Page 44 of The Story of Danny Rose

I side-eyed him and then refocused on my beer. The young man was handsome and charming in that “I haven’t seen the world yet” kind of way. The type of wet-behind-the-ears attractiveness I only found appealing because it made me miss those days. When nothing weighed you down, when you didn’t know shit, and when the world was still your oyster.

I’d never seen Danny that way. He’d been hardened already when I’d come to Fort Campbell.

Fucking hell, I missed him. I’d had a sucking feeling in the pit of my stomach since the day I’d flown out, basically. It tightened and grew more painful whenever I pictured his face.

At this point, I was fairly certain I loved him, but I wasn’t going to be the idiot who blurted it out just because I hadn’t had him in my arms for two weeks. Then again… I sighed to myself and drained my beer.

It wasn’t going to be long before I told him.

Needing a distraction until Paul returned, I turned to the kid next to me again, and I asked if they’d just arrived in port today.

“Yesterday, but I was too tired to go ashore last night.” He fiddled with the label on his beer bottle. “To be honest, I was too tired today too. All these fuckin’ drills, man. I get it, but when it’s all you do, they seem pointless.”

Oof. I’d heard that before.

“Are you military?” he asked me.

“No.”

He observed me for a beat. “You have an accent.”

I chuckled. “All right.”

“All right,” he mimicked. “Are you British?”

“You’re sharp.” I got the bartender’s attention and gestured for another pint. “What’s your name, sailor?”

“Elliott,” the kid replied. Literally—kid. Was he old enough to be in here?

I nodded once. “You focus on those drills, Elliott. I assure you, they’re not pointless.” My guess? We were looking at the next war within five or six years.

I sensed the kid staring at me while I got my second pint—and Paul better get back soon. Did he have anything left to shit out? I just wanted to get some food and then go back to my hotel room. Because I was setting the alarm for five. We had a rental ready to be picked up.

“I don’t think you’re a civilian,” Elliott decided.

“Who said I was?” I asked.

“You said you’re not military.”

He could think on that for a moment, because I saw Paul returning through the crowd. He eyeballed someone who almost spilled his beer over him, then made his way over and sat down on my other side.

“Goddamn day care,” he grumbled. “Let’s eat so we can fuck off. I have a physical to bullshit my way through tomorrow at noon.”

I smirked while he scanned the little menu on the bartop. “You could also rest up before the next contract. At least till you’re shitting solid again.”

He winced and shifted on the stool. “My ass is on fuckin’ fire.”

I laughed, even though I commiserated. I mean, we’d all been there—and were likely to revisit. It was more a rule than an exception when you went to regions where clean water was scarce.

When the bartender came by again, we ordered two baskets of wings and fries, and Paul, the dumb fuck, wanted his extra hot. Had he been Danny, I would’ve made him order the grilled cheese. It was the mildest item on the limited menu.

Danny, Danny, Danny.

I miss you, baby boy.

“Jones! We gotta get back to the ship!”

I threw a sideways glance as some punk came up next to Elliott, drunk off his ass, and dragged the guy with him. Elliott laughed and drained the last of his beer before he shoved the other one off him.

---