Undeclared

Bo is willing to do whatever I want. If I reenlist, he’ll reenlist; if I get out, he’ll get out. I think most of the guys in my unit don’t want to come back, but some of them are going to try for Marine Force Recon. Another guy in my unit is leaving the Marines to try to be an Army Ranger. That sort of thing appeals to me, I guess. It’s like pitting yourself against the best alive, and, if you come out the other end, it’s amazing.

But having left my hometown, I guess I finally realized I don’t have to go back. That my entire life isn’t wrapped up in where I was born, where I went to school, or who my family is. But if I don’t reenlist and I don’t go back home, what do I do?

The one good thing is that while you are here, you’re given a list of things to do and then you do them. We’re just the weapons they aim and fire. Go forth and destroy shit, say the commanders.

I don’t know if I’m equipped to do anything else than be a Marine at this point or if I even want to be anything else. I’m tired of being here, but the war is winding down. Even if I did re-enlist, I probably wouldn’t see combat again. And my guess is that non-combat service doesn’t deliver the same adrenaline rush. That’s why the guys who are reupping are thinking Special Forces.

I think this is why Odysseus stays away for so long. He’s addicted to the adrenaline and, he’s afraid of what kind of person he might be when he gets back home. It was easier for him to keep going even though each new mission took him farther and farther away from Penelope. Sure, he said his whole goal was to return to her, but it was easier for him to love her from a distance.

Coming home was his greatest battle.

~ Noah

I had read Noah’s letters thinking he was invincible, but he wasn’t. For all his outward strength and physical ability and unceasing drive, he was just as human and frail as I was. I rolled on my side and placed my head on his shoulder. He slid his arm beneath my head and curled it around me. I thought I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep, but the food and the liquor and the warmth of his body lulled me into slumber.

Chapter Eleven

Grace

An insistent, discordant beep beep beep woke me. My head was resting on a rather hard surface that I quickly realized was Noah. I may have started out lying on one side of the bed, but I ended up on Noah’s side, sprawled over him like he was my favorite childhood stuffed animal.

Noah must not have realized I was awake because he was trying to gently move out from underneath me, but stopping when I stiffened.

“Hey, sorry, shhh,” Noah whispered, turning to me after shutting off the alarm. “Go back to sleep.”

It was dark out, and not even a finger of dawn could be seen at the edges of the blinds that hung over the window in this room. “What time is it?”

“It’s four. Can you go back to sleep?”

“Four?” Confused, I asked, “In the morning?”

“Yes,” Noah’s response came back a little strangled, like he was trying to swallow a laugh. “Just go back to sleep, Grace. I’ll pick you up later to take you to campus.”

I was wide awake now, and I didn’t want to sleep in Noah’s bed without him, in this strange house full of guys I didn’t know, and who I’d be embarrassed to see over breakfast.

“No,” I protested, getting up and looking around for my clothes. “You’re going to campus now to work out? You can just drop me off at my apartment.”

Noah sat on the side of the bed, rubbing his head. “I don’t go directly to campus, exactly.” Then he stood up as if he’d made up his mind. “If you want to come with me, I’ll take you.”

“Um, okay?” I said. I wasn’t sure where he was taking me, but it sounded kind of intriguing. Besides, I was up and here was an opportunity to learn something more about Noah.

I pulled on my shorts and went to the bathroom. Noah was already in there, brushing his teeth. He stopped and squeezed some toothpaste on an extra toothbrush for me.

“It’s new,” he said, his words a bit garbled as he talked around the toothbrush in his mouth. Noah finished brushing and left me to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, washed my face with his handsoap, and ran my fingers through my tangled hair. I tried not to contemplate why he had new toothbrushes at the ready.

Noah knocked a few moments later and said, “I have a clean T-shirt for you.” He handed me a grey tee identical to the one I was wearing. Faded, soft, with the letters USMC on it. No stash of female clothing somewhat ameliorated my pique over the clean toothbrush.

I pulled off the shirt I was wearing and exchanged it for its twin. I folded the discarded shirt and laid it upon the bed that Noah had already made. He was gone. I gathered he was impatient to start his day. Figures. Guys could be up and ready in five minutes.

Picking up my bag, I crept down the stairs. I didn’t want to be one of those rude overnight guests that the guys would complain about to Noah. I found Noah in the kitchen with an energy drink. He handed one to me, along with a bagel and took my bag. “Sorry I don’t have a better breakfast for you, but we can stop somewhere.”

I shrugged. I wasn’t terribly hungry but I really would’ve liked a shot of caffeine. “Is there caffeine in this drink you gave me?” I looked at it suspiciously.

“No. I’d make you coffee,” Noah said, leading me out into the driveway to his truck, “but I’ve been told my coffee has killed innocents, and I don’t want to harm you with my poor kitchen skills.”

I bit into my bagel a bit glumly and climbed into the truck. We drove only for a short five minutes when Noah parked at a small collection of stores just east of the main shopping mall. There was a dentist’s office, a yogurt shop, and a running store. Was he getting me coffee? But no, he parked around back of the mall, got out, and jogged around to open the door for me since I wasn’t coherent enough to coordinate movements like door opening. Noah seemed unaffected and just shot me a wide grin. “Come on, sleepyhead.”

I followed Noah into the back of one of the stores and we entered a small, spotless galley-like kitchen. Four glass-fronted freezer or refrigerators stood on one side. There was a large stainless steel table in the center and several contraptions on the other side. A small desk area was situated toward the rear, by the door we had just entered. I guessed this was the yogurt store.

“Welcome to my finance project,” Noah said, waving an arm around. “Can you do your hair up with a hair thingy?”

I nodded, pulled a hair band from my shorts, and wrapped my long, kind of snarled hair up into a pony. Noah handed me a white hair net that I put over my hair. He dropped a white apron over my head and spun me around to tie it. He then did the same for himself.

“Pretty sexy look for you,” I commented. Neither the white apron nor the hair net could do anything to reduce his masculinity. If anything, he looked more approachable.

“Had a lunch lady crush, did you?” Noah asked with disbelief.

He went to the freezer and pulled out a flat full of strawberries. “We have to hull and chop these by hand.”

“So you run this place?” I asked.

“No, but the owner is thinking of selling and said I’d have an opportunity to buy it,” Noah replied, methodically and quickly working through the flat of strawberries.

“Will you do it?” This fit into Noah’s empire-building scheme. I loved frozen yogurt and likely would eat all the profits if I worked here. I chopped, but my pieces weren’t as precisely cut as Noah’s. He didn’t seem to care however, scooping my diced strawberries into a stainless steel container with his. We silently moved through the fruit, cutting and hulling.

“I will, but I don’t have all the cash I need yet.”

I thought of my trust fund that I couldn’t access until I was twenty-five. I wondered if Uncle Louis would give me an advance against it. “Maybe I could—”

He cut me off with a quick flick of his wrist. “No. Bo already offered,” He put down his knife. “I’m doing this myself. The stupid thing is that if I hadn’t bought the truck before I came here, I’d have enough.” He sounded bitter again.

“When do you have time to train?”

“I train about two hours in the morning. Go to classes. Come here. Keep moving. Train again at night.”

“Is that what the person you talked with told you to do?” I avoided using the word counselor since Noah himself seemed averse to it. I wondered if I should tell him how much therapy went on in the Sullivan family, but decided I didn’t want to terrify him. Hey, Noah, my entire family props up the antidepressant-drug industry. You fit right in.

He laughed, a short, humorless sound. “Not really. He said I should learn to start taking it easy. But then I caught him smoking outside the VA, and when he was stubbing his cigarette out, he told me everyone has a vice. Overworking is mine, I guess.”

“Fighting seems dangerous,” I said hesitantly. It wasn’t like I hated the idea of Noah fighting, just the idea of him getting hurt.

“Not any more so than what Josh does,” Noah replied with some mild exasperation.

“He’s not in a metal cage with people kicking at his head. And he never broke anyone’s eye socket.” But I did worry about Josh quite a bit. A defenseless receiver across the middle of the field could receive crushing blows.

Noah just shook his head. “Let me guess. Mike told you that.”

I nodded, and Noah looked like he wanted to drive to the library and break something on Mike’s face. “I didn’t break anyone’s eye socket. I punched the guy in the eye. He was a bleeder and shed all over the floor. It was a fucking mess, and I guess he wore an eye patch for a few days. I think he made up the story to impress some girl and it got out of hand.”

“I just would hate for you to get hurt if it wasn’t something you truly loved doing,” I said, trying to keep the worry out of my voice and be more matter-of-fact.

“The incidences of injury increased in boxing when gloves were introduced. Fists rarely cause the type of injury you’re worried about,” Noah said, sounding a little annoyed. This was definitely not the first time he had said this.

“Do you do any illegal fighting?” I asked, wanting to know everything I could.

“Is that what Mike told you?” I’d have to make sure that I always stood next to Mike when Noah was around. I could tell he was getting increasingly disgusted with Mike.

“He said something that hinted at it,” I mumbled.

“There is a lot of good money in unsanctioned events. They’re run by shady promoters but probably still legal. They’re just not approved by any of the mainstream management bodies. Then there are the underground fights. Those are all cash and you can pull in a few hundred every night, easy. Sometimes more,” Noah admitted.

“So yes?” I pressed.

“Have I? Yes. How do you think I’m going to fund this thing?” He waived his knife around the room.

“But if I or Bo could lend you some money—” I started and Noah interrupted.

“It’s not really as dangerous as you think. It’s rare that you ever fight someone who’s had any training. Usually the guy with the quicker fist or the stronger jaw wins. As a trained fighter going in, you can pick and choose what punch to take, to make the crowd excited, and then when to lay out your opponent. The likelihood of injury is low,” he said earnestly. It seemed important to him that I understood this and even supported it.

“What about other trained fighters, like you? It can’t be all inept people,” I objected.

“Mostly. A lot of underground fighters are like bored businessmen. Some of them are former big men on campus who’ve just gone to college or got a job and realized that all the high school glory doesn’t carry over. Sometimes you’ll meet up with another trained fighter, but rarely because there are more legitimate big money opportunities now with network contracts.” Noah went over to the strange contraptions, checked things and moved on, like he was executing a mental to do list.

“So why not just fight underground all the time?” I asked, still unconvinced.

“Not enough paying fights. It’s really random. Some guy has to find a place for us to fight and then you have to get three or so fights together to make it worthwhile. And, frankly, it’s getting harder and harder to find people willing to fight against me because I’ve been winning. We’re making less money on bets too, because the odds are low.”

It was all about the money for Noah.

“So you’re like a girl stripping to pay for law school only you’re fighting for money?” I asked.

This made him laugh. “I guess so. Never thought of it that way.” Noah set down his knife. “You don’t have to worry about me, Grace. I can take care of myself. Plus I’m trying to do only sanctioned events now.”