“I can’t. I need to…” Hide. Be embarrassed and ashamed elsewhere.
“No worries,” Marcus said as if my answer wasn’t a big deal. “If you change your mind, I’m going there now because I can’t guarantee Carl won’t eat all the bear claws!” He walked away with a wave. I let him go, watching him go down the hall, and then—what could it hurt? I was already embarrassed. I needed to get my act together. It wasjustcoffee. And maybe I could apologize and clear the awkwardness between us.
“Coffee sounds good,” I called, jogging to catch up with him.
Marcus stopped, turning with a broad grin that made my stomach flip. “Let’s do this pastry thing.”
Carl was mid-bite into his second pastry, powdered sugar dusting his Guardian Hall sweatshirt as if he’d lost a battle with a bag of flour. “You two are slow,” he mumbled around a mouthful of pastry.
Marcus scoffed, reaching past him to grab anapkin. “Some of us walk like normal people and don’t inhale pastries like they’re oxygen.”
Carl shrugged, unbothered. “That’s a ‘you’ problem.”
I tuned them out, fiddling with the coffee machine, pretending I wasn’t listening as they bickered like an old married couple. The machine let out an angry gurgle, and I smacked the side of it as if that would somehow help.
“You know that’s not how machines work, right?” Marcus teased, leaning against the counter.
“It’s worked before,” I muttered, then finally got it going, then turned to offer Carl a cup—only to find him already gone.
Next, Marcus held up the box with the last two remaining items in triumph, grinning so wide it almost hurt. Nothing should dim that smile. Nothing I did should ever make it fade beneath the weight of my baggage.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted.
Marcus blinked, startled. “What for?”
“For what I put you through,” I admitted, the words tumbling out before they choked me.
Marcus stared at me, then, balancing the pastries and files under one arm, gestured towardthe coffee. “Bring that, and let’s go sit in my office. It’s quieter in there.”
I followed Marcus to the medical room and waited as he unlocked the door, let us inside, and locked it again
“Picnic,” Marcus announced, placing the pastries and napkins on his desk in the small room attached to the medical bay.
This wasn’t the first time I’d been in here—my burns still needed regular checks, my medication requirements assessed. Still, it was the first time I’d noticed his office—small, clean, cluttered with thick medical books and Marcus’s jacket slung over the back of a chair. I focused on the framed diploma, its sleek black frame standing out on the pale wall. Marcus had gone the whole way, finished his degree, and I’d completed just two years in college before enlisting, abandoning textbooks for the military.
“Jazz told me that Carl mentioned we could go to college if we wanted to. Y’know, there’s funding and stuff.”
Marcus pushed his chair to one side and laid his jacket on the floor. He then sat cross-legged and gestured for me to join him, which I did, with far less grace from my tired muscles.
He offered me a pastry, and I set it on a napkin beside my coffee.
“What would you study?” he asked.
I exhaled, shifting, uncomfortable. “I hated college,” I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck. “I wanted to get out, see the world, do something that mattered. I was going to be career military, work my ass off, be the best.”
Marcus nodded, listening without judgment, and that made it worse. “And now?”
I swallowed hard. “I don’t know.” The words felt heavier than I expected. “Formal education isn’t my thing. But… I don’t know what my thing is anymore.”
We ate pastries and drank coffee in companionable silence, neither of us rushing to fill it.
“Maybe I’d study music.” I winced as Marcus’s eyes lit up.
“Wait—music? What do you play?” he asked, leaning forward, interest sparking in his expression.
I shrugged, suddenly regretting saying anything. “A little. Guitar, mostly.”
Marcus grinned. “That’s not just ‘a little.’ That’s a whole thing. Why didn’t I know this?”
