Page 67 of Fight Or Flight

Eric

Ireally fucked things up this time.

I gave her two options, ignore what we feel for one another and avoid me for the next few months, or be my girlfriend, and together we’ll figure out how to make it work. She chose option one, and I’ve kept my distance ever since. I suppose I laid too much on her. I mean, really, my timing was total shit. We had just buried her mother that morning and by nightfall, I was asking her to commit to a future with me, one that centered on the military and without ever taking her on an actual date.

Who does that?

This idiot, that’s who.

In my defense, life is moving at warp speed—something I didn’t take into consideration until I was standing in front of Brooklyn and she reminded me I’d be leaving for bootcamp in a mere four months. What once seemed like an eternity, suddenly felt like minutes and I realized she was right. The clock was ticking for us. I didn’t have all the time in the world to make her mine. I didn’t have years to build what my parents did. I had one hundred and twenty days.

One hundred and thirteen now and things aren’t looking too promising for your boy, Eric.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Danny says, snatching a fry from my lunch tray.

He bathes the damn thing in ketchup before popping it into his mouth and then reaches for another. Seeing as I have no appetite, I push my tray toward him. Normally, I am not one to part with food and Danny knows this, that’s probably why he’s looking at me as if I’m growing a third eye.

“Oh, it’s worse than I thought if you’re not eating,” he says. “Is this about the road test later or are you still pining over Brook?”

I roll my eyes.

“I couldn’t give a fuck less about the road test.”

I frown. That’s really ignorant of me, considering how I need to present all the proper documents to my recruiter, including a state issued I.D. I suppose a permit will suffice, but that’s something I should confirm with my recruiter, especially since the odds of me passing are slim to none. My head just isn’t in it.

He shoves another fry in his mouth.

“Ahh, so it is about Brooklyn. I saw her this morning entering the guidance counselor’s office with your mom, I’m assuming today is her first day?”

I nod.

Yeah, today is her first day and because I fucked things up a week ago by opening my big mouth and pushing her too hard, I didn’t even get to wish her luck or give her a copy of my schedule like I had planned—you know in case she needed a friend.

There’s that ridiculous word again.

“Are you going to tell me what happened, or should I make my way to the lunch line and ask her myself?”

Lifting my chin, I follow his line of sight and find Brook standing amongst a group of strangers, trying to balance her books with one hand and an empty lunch tray in the other. I’ve seen her a handful of times over the last couple of days, crazy since we live together, but the girl takes avoidance to a whole new level. I thought about calling her out on it like she did to me, but I decided against it. You don’t hand someone a shovel when you’ve already dug your own grave and tell them to keep digging.

I lift my hand and rub the ache in the center of my chest—the one I get every time I look at her lately. The nagging fucking pain I feel whenever I think I failed her.

Without giving it much thought, I rise from the bench and grab my bag. Throwing it over my shoulder, I leave Danny at the table with my fries and make my way to Brooklyn. I reach her just as it’s her turn to order and slide next to her on the line. The guy behind her starts to object, but I glare at him—similar to the look of death my dad delivers whenever I fuck shit up.

Not today, Satan, not today.

That does the trick, and bozo smacks his lips shut.

Good call.

I turn my attention back to Brooklyn and inch closer.

“The Jamaican beef patty is decent, and the turkey burger isn’t bad either, plus it comes with fries,” I whisper against her ear. Startled, she jumps slightly and, in an instant, those sad eyes of hers are pinned to me. I swallow hard and attempt a smile—a hard feat when all you want to do is drop to your knees and beg for forgiveness. She doesn’t frown, so that’s a plus. She doesn’t turn and ignore me either, another win. She simply stares at me expressionless and I take that and run with it.

Beggars can’t be choosers.

“Truce?” My voice sounds desperate. “I promise not to make any crazy demands of you or ask you to marry me.”

That earns me a smile…a gorgeous fucking smile that I feel deep inside my chest. It’s so powerful that the ache starts to ease some, and I start to wonder if she misses me as much as I miss her. Does she miss the late-night trips to the kitchen and the feel of my arms wrapped around her? What about my lips? Does she miss them as much as I miss hers?

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