Well, I’m going to be absolutely fucked.
“You’re doing great,” he simply says.
I drop onto the grass with the obvious excuse that I want to do more stretching, but frankly, I need the break.
“Try doing this with a forty-pound pack and in full uniform, in Afghanistan, in summer,” he says.
When I look, his gaze isn’t on me. He’s facing west, but his focus is thousands of miles away. Even I can see it.
“How bad was I last night?” he finally asks.
“I only heard you the one time. I’d had my earbuds in, though, so I don’t know how long it’d lasted before I noticed. Sorry.”
He slowly nods, then turns to me. His gaze pins me in place as he stares into my eyes.
“Stuff I tell you, it stays betweenus, unless I give you the okay to share it. Understand? About my health, or about my time in, or about anything personal like that.”
I nod.
“Car bomb.” I have to strain to hear him. “We were on foot patrol, away from our Humvees. Our unit took fire and we got penned in. Little town we’d never had trouble in before. Three of our guys were hit. We called for air support while our guys back at the vehicles tried to come in after us, at least give us some cover.
“This little fucking piece of shit car heads toward us, can’t even tell what color it is because it’s so thick with dust. No doors, no windshield. Driver dives out of it and I yell at everyone to take cover. I threw myself over the three guys we had down and took the brunt of the blast.”
“Oh, shit.”
He shrugs, that typical Carterno big dealshrug. “Lost three guys, seven more wounded, in addition to me and the three already down.”
“What about the three guys you protected?”
He shrugs again. “They made it.”
“You’re a hero.” I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud until he smirks.
“I’m just a grunt, kid. Just another nameless grunt. I woke up a week later back in Germany and wishing they’d kept me knocked out longer. I’d already had four surgeries in addition to the emergency field triage the medics did to keep me alive. That was my first step to returning home and civvie life.”
After a few more minutes I suspect are completely for my benefit, I can tell he wants to set off again, and we do. He’s still limping but his strides are more even now, less of the side-to-side rolling movement than before, and I have an easier time keeping up with him. We return to the dorm and both of us take long slugs from the water fountain in the downstairs lobby before riding the elevator up.
He’s not looking at me when he speaks again. “You did good today, kid.”
An unexpected flush of satisfaction fills me. “Thanks,” I mumble.
“No, I mean it. Dibs on the shower, though.” I finally look at him and he’s grinning. It takes a few years off his features. “After you get your shower, I’ll teach you how to make French toast and scrambled eggs.”
He holds his fist out, and I bump with him. “Thanks.”
* * * *
I notice Carter apparently won’t go shirtless around the others in our pod. When I finish my shower, I find he’s wearing baggy sweat pants and a T-shirt. While the dorm building is co-ed, the pods are not, and each floor is divided in half by gender. I know I won’t remember anyone’s names for a while, so for now I think of the other six guys sharing our pod more in terms of features—Tall, Skinny Blonde Geek With Glasses. Short Fat Gamer Dude. Mr. Personality. Probably Wanks In a Sock Guy. Snooty but Hopefully Not Evangelical Christian Bro. Really Cool Muslim Dude.
Labels like that.
Don’t judge me. I’m the dude who needed aliteralfucking military hero to teach me how to fold my goddamned T-shirts and how to scramble eggs, all right? I’m not saying I’m perfect.
I help Carter carry what we need into the kitchen. It seems no one’s up and about yet but us. Twenty minutes later, I’m astounded to realize I’m actually making French toast.
Damned good French toast.
He shows me how to slice the bread properly, even though apparently we should’ve let it get stale first.
