Pistol: A Stepbrother Romance (5 page)

              I kiss the inside of her thighs while my right hand squeezes her right breast and my left hand squeezes her left butt cheek.  Hard.  I twist her nipples.
              "I'm so hot.  Fuck.  I want to feel you inside me."

              "Not yet.  A promise is a promise.  I'm going to eat your pussy first."
              I run my tongue around the outline of her bikini bottom.  Kissing as I go.  I move my tongue over the top of her swimsuit.  Down the middle and back up.  I can feel her engorged lips.  Her leg quivers.  She moans.  Her back arches.  She yells, "Take me now."
              Two dogs bark.  Loudly.  They are close.  What the fuck?

              "Oh no," she says.

              "What's going on?"

              "Holmes!  Watson!  Ruhig!"

              "Ruhig?"

              "It's German for silent.  Their commands are in German."

              "Their?  You have dogs?"
              "Yeah.  I love animals."

              Then Jonathan's voice.  "Is everything OK out there."

              Fuck.  The outdoor light turn on and Emily dives into the pool.  I turned towards the house.  Jonathan was at the window looking out.
              "Where's Emily?"

              "She's diving for rings."

              "Rings?  We don't have pool rings."

              "Not those kind.  My dad's ring.  It fell off my hand."

              "Did she find it?"

              "Not yet.  We're still looking."

              "I can check the drain covers tomorrow.  Call the maintenance guy if we need to.  We'll get it back"
              It's OK.  We'll continue looking.

              Emily came up for air.  She was in neck high water.

              "Did you find it?" Jonathan asked.
              Emily's face drew a blank for a second.  "Not yet."

              "Need some help?"

              "It's OK.  We'll find it in few minutes.  It's right in this area."

              "OK.  Good luck.  Do you want the lights?"

              "No.  It's OK."
              "OK.  I'll shut them off.  Happy hunting."

              "Thanks.  Good night."

              Five seconds later the lights went dark.  Only the pool lights remained.

              "Oh my God.  That was close."

              "I seriously almost had a heart attack."
              "Me too.  First a good one, then a bad one."

              We laughed.
              "What were we pretending to look for by the way."
              "My dad's ring."

              "Did you lose it."

              "No.  It's on a chain in my pants pocket."

              "Thankfully."

              "Definitely.  I would never, ever, lose that ring."

FIVE YEARS LATER

              "Vodka tonic"

              The flight attendant flashed me a smile and poured my drink.  I handed her $9.  $5 for the vodka.  $2 for the tonic.  $2 for the service.
              "Thank you."

              "You're welcome."  She winked.  She set the drink on a napkin.  I could see her name and phone number written on the side closest to me.  It was an 858 area code.  Probably Solana Beach or Del Mar.  The boys and I went to the track there often.  Watch the ponies.  Have some drinks.  Solana Beach was just as fun.  Learning to surf.  The adrenaline rush.  The Belly Up for live shows.  A Colorado Mountain boy in Cal-e-for-ni-a.  What a ride.
              $7 for a vodka tonic.  Yesterday I had the same at the E-Club for $2.  Legends Enlisted Sports Bar at MCAS Miramar.  It was my date of separation.  And what a separation it was.  The last five years I lived and breathed USMC.  Like many, I started out as one of Uncle Sam's Misguided Children.  They molded me.  I was reborn hard.  Harder, smarter, and tougher than I knew possible.  But not as hard as I needed to be 113 days ago.

              The incoming mortar was the last thing I remembered.  Primitive warfare, but effective.
              We were determined not to let ISIS take Tikrit.  There was no way we were going to let them take any more of Iraq.  Once we had Tikrit we could continue the push.

              We had secured the area 27 minutes prior.  No hostiles in sight.  Radioed it in.

              A couple of our boys stepped just out of sight of the civilians to have a cigarette.  A quick smoke to relieve the stress.  Then it came.
              They told me Big Tex yelled "incoming."  I'm sure he did, but I can't remember.  Can't remember anything after that point.
              Next thing I know I'm on a cot and I can't feel anything from waist down.

              The doctors have been amazing.  I didn't lose anything physical.  Mental and emotional?  Sure, but physically I was still all in one piece.  But not the same.
 

              They physical therapy was working.  They said it would take years.  I could already get around pretty good.  Just not good enough to be a Marine.  Damn.  It hurts to say that.

              They treated me good.  Even offered me a desk position.  Pogue.  Fuck that.  I'm not sitting at no damn desk.

              Then they offered me disability.  Said I'd get paid a monthly check the rest of my life.  I said thanks, but to hell with that.  I ain't disabled.  Maybe by their standards.  Not by mine.

              I'm not bitter.  Just wish I could be back with the boys.  Smokin' and jokin.'  What I'd give to be in the field right now eating one of those shitty MREs.  Those things stay good for what seems like 100 years.  Just heat 'em and eat 'em.  Sometimes you can't even heat 'em.  Just take it how it comes.  Worry about the upset stomach later.  Just hope it doesn't come in the middle of a firefight.

              Funny thing was the guys all called me Pistol.  They would give anything for their M-16s.  Me?  Give me a Glock 19 and I'm good-to-go.

              The girls used to call me Pistol.  The ones back home.  For a different reason.  Somehow I can't escape that damn nickname.  I'm not complaining.  There are worse things to be known for.

              So here I am.  Frontier Airlines flight 556.  Two hours and 15 minutes non-stop to Denver.  The longest 2 hours and 15 minutes of my life.  And also the shortest.  Because as soon as I land.  It's over.

              "Pete!"

              "Please ma'am.  Stay back."  The security guard may have been 6'5", but you can't measure the love a woman has for her child.  Abby broke right through his attempt at a forearm block and embraced me in a huge hug.  Well before I had entered the official greeting area.
              My mom didn't give a shit.  I was her son.  Her only son.  Her only child.

              "Welcome home, Pete."  Jonathan extended his hand.

              "Thanks, Jonathan."

              His handshake was as firm as ever.

              "You're not just running that place from the office I see.  I can see you're still a hands-on kind of guy."

              "I am.  It's my passion.  Plus I love building things with my hands.  That's how I got into property development in the first place."

              Emily flashed me a smile.  She hadn't moved.  About 10 feet in front of me.

              She was wearing a white summer dress.  It came to just above her knee.  There were some flowery patterns at the bottom and around the shoulders.  Other than that it was as simple as could be.  Simple, but sophisticated.  Just how she had been when I last saw her.  She looked beautiful.  Stunning.  My legs may not yet be at 100%, but my other appendage in that area was definitely standing at attention.

              She had kept her word.  We had wrote to each other for the last five years.  Growing even closer.  While the boys were out tearing up the town and relieving stress at night I was penning letters.  I took a lot of shit when my best friend Corporal Bryce "Hollywood" Henderson caught me, but I didn't care.  Ol' Hollywood was too busy dressing up like a movie star and charming the ladies.  He was made for California and California for him.  He even consulted on a few action films in his spare time.  Couldn't do it under his real name, but we didn't care.  We were glad to see directors that wanted accurate portrayals of military life.  Nothing worse than shelling out $12 to watch a movie and seeing an M-16 fire about 2,000 rounds without changing the magazine.  Even worse when they shoot down planes with one shot.  "Hollywood" Henderson squared them away.

              All I could do was look at her.  Jonathan and Abby had no idea.  Emily had rented a post office box in downtown Denver just to receive my letters.  She said she kept every one and put them in a scrapbook she was keeping for me.  For us.  Often she would put a drop of her perfume on the letter.  Once I had been cut and hadn't noticed when I turned in the letter to be mailed.  The reply came back with some blood of her own at the end.  It said, "When you bleed, I bleed.  When you breathe, I breathe.  All of you, is all of me."  I remember when I received that letter.  I opened it and read it immediately.  The Gunny said he asked me about eight times if I was alright.  I didn't hear the first seven.  He could see everything he needed to know by the expression on my face.  The way my posture changed.  How everything about me was different.