Page 12 of Unmade

“Make friends,” he told me next. “If your mom just died, I can only imagine life sucks right now, and you don’t wanna keep shit bottled up. So, make friends, talk to your chaplain, and don’t become one of those idjits who mocks openness about depression and anxiety.” He paused and held up three fingers. “In the Army, you will see alcoholism, divorces, and trauma—even if we’re heading for peacetime.”

I nodded in acknowledgment, knowing I had to work on that. I’d never mock anyone, but I wasn’t good at opening up.

“I’ve read about all the suicides,” I murmured.

He inclined his head. “The military can be really fucking lonely. They raise us to be brothers for life, except we’re in an environment where you get called a pussy for needing help.”

I dropped my gaze to my lap and wrung my hands, and it was dawning on me that no matter how hard I tried to prepare myself for this, joining the military was going to shock me to my core. And that scared me more than any drills or physical challenges.

Then again, I’d been scared since the day Mom told me she had cancer.

I didn’t wanna be scared anymore.

“Tell you what,” Bo said, extending a hand. “Gimme your phone. I’ll add my number, and you text me if you’re struggling. All right?”

What? Why was he doing that?

I gave him my phone without protest, but I had to say something. “There’s gotta be a million better things you can do with your time than comfort a chickenshit.”

“Eh, I have weird interests.” He input his number and returned the phone. “Call it right now. It’s my private cell, so if you text me and I don’t respond in a few days, I’m most likely out of the country. But if I’m around, I’ll answer when I can.”

I swallowed and pressed call, so he would have my number too, and I couldn’t describe what it meant to me. My chest felt tight, and I didn’t know what to do with the emotions that started surging within me. I’d gotten used to unshed tears and burning eyes, but it’d been ages since I’d actually cried. Last time, my mom had been there to hug me.

“Thank you for talking to me,” I said quietly. “I promise I won’t bother you a lot.”

He furrowed his brow. “Helping out doesn’t bother me. Remember that.”

CHAPTER 1

July 7th, 2024

Bo Beckett

“Operator Beckett, report to Academic Operations.”

Yeah, in a fucking minute.

I took a swig of my coffee and stepped into the elevator, where Coach stood with his own coffee. Judging by the bed head and sleep lines on his cheek, he’d just had a nap.

“Do you realize we’re about to accept recruits born in 2000?” I asked.

The button for the third floor had already been pushed.

He frowned at me. “I see you woke up and chose violence today. File that under shit I don’t need to be reminded of.”

I chuckled.

“2000,” he muttered into his go-mug. “Damn babies.”

Yup. Too many of the old fuckers were retiring too. Sydney had left the building when the last class had graduated the other week, and we barely saw Mr. Daniels anymore. Quinlan, TJ, and Coach ran Hillcroft these days, and Coach was just a year older than me.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” he said.

I side-eyed him. “I forgot you knew.”

He smirked and clapped me on the shoulder. “I may have told Em and Danny too. I swear it just slipped out.”

Asshole.

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