Page 125 of Severed Heart

BLINK.

“Nineteen! Twenty! Twenty-one! Fuck you, Jennings!” Beekman’s voice booms through the crowd surrounding me as I lift my chin past the bar. More catcalls ring out as I summon the last of my willpower and hit a record twenty-five pull-ups before landing on my boots. Celebratory cheers ringing out from all sides as I finish my final physical test of my four-year active stint as a Marine.

“He ran 17:39 on the three mile this morning,” Beekman boasts while landing an exaggerated clap on my shoulder “Eat that, fuckers!”

I hadn’t meant to make a show of it, but as I take in the commotion surrounding me, I can’t help the swell of pride for adding to my cutting score. Though I’ve been training for years—readying myself for this—I’ve surpassed my own expectations. The long runs for endurance are paying off in spades, as well as knowing exactly what efforts will get me promoted within the ranks. I set my sights early on my goal before enlisting, hell-bent on a position in Security Forces, before doing an eighteen-month stint overseas. After completing my MCIs and all other needed curriculum, I’ve got enough points to gain promotion if offered—possibly before starting my reserves.

There’s a lot that factors into it, but I’ll rest easy tonight knowing I’ve done all I can to rank sergeant.

It’s taken years of sweat, focus, and dedication, but the prep work I put in before joining has been heavily on my side. I keep myself well-fed, work out a ridiculous number of hours, staying sharp and mentally engaged as long as I’m conscious. The only unbearable hours are the rare few I allow myself between lights-out and the early wake-up call. It’s then I see her face and hear her voice—and mine. Mostly the haunting echo of my promises to her. Promises unfulfilled. Promises that will remain that way, saveone.

Because it never happened.

It’s during those long hours of silence that force reflection when I recall a life that feels so distant now—having exchanged every comfort I once knew for life in the Corps. After that morning, as I mentally forged myself anew while racing toward my recruiter, I enlisted as a heartbroken, pissed-off kid with his father’s chip on his shoulder.

Since then, I’ve exhausted that kid’s conflicting emotions and baptized him by hellfire with the help of the Corps. But no matter how much distance or how many months and years I’ve put between that morning and this moment, the ache for her remains. Even without her aware of it, my heart kept its promise.

“Ask me in a year how I feel about you, and I’ll say the same.”

That I’ve loved her every second, turned minutes into hours, becoming weeks, months, and years since I started inhaling militant breaths and exhaling my way through this mission. Engrossed in this life that I signed up for in an effort to become both the man and soldier I envisioned.

“Where did you go?” Beekman asks as we exit the complex.

“Just thinking about what’s next.” I shrug, glancing around to ensure we’re out of earshot. “Have you heard anything?”

“No, but keep your ringer on,” he says, cupping the back of his neck, the bold raven ink pattern on his arm mirroring mine. Though his tattoo is fresh, and over time, Beekman proved himself—becoming my first recruit—he’s far from my last. Over a dozen of America’s finest are steadily earning their ink by the day.

“Sadly, they don’t give a shit about timing for ourconvenience,” he states, his harsh exhale an indication that he’s just as on edge about not yet getting a call.

Like me, Beekman is set to start his time in the reserves soon, but his future plans include joining the alphabet mafia. His ambitions high for a spot in the bureau. Luckily for us both, he already has some connections in central intelligence. Connections which gave him the ability to make contact for the two of us to be considered as part of a loophole. One that will allow us to serve both our country and our wings on a far higher level—a level that will further my mission for educationbeyondthe scope of ninety-nine percent of others who serve.

“The silence is getting pretty damning, man,” I tell him, my anxiety ramping up that if we don’t get called up, my homecoming to Triple Falls is imminent. Dom is still finishing up at MIT, thinking of going for his master’s after possibly taking a semester or two off, which will delay our mutual homecoming. A grenade he pulled the pin on during my last visit to Triple—which I always keep brief. The upside is that in a few weeks, I’ll grab my rank promotion—if offered—having fulfilled my part in the Jennings legacy. Even if my father didn’t want me to have that part in it, he sent a letter every month in an effort to mend our fractured relationship.

A year into my time in the service, I sent my first return letter. While our relationship will never be what it once was, we aren’t nowhere, which is where it was when I left.

Keeping tabs on home is easy by way of my fly-throughs whenever I can get off base and by my mother, who faithfully reports all things Jennings. A mother who refuses to letanyextended period of time pass without contact. Her threats heard in the communications tent more than once during my first year. Something the guys in my company still give me shit about to this day. That and the fact that once they saw her on screen, they started voicing that they wouldn’t mind their own personal visits from Regina Jennings.

Fuckers.

“Fuck it, right? We knew it was a long shot.” Beekman flashes me a reassuring half-smile. “I’m going to grab a shower and some chow. We’ll just keep the faith, man, but in the meantime, I could use my wingman tonight and—”

“No,” I snap. “Immediately fucking no. I told you I’m never drinking with you again, and I meant it.” I cut my eyes at him in warning. “Ever.”

Beekman and I are the few in our inner circle presently unattached, and he’s never once been in genuine need of a wingman. His personal record being ten minutes in securing a hookup, whether it be male or female. His all-American look is deceiving as hell, as the devil residing within him reminds me of both Dom and Sean—especially with hisnighttime antics.But I both love and trust him like one of my brothers, and I’m looking forward to making the introduction when the time comes.

“Aww baby, that night was just a mix-up,” he coos before reading my expression and lifts his palms. “All right, but seriously, if neither of us gets the call, maybe I’ll fly home with you, and we can set up shop for a while.”

I give him a nod. “Yeah, that might work.”

“Catch up with you in a few,” he says, walking backward, exaggerating his swagger though his expression rings sincere, “but know this, Corporal Jennings, they’d be fuckingidiotsnot to dialyou.”

“Thanks, man,” I tell him, mustering a grin as he turns and saunters away, leaving me feeling uneasy about his suggestion to move back to Triple Falls full-time. Some part of me feels my time in the service is unfinished. Like I’m not yet ready for phase two, which once included setting myself up on the orchard.

Plans Barrett beat me to, already having set up house and home on the Jennings farm with Charlie, their son due any day. Both are actively living the dream I once pictured for myself, in a different life, and with a woman who had the same dream—just not with me.

But where my younger cousin is planting roots, I feel as if I’ve spread my wings—constantly shifting directions and forging a different path for my future with my brothers, both in arms and ink. My attention and efforts are now dedicated to their flight patterns, which now take priority over any significant shift of my own.

Even when they piss me off, they remain my forever constants. At times my heroes—other times annoying as fuck. But in letting go of everyone else’s mistakes and simply allowing the people closest to me to be who they are without running interference, I’ve liberated myself from the weight of their burdens. Forever trying to tame my inner hypocrite who judges too harshly for not acting or reacting like I would in their own situations. More importantly, showing up when they need me most to camouflage their mistakes. For them, and even from afar, I’ve become the problem solver. A role I take seriously to protect them at all costs while keeping my resolve that if it’s personal for them, it’s none of my fucking business.