I still do.
Ten Months Ago
Lloyd Commons Residence
I was over this. College, parties, all of this shit.Garbage waste of my time.
Three years ago, during that one recruiting trip, this was a little fun. Blow off some steam, get a little rowdy. But these idiots had turned me into an old man at twenty-three.If I never have to go to another one of these fucking things?—
"Yo Mick! Where's Drakes, man? He still here?"
"Not my night to watch him." The drunk sonofabitch who asked wouldn’t remember that I was a king-sized asshole.
He grinned with red bleary eyes. "Probably getting lucky. Life of a baller, man."
Yeah. Wish he’d already moved on. Or could babysit his bench of wannabes—the guys who rode his coattails and nailed his leftovers.
A faceless dude half-crawled past me. I followed him into the hallway as he threw himself into the bathroom door. I rolled my eyes at the sound of heaving and turned to head back to the kitchen.I should just carry around a backpack of bottled water and condoms. Worse than Marines on Liberty.
The common living room was still crammed, practically wall to wall with partygoers in various stages of drunk. I maneuvered and shouldered my way through the crowd, dodging when Sato turned—narrowly missing a giant elbow to my jaw.
"Sup, Mick." He held up a fist. I bumped it and attempted to scoot around the human wall. Wasn't happening.
"You seen Drakes?"
"No. And when the fuck did I becomehis keeper?"
His round face split into a grin. "You’re gonna do all right, man. With your ‘don’t fuck with Marines’ shit. These guys don’t have guns. Just pads. They ain’t a threat toyou, Mick." He laughed and held out his fist again like we hadn't just done the "bro" thing. "That’s why you just chill."
I glanced down at his pint-sized girlfriend. "You’ll get him home or you need a rideshare?"
Misha motioned in the air with electric-colored nails. "You don’t have to worry, I’m sober curious."
Curious enough to remain sober, or—?I didn’t ask. I continued on my way to the kitchen, grabbed an armful of water bottles, then wound my way back to the vomit-curious guy reclining on the floor blocking the way to the bathroom.
I’d just finished propping him up in the more-secluded hallway area, force-feeding a half bottle of water into his face—when Drakes emerged from one of the closed-off bedrooms. He fumbled with his zipper and grinned like he thought he was a movie star.
"Mick! Ma brother." He nodded at me and finished zipping and tucking things. "These chicks, am I right?"
My stomach clenched—whether it was the whiff of vomit-guy, or Drakes…
"You play your cards right and they’ll be all overyounext year." The stocky third-round AFL draft pick was cashing out his Texas State Tech football career—moving on to a life most of these guys, including me, could only dream of.
"Have some water."Dick.
He took the proffered bottle with a mumbled, “Really need a beer."
"You should stick with the water," I replied. He didn'targue. I leaned back against the opposite wall, glancing down at vomit-guy as I let out a long breath.
It wasn't the "chicks" part that I envied, or wanted. It was the…unburdened view of life. Drakes had never and would never have to take on a second job to help his mother pay for groceries, or attend the funeral of the guy who ate in the mess hall next to him during boot camp.
And he didn't have shrapnel scars riddling half his back and shoulder.
He gulped water and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. "Not gonna miss it, ya know. All the teachers and the bullshit.” He shook his head.
I grunted my agreement. I’d had my own difficulties coping with this place after deployment.Wouldn’t miss it, either.
“And those guys.” He pointed at the crush of bodies just visible at the end of the hall. “Well, let's just saytheywon't be following me.” He chuckled. “Y'all can have all the chicks wanting leftovers."
