“The hell are you?” I asked as we approached Maple’s SUV and my motorcycle parked next to it. “A dating coach?”
“I should be,” he replied. “You need one. When’s the last time you were on an actual date? Hell, when’s the last time you were in a real relationship?”
“Why?” I lowered my glasses, peering over the rim at Maple. “Is that an invitation?”
He shot me a middle finger. “Remember, I’m the one who’s married. You could take a lesson or two from me.”
I snorted and placed my helmet over my head. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Been married for ten years. I might know a little something.” He winked like the goofball he was. “Also, you want that instructor position down by San Antonio, don’t you?”
I stopped and cocked my head sideways.
“Come on, Cannon. You know as much as I do, the brass likes to promote settled guys, with families and shit.”
I shook my head. “I’m transferring overseas in six months.” I knew what Maple said was true. It was an unspoken and unofficial rule that Airmen who were married and had families tended to fare better when it came to career options.
But I’d done just fine in the Air Force.
I liked the constant moving every three to four years. It worked for me. Even though I’d started to have doubts about relocating to Germany.
With my family still in Harlington, this was the one place I wasn’t so gung-ho about leaving again.
I chose not to reveal any of that to Maple. And I definitely wouldn’t tell Maple that my own marriage preceded his by six years. I’d been married for sixteen years, though only on paper.
“Maybe you should give Tricia a chance again. She’s cute.”
“Yeah, but she's a pain in the ass.” Tricia and I had gone out for a few months, and she was fun for a little while. Not bad in bed, but she wasn’t a keeper. Which was what she wanted to be.
I didn’t do long-term. A fact that I made clear from the beginning.
“Fine, give someone else a shot.”
“Here’s an idea: Take all that advice you’re trying to give me, wrap it up in a bow and shove it up your ass. I’m going home. You should do the same since you have a wife and all.”
The last thing I heard was Maple’s chuckle as I revved up my bike and peeled out of the base’s parking lot.
I did my best to let the wind whipping against my face, and thoughts about my earlier training flight, push out ideas about dating and women. One woman in particular.
She has a kid.
That one thought pushed through all of the rest. Savannah had come back to Harlington, but she wasn’t alone. A little boy was with her. A boy who distinctly called herMama.
He appeared to be around eight or nine.
She’d gone and had a kid with someone else. I tightened my hold on the handles of my bike and forced myself to calm down. But the anger continued to boil inside of me.
I made it home in record time, noting that I’d done well over the speed limit the entire way. I entered the house through my garage and slammed my door shut if for no other reason than I needed to work out my aggression.
I stripped out of my flight suit and changed into a pair of gym shorts and nothing else. I headed down to my basement gym, gloved up, and started wailing on my punching bag.
Physically, I was exhausted from work, but the emotions coursing through me were too raw to let me sleep.
Thirty minutes in my home gym should work well enough.
I trudged back upstairs after my gym session and toweled off while entering the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. As I took my first sip, the doorbell rang.
I grabbed my phone from the counter and opened the app connected to my video security system. I almost dropped the damn thing when I saw who was standing at my door.
