. He saw how she was holding on for dear life, not ready to let go and come tumbling face-first back into the real world. A world where nothing felt this euphoric.
"You—you—"
She couldn't form a coherent sentence, every word spilling from her mouth was utter gibberish.
The fire in Jack's forearm went ignored, he was too focused on Aubrey to even notice. He loved how she squirmed against him and he was the one making her feel this good.
"Aubrey," he warned. The way she somehow found rhythm on his cock, Jack's control was slipping from his fingers. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on for, and he wouldn't finish until she did. "Don't make me wait any longer."
The sternness in his voice, the firm pressure to her clit, it was too much to handle. Aubrey fell against Jack, burying her face into the crook of his neck. Her nails dug into his chest as the wave swallowed her whole. There was no stopping the quake in her knees, and she shrilly whine.
Aubrey was desperate to get away from Jack's fingers still working her, the overstimulation making her crawl out of her skin. His rough, painful thrusting at the start wasn't punishment for what she'd said—this was. She asked for this. Her nails bit more into Jack's chest. If she reached down and grabbed his wrist, there'd only be hell to pay.
"Jack, please," she cried.
"Don't say you want me to stop now, cupcake." The corners of his vision went sticky and blurry, and the muscles in his abdomen became achingly tight.
Tears sputtered from her eyes, and she bit the inside of her lip to keep the sob contained.
"Are you gonna go out while I'm gone?"
Her head still buried in his neck, she shook it. She long since stopped moving her hips.
Granting mercy, Jack stopped rubbing her clit. With both hands, he grabbed her hips, guiding into a pace to get him off. "Look at me, sweetheart."
Sniffling, Aubrey lifted her head up. Her cheeks were bright red, tear-stained, and blotchy. A sight for sore eyes.
Their proximity meant his pubic bone still brushed her clit. Each pass made Aubrey tremble more and more.
"If you don't listen to me and still go out, I'm going to be very disappointed. Do you want to disappoint me?"
She shook her head.
Good enough.
"But after what you said, I'm not sure if I can trust you," he panted. Jack moved her hips faster. He was so close, he tasted the sweet release. "Can I trust you?"
She nodded.
"Use your words, Aubrey. Let me hear you say it."
"You can trust me. I promise you can! I won't disappoint you!"
"No—" now he could finish with peace of mind— "no, you won't."
Jack sank into the flimsy plastic chair, loosely crossing his arms over his chest. It was a struggle not to close his eyes and doze off, especially after an eight mile march in full gear.
The impromptu fuck Aubrey threw at him before leaving the house didn't help with his fatigue either.
Any other day he would be annoyed with orders to sit through a briefing when there were a thousand other productive things he should be doing. These briefs were bullshit; a waste of time, and an insult to his intelligence. There was no point in going over the plan of attack for field training. They have thrown him into the belly of the beast enough times to understand these plans never go the way they're supposed to.
All he needs is his M4, bayonet, map, compass, and gut instinct. Not some sophisticated outline drawn up by desk jockeys who have never puckered from the sourness of combat.
He didn't plan on paying attention, regardless. Shutting out the noise is the only way he can get into the right headspace. Not having a plan is the best plan to have. That way, there's room for deviation and snap judgement, which was how Jack stayed two steps ahead of most.
Jack's mind wandered home, thinking about Aubrey. He pictured her in nothing but a t-shirt that's two-sizes too big, knee-high socks, and a pair of panties where the underside of her ass cheeks pokes out. She's probably listening to Queen or some Russian popstar he's never heard of, moping the kitchen floor with pine-scented disinfectant.
A tap on the shoulder from behind tore his thoughts from what he missed.
Jack twisted his neck to see who interrupted his visions of the half-naked Aubrey.
Robbie Davidson; another Bravo Company sergeant. There were few people at Fort Riley he could stand, and Davidson was one of them. A stand-up guy who never indulged bullshit and pushed his men just as hard as Jack pushed his.
It also helped they both struggled with the same demons. A silent understanding; a mutual respect.
"What do you think—we getting deployed for not?"
Jack tasted the blistering sun, and chalky dirt coating his tongue. "Abso-fucking-lutely we are. I give it six weeks before they make the official announcement."
"Eight before we're shipping out to Arizona or Cali for desert training. Watch them try to spin this as some garbage peacekeeping operation."
"Fuck that." Jack dropped his voice an octave. "I did my time peacekeeping. I want my goddamn combat patch."
"They still haven't designated Bosnia as a combat zone? Even after what went down?"
"Nope. Some bullshit with the United Nations being invol—"
"Ten-hut!"
The low, echoing voice rattling the briefing room brought all conversations to an abrupt end. Everyone stood straight. Chin up, chest out, shoulders back, stomach in. Jack fixated on a spot on the wall, his expression blank. It was muscle memory; his fists clenched and thumbs parallel with the seam of his trousers.
Major Bradly strolled in, a manilla folder clutched in hand and his minions hot on his heels. Jack was already bored and they haven't even started with the mind-numbing slideshow of maneuvers the NCOs would be expected to teach the lower-listed over the weekend. There was only one lesson Jack thought they needed to know. The same piece of wisdom his lieutenant gifted him with as they departed Hungary for Bosnia.
It's only a war crime if you get caught.
"Good morning, gentleman."
"Good morning, sir," they replied.
Standing behind the podium, Major Bradly opened his folder as he put his glasses on. He told them all to sit down, and Jack couldn't drop fast enough.
Resting his hands on his knees, Jack felt a crusty spot under his middle finger. His heart pounded as the pressure in his face grew tenfold. Did she not wash these trousers like he asked almost a dozen times? If they spotted him with a dirty uniform, Jack would make her hand-wash every fucking set he owned for the next six years.
Taking in a soothing breath, Jack moved his hands to see the offending stain. His eyes doubled. It was white and flaky.
Oops.
Jack took a quick glance around to make sure no one was paying him attention. They were all focused on the map Major Bradly was busy explaining. Clearing his throat, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Keeping it low and hidden from sight, Jack flipped it open. Mostly, he typed his text out blindly, hoping the misspellings weren't too horrible and she'd get the gist of what he was saying.
10:45
U dripped cum on my pants.
10:49
Ur the one who put their fingers into me after u came.
11:05
I shld make u come here and lick them clean.
11:07
Pants or fingers?
Jack licked his lips and glanced around again. Thankfully everyone, even the lieutenants and captains, were on the verge of falling asleep by now. He looked down at Aubrey's text once more. The crotch of his trousers grew snugger than it had been a half-hour ago.
She knew what he was damn well talking about. She just wanted for him to say it.
11:20
Pants. Duh. U already sucked my fingers clean like the good bitch u r.
11:32
Ugh. Fine. I'll lick your pants if u promise to rail me from behind when u get home.
Carefully closing his phone, Jack slipped it back into his pocket. He leaned forward, rubbing his sore eyes. The visions were limitless, but there was one thing in particular he had in mind for his welcome home present. Too bad it was going to be a surprise for her.
Having missed every single word Major Bradly said, Jack tried to focus for the last ten minutes. But that was impossible to do when his phone was blowing up in his pocket.
"Don't worry." Davidson's quiet remark startled Jack. "I'll catch you up to speed when we grab some chow."
A wave of panic shot through Jack. If Davidson noticed he spent the entire briefing on his phone, undoubtedly others did, too.
The insatiable minx was always getting him into trouble.
Grabbing his phone from his pocket, Jack opened the newest message Aubrey sent him. It was a photo. A topless photo. He couldn't drag his attention away from it. Her breasts weren't as perky as they'd been ten years ago, but holy hell did they still look fantastic. Jack wanted to swirl his tongue around those rosebud nipples, clamp them between his teeth until she wriggled and whined beneath him. Pinch and roll them between calloused fingers.
"Damn, Napier. She's a dime," whispered Sergeant Burgess, who sat beside him.
"Eyes forward," warned Jack.
He deleted the photo and put his phone away. He didn't need to be giving any of the guys around him material to jerk off to. It bothered Jack enough that most of them saw Aubrey earlier in the summer oiled up and in nothing more than a skimpy bikini at the swimming pool on base.
Once the briefing ended, Jack stood in the hallway outside of the room with his back pressed to the wall. He usually wasted no time in dipping, going back to the work he was expected to get done. But he was feeling rather generous, and decided he'd hang out and wait for Davidson, offer to buy him a burger at the chow hall for looking out for him earlier.
A sly smirk was plastered to Davidson's face as he came strolling out into the hallway and saw Jack.
"Let me guess," said Jack. "You saw the messages, too."
"I have no idea what you're talking about. I was too focused on Major Bradly's riveting discussion on flanking maneuvers to see the wife asking to be railed from behind."
Jack was far from shy with sex, especially when a majority of the conversations which took place revolved around exactly that. None of it changed the fact he was still a private person at his core, and he was more worried about keeping Aubrey's dignity intact. He didn't want her to have that sort of reputation with the men in his company.
Brushing it off, Jack kept it as professional as possible.
"I don't have to report back until fourteen-hundred hours, so I'm headed over to the chow hall. You want to grab a bite? It's on me. And you can catch me up on what I… missed."
"Yeah, totally. If you don't mind though, I've got to make a quick stop first and check in on my squad. They're supposed to be cleaning their rifles, but you know Privates somehow fuck that up."
Jack scratched the back of his neck as they started walking down the hall. "A couple of days ago during target training, I had a Private tell me his rifle wasn't firing. I took the magazine out, and it was empty. Fucker was so tired, he didn't realize he emptied the mag. I put him on sta—"
"Sergeant Napier."
Hearing his name being called, Jack stopped mid-stride and spun around. Davidson, too. They recognized the voice belonging to Lieutenant Elliot, so when they stood at attention, they brought their right hands up in a salute. Of course, when he saluted back, he never told them to ease, forcing them to hold the tensed, uncomfortable position.
The asshole who couldn't have been over twenty-two-years-old, had some sort of Napoleon-complex; he always had to throw his rank around when around men who were bigger than him.
"Is everything alright, Sergeant?" he asked.
Jack fought the urge to furrow his brow. "Excuse my ignorance, sir, but I'm not sure I know what you're speaking of."
"You were on your phone the whole time Major Bradly was speaking. I'm guessing you wouldn't have done that unless there was an emergency."
Busted.
Jack swallowed hard, and Davidson cleared his throat to hide the laughter which threatened to escape. He wished he found it as funny as Davidson did, but all Jack envisioned was endless hours of scrubbing floors and toilets, or ending up on staff duty Friday or Saturday nights for however much longer he's stuck at this shithole place. They all hated him here, just itching and looking for any minuscule infraction to slap him with. Being on his phone during a brief was their fucking golden ticket.
Goddamn it, Aubrey.
Heavy dread pooled in Jack's chest, making it hard to breathe.
"Everything is fine, Lieutenant."
Lieutenant Elliot sucked his teeth and bounced his gaze back and forth between Jack and Davidson. A shit-eating grin stretched across his goblin face as he bobbed his head.
"Major Bradly requested you report to his office by thirteen-hundred hours."
Shit.
All the color drained from Jack's face. This was the last fucking thing he wanted to deal with when trying to prep his team for training. Why couldn't it wait until Monday?
Jack watched as Lieutenant Elliot's eyes scanned him up and down. He held his breath, hoping the cum stain on his thigh went unnoticed. Although, explaining what it was and how it got there seemed like something satisfying. These dipshits—the callow lieutenants who ordered him around—probably had no idea what it was like to be with a woman, let alone indulge one in the ways he fulfilled Aubrey. Which meant they were experts on spotting jizz stains from a mile away because their clothing was the only place they were used to busting a nut on.
Lieutenant Elliot pursed his thin lips, and by the disappointment washing over his features, it was safe to assume he'd make it out of the unwarranted uniform inspection unscathed.
"I suggest," when he spoke, every word spilling from Lieutenant Elliot's mouth dripped with condescension, "you don't leave the Major waiting, Sergeant."
Irritation boiled in Jack's blood. It wasn't so much being ordered around that drove him to the edge. After a tenure as long as his, Jack wasn't an idiot. Being ordered around was a pillar of the job. He just despised being forced to give respect to those who didn't deserve a single ounce of it.
Respect the rank; not the man. That was advice Jack found funny, given his grandfather had told him something similar about his old man. Rank didn't change the fact whether or not someone's an asshole.
"Yes, sir," Jack said.
He was proud of himself for holding his composure, not popping the little shit in the mouth like he fucking deserved.
Without another word, Lieutenant Elliot pushed passed Jack and Davidson.
"What a fucking asshole," muttered Davidson. They both relaxed, spinning around to watch how the other soldiers in the hallway move out of the way and saluted as Lieutenant Elliot made his way. "It would be a shame if something happened to him while we're out this weekend."
Jack knew half the company was already plotting the Lieutenant's demise, less than thrilled about being stuck in the woods for the weekend with a man who had anger issues, and was too stupid to pour piss out of a boot even if the instructions were printed on the sole.
Turning his wrist over, Jack looked at the time. If he wanted to get his last actual meal in before loading up in the Humvee, he needed to get the dreadful meeting over with now. Plus, it made little sense to put it off—might as well rip off the band-aid.
"Rain check on chow? I'll get you next week when things aren't crazy."
Davidson slapped Jack on the arm, a move he hadn't seen coming.
"Don't worry about it. You can buy me a beer next Friday after work instead. I know of this halfway decent dive bar just outside of town. Bring the wife. It'll be good for us to get the girls together; get 'em off our backs for a change."
Jack's first instinct was to decline the offer.
The only thing he looked forward to every Friday was crawling into a bottle of whiskey after Aubrey fell asleep, then stumble into the bathroom to pop an Ambian so he could fall face-first into bed with seconds to spare before slipping into a state of blissful unconsciousness. Davidson was a decent guy, but Jack didn't like him enough to forego the treasured routine and mingle with the public just so they could hang out.
Jack opened his mouth, ready to shoot Davidson down, but then he remembered the way Aubrey acted while he finished getting ready to leave. She's like a dog in heat, desperate for the opportunity to get out of the house and get a taste of the nightlife she missed.
It wouldn't hurt to loosen the short leash he kept her on once in a blue moon. The more he resisted her urges to go out and play, the more she'd tug, and the day she inevitably broke free will be the day he loses all control.
Maybe it wouldn't hurt for him to get out, too. All work and no play, that'd drive anyone crazy.
Even him.
"That's right, you just got married." Jack rubbed the back of his neck again. This small dose of small talk had him squirming, pretending to care about what went on in Davidson's life. "How's that going for you?"
"The blow jobs haven't stopped yet, so I guess I can't complain," chucked Davidson. Jack pulled out his most convincing fake laugh; he couldn't relate. His marriage wasn't a walking cliche—the blow jobs never stopped for him. "Jokes aside though, this is the first real taste of military life Meadow's gotten, and she's having a hard time adjusting. Aubrey… from what I've seen you've got yourself a good woman there, Jack. Maybe you can talk to her; ask her if she'll take Meadow under her wing and show her the ropes? With the deployments more than likely coming up, too, I'm sure it'll be good for the both of 'em to have a friend to lean on, ya know."
Jack knew, and the decision was a no-brainer. He didn't need to think twice about thrusting Aubrey into a support system which didn't include the malignant tumor that's her older brother.
"For sure I will. Aubs—Aubrey—she'd have no problem with that." Jack took steps backward, ready to make a break from this painful conversation. "Text me next week with the name of the bar and we'll figure out a time."
He didn't even give Davidson a chance to reply. Spinning on his heels, he headed to receive the ass-chewing of the decade.
With the knuckle of his middle finger, Jack tapped on the door.
Major Bradly waved him in, and only then did Jack enter the office. He stood at attention in front of the desk, raising his right hand in salute.
"Sergeant Jack Napier reports, sir."
Major Bradly casually saluted back, reaching for a pair of reading glasses at the edge of the desk. "At ease."
Jack lowered his arm and widened his stance, resting his overlapped hands—palms up—on his lower back. It felt good to slacken his upper body. The pulling, aching kinks in his back made him think about Aubrey's earlier massage, and how badly he wanted her fingers to knead a little harder next time.
He was on edge, waiting to have his ass handed to him.
"Sergeant Jack Napier—" Major Bradly cleared his throat and shuffled papers around his desk— "you graduated from Fort Benning… spent time at Forts Stewart and Carson before Mannheim, Germany. Then they shipped your sorry ass to the Balkans for Operation Joint Forge. You received a Bronze Star and Purple Heart during the campaign, is that correct?"
Jack willed himself to stand still. He was crawling out of his skin already; he didn't need someone to rattle off the bullet points of the last years of his life. He'd been there. He knows what happened and wished to forget it.
"That's correct, sir."
"A Bronze Star. They only give that to those who distinguished themselves with heroic actions. Are you a hero, Sergeant?"
What the fuck kind of question is that?
Jack shifted his weight, keeping his attention ahead and fixated on a chip in the blue paint behind Major Bradly's head.
"No, sir. I am not a hero."
"Then why were you awarded one if you're not?"
"I was nominated by my First Sergeant, and Lieutenant for attempting to pull a mortally wounded Specialist out of enemy fire, sir. I failed my objective."
The words tasted bitter on Jack's tongue.
"How did you fail?"
"I was shot in the chest. By a Serb sniper. I had no choice but to pull back."
"And the chest wound, that's how you received the Purple Heart?"
Jack internally screamed. He hated telling this story. Why couldn't the dumb fuck just read the official report?
"No, sir. They awarded me the Purple Heart after a piece of shrapnel from a car bomb struck me in the leg. I was not injured after being shot."
Major Bradly took off his glasses and dropped them on the desk. He was in just as much disbelief as everyone else usually was after they find out.
"You were shot in the chest and made it out uninjured? Excuse my language, but how in the hell did that happen?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, sir."
Sitting back in his chair, Major Bradly crossed his arms over his chest. "I've been in the Army for over twenty-years. I've heard it all."
Jack swiped his tongue along his lower lip, moving his gaze down to meet Major Bradly's. "The Joker card."
"I'm sorry— the what?"
Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Jack shifted his weight. He tried to warn him; this would just be so much easier if he'd been taken for his word.
"In my vest—" As soon as the words left his mouth, Jack had to force the knot in his throat down. When he blinked, the same images from earlier in the morning were back. This time far more vivid and taunting, and Aubrey wasn't there holding his hand, ready to pull him out from in front of the brick wall before it came tumbling down. Beads of cold sweat rolled down the back of Jack's neck. For a split second, he swore he felt the bruising force of the bullet on his chest. "—I was carrying the unit's deck of cards. The bullet lodged in the Joker card, instead of going straight through me."
Major Bradley sat back in his chair, fingers drumming against the too shiny desk as he digested what he'd been told. Jack kept his smug smile at bay, opting instead to move his sight back to the spot on the wall. Turns out the old bastard hadn't heard it all, but now wasn't the time to point it out. He just wanted to get to the part where the punishment for being on his phone during the briefing was doled out.
"I've been watching you for the last couple of months, Sergeant…"
Jack's stomached twisted inside-out.
For months he's been watched? This had nothing to do with the briefing this morning. This is it—the moment where he's being told to pack his shit because the results of his latest psych evaluation came back and they have deemed him too crazy for combat so the best they can do is offer him a spot at Headquarters. Going AWOL seemed like the best option, but that would be a bitter ending, making the last eight years of his life a total fucking waste. Being on the run with the constant worry of a long jail sentence if the law ever caught up to him seemed so miserable. He'd sneak his service pistol from the armory during the rush of the nightly check-in, then end it once and for all in the parking lot.
Aubrey's better off. She'd eventually get over it—get over him. Find herself a man who could sit through a fireworks display on the Fourth of July without having a breakdown. And if the VA denied her access to his benefits, it's not like she'd need the measly monthly cheque. Her father would bankroll the opulent lifestyle he couldn't afford her.
"… and I have to say, your team is one of the finest teams I've ever seen here at Fort Riley. Sergeant Nichols is being PCS'd at the end of the month, and he told me personally there's only one man he wants to see take over command of the squad when he leaves, and I couldn't agree more. You lead by example and do a damn fine job. I submitted your promotion recommendation to the board, and they approved it earlier in the week." Major Bradly stood and extended his hand to Jack. "Congratulations, Staff Sergeant Napier."