Page 4 of Wrong Number, Right Soldier (Wrong Number, Right Guy #11)

Saylis

We talked every single day…and then all of a sudden: radio silence.

The days slide under me, through me. A week after no contact, I completely refocus.

I know that I’m ready to take the exam. I’ve probably been ready for a while; I know the material like the back of my hand.

It’s just that once I do pass, that’s it—I will have to take the next step. Get a big-girl job. Be an adult.

Why is that scary?

My friends aren’t surprised when I get the results: Pass.

They stop mentioning Trey by day ten. On day fourteen, sitting at my desk (because I’m going to be more mindful about my posture), scrolling through job postings, my phone vibrates next to me—even though it’s on Focus mode for another two hours, which is supposed to silence all calls and texts. Silence , silence.

Except for that one, approved contact .

My heart climbs all the way into my throat, so thick and high that I can taste acid on the back of my tongue and in every chamber of my sinuses. Why would I get a call from Kuwait after all this time? It’s either him—or it’s someone else with his phone, with awful, horrible news.

But who would call me with bad news about Trey? I’m not next of kin. I’m not…anything. Referring to him as my boyfriend to Hannah exactly one day before he ghosted me makes me feel every level of crazy-girl crazy.

I miss the call. There simply wasn’t enough time to cycle through all of the freaking out before I could answer it.

Deep breath in.

All the way out.

What. The. Fuck. Though.

My phone lights up again.

I swipe to answer before it can make even one pulse of vibration. Trey’s handsome face fills the screen and fills up my heart. Traitorous heart .

He ghosted us .

His first word to me isn’t a word at all, but a long, long breath out.

“Saylis,” he says my name like it’s the very thing that will cure all of his weariness—and as I just look at him a moment, that’s what I see.

Weary lines around his dark, soulful brown eyes that I have gazed so much into, his soft, full mouth, his ruddy cheeks and sculpted jaw that’s covered in more hair than I thought was regulation.

There’s a line down his forehead I never noticed so prominent before.

The man is spent .

“What…happened?” I manage.

“We had to leave, deployed on a mission.”

“You’re already deployed,” I state, confused.

“I can’t really explain it more than that,” Trey says, then he looks at me, into me, and then he pauses, drags a big hand down his tired face.

“You could’ve given me a heads-up,” I mutter, still feeling heartbroken in spite of the explanation.

My head knows now that he didn’t really “ghost” me—or rather, my head chooses to believe his words.

My heart is still bruised, and even hearing that it wasn’t…

on purpose …it can’t just un-bruise, just like that.

“No, sweetheart. I couldn’t have.” Sweetheart. The endearment lands as tenderly as it always does. A tiny balm on my feelings.

“I’m…sorry,” I say for some reason.

He lets out a breath that’s sort of also a chuckle. “ I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t sound like you have a reason to be.”

His shoulders relax, and he exhales once more. He looks at me, smiling—halfway there now to his normal, full grin. We’ll get it back .

“How did your test go?” Trey asks me.

“Good. I passed! How are…the rest of the unit there?”

Trey just nods.

“Can I ask you something, Trey?”

“Anything. Please.”

“How long are you staying in for? The service, I mean.”

“I’ve got almost ten years in,” Trey says to me. “Halfway to retirement, unless for some reason, I just love it so much I want to do longer.”

“ Oh .”

He’s a lifer .

“This is my career,” Trey adds. “It’s all I can do. What I’m…cut out for. Like you’re meant to serve through teaching? I’m meant for this.”

I nod, probably too many times. And I smile, probably a little bit wobbly. These past two weeks…that was rough . Can I handle this life for ten or fifteen more years, or maybe even longer?

I dwell on that question for all eternity after we hang up. Until finally, I come to the only true answer:

How can I not?

#

“So he didn’t ghost you?” Cleo asks over glasses of wine at Stasia’s place.

“He just went no-contact for like, two weeks,” Stasia clarifies for me.

“But he didn’t have a choice,” I explain to them.

“What’d they have to do?” Kim asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Where’d they go?” Cleo asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Babe,” Stasia says, topping off our glasses before she sidles in next to me on the sofa, “how are you gonna do this ?”

“I don’t know.” I heave a sigh. Which seems to be everyone’s cue to take a long, looong sip of wine. I reach for my phone to show them some of the things that I found, in my desperate attempt to…I don’t even know, scare myself away?

“I worry about him a lot more now. How does anyone even do this?”

“He’s in Kuwait though, they don’t see combat,” Kim assures me.

“But look. There was a shooting at an infantry base. In Georgia —not the country Georgia, the state . Trey is infantry,” I expound to them, the constant concern and dread ever consuming me.

“Honey, unfortunately, this is the U.S. There are shootings here.”

“Yeah… God .” I bite down on my cheek.

“Great party, Stas,” Cleo deadpans, nose wincing. She pounds more of the wine.

“Soldiers died during a live-fire night-training exercise in Kuwait. It wasn’t Trey’s unit,” I carry on ranting. Lord knows why. “And did you hear about the Black Hawk—”

“Okay, you’re not allowed to look at the news.” Stasia rips my phone from my hand.

Kim pins me with a parental look. “ Turn off your social media.”

Then Cleo asks, all too shrewdly, as if my love life is being played out in some lab and she’s been just watching, taking notes: “Are you trying to find reasons to not fall any deeper in love with him?”

That punches me into silence. My throat closes around tears that suddenly decide to take up residence there. I nod. “Yeah.”

“Then babes, it’s already too late.”

A long, awkward, still silence comes over us like a weighted blanket. And then out of nowhere, Kim grabs her wineglass, drains it, and pops to her feet.

“Let’s go out.”

“Right now?” Cleo asks, warily.

Stasia bolts up from the sofa. “I’m in!”

Cleo’s head tilts left then right, left again, as if seeing if the idea has balance. Then she stands up. “Okay yeah, let’s do it.” She looks at me. “It’d be good for you, Say.”

Kim reaches her hand over the coffee table, waiting for me to place mine into it. “You need to get out. You already passed your big test. Clear your head. C’mon.”

And that’s how we ended up back at the club where it all first started.

If I thought the déjà vu was strong when we first walked in, it’s overwhelming now, as I spot the guy who first handed me the business card with the phone number on it that had a nine that looked like a four that led me to Trey.

And here he comes.

“Hey,” he says, evidently recognizing me right away. “You’re that girl. Sailor.”

“Saylis,” I remind him.

“Yeah. You never called.”

“No, yeah, I did. I must have gotten one of the numbers wrong.”

He precedes to tell me the number out loud.

“No I know,” I tell him, aiming for polite. Possibly failing a little bit. “I dialed a four instead of a nine.”

“Oh.” He gives a short nod. “What’re you drinking?”

I glance down at my glass of vodka-cranberry, and shake my head. “No, that’s okay. I kind of, have a boyfriend now.”

He lifts a blond eyebrow. “ Kind of have a boyfriend?”

“I have a boyfriend,” I state more frankly.

“Gotcha. Well, good luck. He should treat you right, give you everything you deserve.”

Derek turns on a heel to leave, and poof! , in comes Cleo. “He seems like a nice guy,” she observes. “He is good looking.”

“And here ,” Stasia throws in, apparently also materializing from thin air.

“But that doesn’t matter,” Kim says plainly, a gleam in her eyes. “She’s in love.” She looks at me. “Have you told him yet?”

“Who, Trey?”

“Mmhm.” Kim’s smile is coy, too coy.

“Do I look like a crazy person?”

“To be fair, babes. You don’t not look like a crazy person,” Stasia says, and Cleo can’t hide the fact she agrees.

Oh…what the hell am I doing? Falling in love with a person I’ve never met? That is pretty crazy.

Not telling someone I love them, that I love them?

That’s insane .

#

And so, later that night, early in the morning for Trey, I decide I am going to do it. I am going to just come out with it. What have I got to lose?

“Trey. I have something to tell you,” I say to him.

“I have something to tell you, too.”

“Oh. Okay. You go first.”

He holds in a breath, his dark eyes going wider and wider with the anticipation of delivering his news. Which must be big news, because I’ve never, ever seen him like this.

Then, finally: “We’re coming home!” His smile is humongous and beaming. It’s all the way back , and then some.

Meanwhile my brain short-circuits. I have no idea what I was going to tell him or why it matters. He’s coming home .

HE’S COMING HOME !

I chill the eff out just long enough for him to explain that it will take a week or more to get home after they leave. There are, I guess…lots of stops.

“What were you gonna tell me?” Trey asks me. Right. That .

Do it now .

I open my mouth and the words fall out of me like a mess on the floor. I can’t even stop them. “I’m falling in love with you, Trey.”

And then I just wait—for him to say something, or show any expression or emotion at all. But there’s nothing. No reaction. No response…whatsoever.

What on earth ? No, wait, his face isn’t moving . Did his phone freeze? Did the line go dead, is he playing possum? Holy shit, this sucks!

I don’t know if he heard me or not, but it doesn’t matter—I’ll tell him again when he’s here. I’ll tell him again and again and again. I hang up, knowing he won’t call back tonight—he’ll be headed to formation soon. All that’s left in my brain is:

Come home, Trey. Come home .