Duty: A Secret Baby Romance (14 page)

Sorry, duty is running late. Are u 2 ok?

I quickly text back.
He's fine. Just went to sleep. I'll watch over him until you can get home. Stay safe.

There's no reply, but that's okay. I turn on the TV again, keeping the volume low, and watch what's probably the world's worst sci-fi movie, but it is at least worth a few laughs as the hours wind away. It's nearly ten thirty when I hear a car pull up outside, and Lindsey comes in, looking exhausted.

“Are you okay?” I ask, getting up and leading Lindsey over to the couch. “Jesus, you look like you went through hell today.”

“It's okay,” Lindsey gasps, her face still dotted with sweat. “Just had a long day. How was Lance?”

“Just like before, an amazing little boy,” I reassure her as she winces, pulling off her ACU top. “What happened?”

“Nothing a good two bucks in that massage chair they've got down at the PX can't fix,” Lindsey groans. “Too bad the line is an hour long on Sundays.”

“Here, lean back on the couch and just chill,” I tell her, getting up. “I've had a few tough days too. Let me get you some herbal tea. I'd offer you a neck rub, but . . .”

“But I understand why you don't,” Lindsey says, smiling until she turns her head and winces. “The tea sounds nice though.”

I brew some, confident at least that she'll like the blend since it’s hers, starting the kettle on the stove. I'm just getting the cups down when I hear her behind me, and I turn, surprised. “Thought you'd be chilling out.”

“I just wanted to say thank you for watching Lance today,” Lindsey says, going to the freezer and opening it up. “Share a slice of pound cake with me? It's my weakness, the Sara Lee frozen pound cake. I buy one about once a month, pre-slice it, and then nuke it on bad days or if I do a really good PT session.”

“Deal,” I reply, making the tea while Lindsey portions out the pound cake and starts the microwave. After it's done, we take it all into the living room, where she sets it down on her coffee table and settles in. “So, what kept you late?”

“Right at 1700, we had an incident in the barracks. That took up a lot of extra time, and it’s why I'm stiff.”

“What the hell happened?” I ask, shocked.

“My shoulder went bouncing off a wall when someone thought that I could be shoved out of the way when two guys found out they were seeing the same girl,” Lindsey says with a light groan. “Thankfully, I've got Monday off because of it.”

We sip our tea, sharing the pound cake. It's store bought and still delicious, and I smile at the homeliness of it all. “That was pretty good,” I tell her when I finish the cake but still have half a cup of tea. “Hanging out with Lance is about the most fun I've had since getting to Bragg. I seem to be a bit of a homebody otherwise.”

“I know what you mean,” Lindsey says, shaking her head. “You . . . you know, it's not easy.” She sets her tea down, looking up at me. “I know loneliness, Aaron. I've been going to bed with it for four years too.”

“Did you ever . . . well, did you ever try and just hook up, just to try and break out of the rut?” I ask. “I tried, but I just couldn’t do it.”

Lindsey nods, biting her lip. “Same with me.”

She leans toward me, and I can see in her eyes the warmth, the connection that's been missing for all these years. I didn't know it at the time, but I gave her more than a child and a gold chain four years ago. I gave her a piece of
me
, and I see it in there, waiting for us to just come a little closer. I reach up and run my thumb along one perfect cheekbone, so close that all we have to do is . . .

My phone rings, startling us both, our lips just an inch apart, her breath tickling against mine, and it's with real regret that I sit back. I grab my phone and look at it, sighing. Captain Bradley. “Yes, sir?”

“The battalion commander just got a call from the MPs. You need to come in. Got a problem with your platoon, Lieutenant.”

I close my eyes, feeling my dreams shatter. Lieutenant. Always, first and foremost, Lieutenant. “Roger that, sir. Need me in uniform?”

“Negative. Civvies are fine. Top's already notified your Platoon Sergeant, so get here ASAP.”

“Understood, sir. I'm ten minutes out. I'm on post already.”

Captain Bradley hangs up the phone, and I put it away, hating my phone. I look at Lindsey, who smiles softly and nods. “Go. Duty calls.”

I get up and go to her door, Lindsey following me. “Lindsey?”

“Yes?”

I swallow and look into her eyes, wanting to say so much more than I have the time for. “Tell Lance I had a great day, and I'd like to do it again soon. Call me this week?”

“I will. And again, thank you.”

Ten minutes later, I'm still fuming over the interruption, about ready to kill whoever the fuck just ruined my evening. Parking my car in front of the company headquarters, I see that the CO is already there, and while I'm getting out, Pillman pulls up. “Evening, sir.”

“A perfectly fucked up one,” I reply, returning his salute. I take a deep breath and go in, trying to calm myself. We go into the headquarters, knocking on Captain Bradley's door. “Sir?”

“Come in, you two. Let me fill you in,” Captain Bradley says, sighing. “We'll get to run through all this again Monday morning anyway, so have a seat. Let's be quick about it, it's twenty-three hundred hours, and this is not where anyone should be at this time on a Saturday night.”

“You mentioned the MPs, sir. What happened?” I ask, sitting down. Captain Bradley's in jeans and a t-shirt himself, and he looks tired. “One of mine?”

Bradley nods. “Specialist Hardy got himself into a fight at the bowling alley after putting down a few too many beers. The staff broke it up, but he punched out a reservist Major.”

Oh, shit. Getting drunk and fighting is one thing, but to punch out an officer? A perfectly good way to fuck up your time in the Army. “He's cooling his heels, sir?”

Captain Bradley nods, then passes over the paperwork. “The Major had to go to the hospital from the ass kicking. Now from what the MPs said, the Major had it coming to him. He was drunk too and a total jerk. But you know we can't just overlook it. So, the commander told me that Hardy's going to be spending the rest of the weekend in the cooler, and then, depending on what happens between him and the Major's commander, Hardy may stand tall before the Lieutenant Colonel, or he might be standing tall before a court martial. What's your point of view on this?”

I don't even need Pillman to give me any advice on this one. I know Hardy. “He's dumb, sir, but he's a good trooper. If we can hammer him with non-judicial punishment, let's do that. He's got two years left on his contract. He doesn't need a Big Chicken Dinner on his discharge form.”

A Bad Conduct Discharge, or Big Chicken Dinner, is just about one of the worst discharges you can get. It's not quite dishonorable, but it's damn close. Pillman nods, speaking up. “Sir, Lieutenant Simpson's right. Hardy doesn't need time in custody. He needs to be allowed to ride out his contract. I'll watch him myself if we need to, me and his squad leader. That boy won't be able to fart without someone in the platoon knowing about it and offering him a wad of toilet paper to make sure he's clean as a whistle.”

“Okay. We'll get the details hammered out Monday. At least it gets us out of the motor pool for the morning. All right, Sergeant Pillman, thanks for coming in on a Saturday.”

“No problem, sir. If you don't mind, Hardy's squad leader lives in the barracks. I'm going to go have a talk with him before I go home.”

“Fill me in Monday, Sarge.”

Pillman leaves, and the commander turns to me, sitting back. “Bad luck, Lieutenant.”

I nod, rubbing at my temples. “Yeah. I knew Hardy is a country boy, likes his Budweiser and his MGD, but he's never had problems before. Worst we've had is him messing up the bathroom in the barracks when he tosses his cookies. But then when he sobers up, he always cleans it down spotless and makes it up to the guys who helped him out the night before.”

“That's what Top said too. Still, bad timing for you. It was in my email when I came in. Your pin date for First Lieutenant is set. Congrats, you pin next month.”

“Thanks, sir.” I nod, wondering if it’s as important to me as I thought just a few weeks ago. Going above the zone to Captain, being a hot shot, and looking good for promotion or for cool jobs in the Army just don’t seem as important as teaching Lance how to pass a soccer ball or figuring out who the hell the Velocifighters are. “Anything else?”

“Nope. See you Monday morning for PT.” I stand and give him a quick salute, which he returns. “Carry on, Lieutenant. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

Yeah, right.

“
H
ey
, Sergeant Morgan?”

Wednesdays are probably the easiest day. It's a good day to just chug away and clear my desk. I like Wednesdays.

I look up from my desk to see Beanie there, a mixed expression on his face. “Hey, Sergeant Beanie, what can I do for you?”

“You got some time? CO wants to have a chat.”

I check my desk. It's not too bad. “Sure, Beanie. Hey, Reilly, hold it down. I'll be back.”

I go next door, Beanie looking tense as we walk. “What's up, Beanie?”

“Two things, actually. First, I talked with the post re-enlistment office. I've got some options for you. Then, CO said he'd like to ask you about something he heard. He didn't say what, but by the look on his face, he didn't look like he was all that happy. But who knows?”

We get to Beanie's office, and I have a seat when he points to a chair. “So, what's the bargain, Beanie?”

“According to the Army, they've got a few options for you. The first is a two-year hitch, with a guaranteed slot in the Squad Leader Development Course. But, the signing bonus is low. No offense, Morgan, but you know that Admin Specialists just don't get the sexy re-ups. So, a two-year contract, and you get a five-grand signing bonus.”

Five grand? I mean, it’s better than nothing, but still. “What's behind door number two?”

“Longer terms, but bigger bonuses. Basically, a three-year term gets you an eight-grand bonus, and with a five-year hitch, they get really generous—fifteen grand, and you have your choice of duty assignments, based on what the Army has available at the time. Pretty sweet deal, but seeing your record, I can see why. Hell, Morgan, if they gave me that, I'd be sitting on some General's staff and making coffee for the rest of my career.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Beanie, I know you well enough to know that there's no way that you'd be happy on a General's staff. That takes someone who knows how to stay buttoned up, stay in the background, and be Johnny on the spot.”

“So what's looking good to you right now?” Beanie asks, and I know he's shifting into pitch mode. “You know what the Army would like. You sign the five-year, and that gets you halfway to a twenty-year retirement. Halfway to retirement at thirty years old. That's pretty sweet.”

“I bet you say that to everyone in my position,” I tell him, smirking and leaning back. “Does it ever work?”

“Sometimes,” Beanie acknowledges. “Honestly, though, you're one of the ones that I don't think it would. You'll make your decision for other reasons. Your son, for example. I'm not trying to go there hard, but you're a single mother. The Army does a pretty decent job of helping out with that. Schools are pretty good, you can't knock the benefits, and the scholarships available for Lance would be good too. If you want, I'll get you a little booklet on it, and you can read it over.”

“What, no high pressure to sign now?” I tease, and Beanie laughs.

“Nah. You've got a while left still. Six months from now, I might be pushing more, but hey, the earlier you sign, the earlier we can throw you a keg party,” Beanie says.

“I thought we're in the new Army, where we don't fuel everything by beer?” I ask, mock shocked.

“We'll party responsibly. Sergeant Washington, in Alpha Company, can't drink alcohol at all. He can be the designated driver. Stuff like that,” Beanie says, gathering his papers. “Here, keep these. I'll get you that packet I was talking about for when you and the CO are done. I have the websites saved. You leaning one way or another?”

I shake my head, gathering up the papers. “Not yet. I've got to think hard about this, Beanie. You know that. But thanks for the information.”

“No worries,” he says, standing up. “If you need any more help, gimme a ring. I know I'm the re-enlistment NCO, but I'm not totally biased.”

I leave Beanie's office and knock on the CO's door, where he has me wait a moment while he finishes up a phone call and waves me in. “Have a seat, Morgan.”

“Sure, sir. Beanie said that you wanted to talk with me about something?”

Captain Lemmon nods, then gets up and closes his office door. “Sorry. This is highly unofficial. I just wanted to give you a chance to explain something that Top saw this weekend. He brought it to me, and I felt like I should be the one to ask about it.”

“What's that, sir?” I ask, confused. “You sound pretty grim about it.”

“Sorry, I just wanted to talk with you before someone else gets involved,” Captain Lemmon says. “Basically, Top was doing a drive through of the housing area Saturday night with the guys on patrol. He went by your place, and he saw an officer's car parked out at the curb. He brought it to me after he ran the post tag, mainly because I was a little surprised at who it was.”

“Lieutenant Simpson?” I ask, trying to control the stab of fear that goes through me. “Oh yeah, he mentioned that you two were in the same company at West Point.”

“Yes, he was two years behind me. Now, I'm not saying you did anything wrong, Morgan, but what was he doing at your house that late on a Saturday night?”

At least I have a good reason for it, and I lean back, smiling. “Sir, I pulled weekend duty Saturday, remember? Aaron signed up through his battalion for their Big Brothers & Sisters program, and he agreed to watch Lance on Saturday. The fight in the barracks delayed my getting home. Aaron stayed late to make sure that Lance was put to bed properly, and then he let me vent about my frustrations for the day, that's it. Nothing inappropriate happened.”

Captain Lemmon hums, then nods. “Okay. I'll talk to him face to face on it, just to confirm. I'm a little pissed that someone at the battalion level, his or ours, didn't notify me that you had signed up for it, but that's not on you. Can I give you a bit of warning though, Sergeant Morgan?”

“Go ahead, sir.”

Captain Lemmon sips his coffee and sets the cup down, taking a deep breath. “I try to treat the work of every soldier professionally, evaluating you on the merits of your work alone. But I'm not blind. You're an attractive single woman, Lindsey. And Lieutenant Simpson is a single guy. I'm not saying that you two were fraternizing on Saturday, and I'll make sure that Top knows what happened so that any rumors can be squashed, but I can't promise that people won't talk. I know you need help with Lance, and I'll be honest, Aaron's one of those guys that I would put first in line for being a good role model. Just be aware that you might need to be loud and proud about the setup, and still . . . just be careful, got it?”

“Roger that, sir. And thanks for the heads up. Can I ask you a question, sir?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Captain Lemmon says, scribbling down a note. Knowing him, he's making sure that he has my info right for talking to Aaron.

“What was Lieutenant Simpson like as a cadet?”

Captain Lemmon laughs and sets his pen down. “He was a total spaz as a plebe, but most plebes are. Got pretty squared away by the end of his second year. By the way, when you talk about him . . . make sure he's Lieutenant Simpson anytime you're on duty. You called him Aaron twice. I understand off duty, as part of the program, we set the uniform aside, and I think of him as Aaron too. But it'd help if you make sure that to anyone else, he's Lieutenant Simpson.”

“Understood, sir. And thank you for your understanding.”

* * *

W
atching
Lance snuggle down with his favorite stuffed animal, I make sure he's sleeping peacefully before I head out to the living room, sitting down. Now that I've got a few moments of peace and quiet, I have the chance to actually think about what Captain Lemmon said.

The fact is, I liked that twenty minutes or so just hanging out with Aaron. And I didn't just like it because I was tired and appreciated the tea, or as a way to thank him for watching Lance for the extra time with no complaints.

But when I think of last Saturday, the memory of his thumb on my cheek is powerful, and the fact is that I haven't called him yet this week because I wanted to make sure that I'm clear on why I'm calling him. Am I calling for Lance? Or for me?

I guess it doesn't really matter, though. Aaron knows that, I think, which is why I reach for my phone and dial. To hell with it. Lance needs time with him. “Hello?”

“Aaron? It's Lindsey. How's it going?”

Aaron's voice in my ear helps me relax more than anything I've tried today, and in that instant, I know that I have to spend time with him too. Friend, lover, whatever . . . I need him. “Hey, Lindsey. This is the second time I've heard your name this evening.”

“Ah, Captain Lemmon called you?” I ask, smiling. “I thought so. He talked to me in his office, off the record.”

“That's Pete. He always prefers doing things person to person, if he can. Called me on my cellphone about an hour ago, just after I got home. We'd swapped numbers when we ran into each other at the O Club, just kinda networking at the time. He asked me about the Big Brother program and confirmed that I was there taking care of Lance. Actually, it was helpful that I did get called away. It gave me a clear time when I left. Did you hear?”

“About your soldier who got busted in the bowling alley? Yeah, that was on the blotter,” I tell him. “When I saw Delta, I cringed for a moment, hoping it wasn't one of yours.”

“Mighty Regulator, that one,” Aaron says, laughing for a moment. “So . . . what's up?”

“I'm calling to ask if you're free this Saturday.”

“You sure about that?” Aaron asks, surprised.

“Yes, I’m sure, and after the way that Lance went on about your day together, I wouldn't want it any other way,” I answer, lying to myself even as I say it. Sure, I want Lance to see him, but I want to see him too. “What do you say?”

“Of course,” Aaron says, and I can hear him smiling. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, I seem to remember that you and I used to enjoy biking together a lot,” I say, smiling. “While I don't have the bike shorts anymore, and my bike's built to carry Lance around as much as it is to ride, what about the three of us meeting up at your house and going for a ride? You can't keep dropping a hundred dollars every time you spend time with Lance, you know.”

“Oh, I can't?” Aaron says, chuckling. “Isn't that why I make the big bucks? To spoil my . . . sorry, to spoil Lance?”

“I do love that you two are getting along.” I pause for a second before continuing. “Okay. I'll bring my bike. We can have a date on Saturday.” It's only after I say it that I realize what I just said, and I feel heat creep up my neck. “I mean, a play date.”

“Right. What time, say . . . three or four? I don't know how long you like to ride anymore.”

“Four is better,” I tell him. “I'll get Lance up from his nap, if he'll go down at all, knowing he's coming to see you. We can ride for an hour, then maybe dinner?”

“I can't promise fresh grilled burgers, but it sounds like a plan.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Nope, I'm bringing dinner. It'll keep in your kitchen while we ride. How's that sound?”

“Sounds like a great afternoon. I'll poke around and see if I can find some decent bike routes in my neighborhood, nothing too hard. I'll see you Saturday. Good night, Lindsey.”

“Good night, Aaron.” I hang up the phone, smiling. I wonder, is it time? Aaron certainly likes Lance, and Lance likes Aaron a lot too. Am I rushing things, considering they've only hung out together twice? But, for three years now, Lance hasn't known who his father is, and I know he's starting to notice. It's not a big thing right now, but back in June, when the kids at daycare all made Father's Day cards, Lance was the only one who couldn't. He still made me a card, but I could tell he was thinking about it.

But if the Army finds out that I got pregnant from a man who’s now an officer, we might as well stand side by side in the middle of a machine gun live fire. It'd do the same thing to our careers. But still, it's not fair to Lance, and it's not fair to Aaron either.