“I didn’t realize it had to be equal,” she scoffs.
“Of course it does. Do you have any siblings?”
Bailey grumbles, “Yeah.”
“How many?”
“My turn. Why was Japan your favorite? Let me guess, it had to do with women.”
I tilt my head at her, narrowing my eyes. “Why do you think of me like that? Like I’m some sort of man whore.”
“Aren’t you? I’m sure you’re out with women when you leave in the middle of the night.”
I grunt, but don’t tell her otherwise. There’s no point if this is how she sees me for. Little does she know, the last woman I slept with was her. And before her, it had been years since I’d touched a woman.
“I liked the culture there. The sights, how different it is from the states. Being able to experience new things in such a different place without the imminent threat of danger was nice for a little while,” I explain, and it clearly catches her off guard. “How many siblings do you have?”
“I had four.”
I notice the way she sayshad, but I know she won’t let me ask another question until she does. I grab a wheelbarrow and shovel to start mucking the horse stalls.
“What made you leave the Army?”
I freeze, staring at the sawdust covered ground and doing my best to control my breathing to not let the memories of the reason take over. To not let her know there is any real reason. But then she speaks up again.
“Is it because of what happened to your leg?”
I grunt out some variation of, “Yeah,” before continuing to clean out the stall, refusing to turn around and face her until I’m sure my face won’t give anything away.
“I had three brothers and one sister. One of my older brothers died of an overdose a couple years ago,” she speaks softly, and while I’m able to hear her it gets me to turn around.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
She shrugs. “It’s whatever. He made his choices, and my oldest brother Brent tried to help him for years. Brandon made his bed, and he ended up laying in it.”
I don’t tell her I know all too well what she means. Plenty of the guys I met during my time serving turned to destructive habits as a coping mechanism. Drugs, alcohol, self-harming behaviors. It’s all too common for veterans. Especially those of us that get injured and are forced out against our will.
“I am a little surprised, though,” she says, her tone lighter.
“About what?”
“That you don’t know who my brother is. It seems like everywhere I go my name is recognized thanks to him.”
I turn toward her, leaning my elbow on the end of the picking tool while giving her a questioning look. “Is he famous or something?”
“You must not watch sports.”
“Not really high on my list of hobbies. Sometimes I put golf on.”
“Golf?” she sputters.
“Yeah, it’s not too loud, kind of peaceful.” I shrug, continuing to clean out the stalls. “What sport does your brother play that makes him so famous?”
“Hockey. My oldest brother, Brent, played for the Denver Dragons, but just retired,” she explains softly.
“Hockey is cool, pretty violent though. Sounds like I don’t want to piss him off.”
She scoffs. “I wouldn’t worry about that. I haven’t seen him in years, and if you somehow did manage to piss him off, he’s not one to fight. Even if he was, you could take him.”
