Page 42 of Tossing It

“Well, I’m going to have to pretend no one is watching because they have us trapped on this base like a prison. It’s never been this bad before,” he remarks. “Remember the good ole’ days? There wasn’t war in the states, I suppose. It’s hard to get used to.”

“It hasn’t been this bad before,” I agree. Before the attack that changed the world as we know it, we were just a part of the Navy. Yes, a special operations part of the Navy, but now they treat us like a nonrenewable resource. They aren’t allowing people into BUD/s like they used to. You can’t trust anyone these days. Moles are everywhere and to prevent them from infiltrating the very heart of our military, they put a kibosh on accepting candidates until we have a more thorough way to screen individuals. The technology is coming, I’ve seen it, but it’s not there yet. In the meantime, we wait, atop a golden throne of stay the fuck away from everyone during this mission, and pray no one gets hurt. “It could be the end,” I say.

“That’s ominous. What exactly is that in regards to?” Aidan says, opening the door to a black pickup truck. They belong to the base and we use them to get from one side to the other of the expansive compound. My stomach sinks as I conjure the different meanings of the end.

I get in the passenger side as he starts the engine. “Everything, man. Just fucking everything,” I reply. “I’m going to tell you the whole story and without being a douche canoe, I need you to tell me what your take is.”

“Without joking once?” he asks, pulling onto the road that will lead us to freedom.

“Not once,” I confirm.

We have to scan both of our ID cards to open the gates and the guards make note of the time and license plate number. Aidan sighs as the process takes longer than it should. “Fine. Tell me everything. I’ll probably make jokes about it tomorrow though.” “That’s fine,” I say, grabbing my ID from his hand after the guard hands it to him. I nod my chin at the man in uniform, making sure to give him eye contact. Aidan does the same. It’s tense. It wouldn’t have surprised me if they’d started laughing while saying, “Gotcha. No night out for you! Get your asses back home.” We pull into traffic—free.

“Head down the strand,” I tell Aidan. “I don’t feel like doing Gaslamp tonight.”

Ne nods. “We need that much time, huh?”

“More than we have tonight,” I say, sighing. “Unfortunately.”

“Don’t dick the dog. Just out with it.”

It makes me sick as I tell him the whole story, not leaving a single detail out. I try to keep the narrative positive, because even subconsciously I’m trying to protect Malena from any back blow. Even when she’s as fucking wrong as they come. Aidan keeps his face neutral, wincing when I describe the images Eva captured. His eyebrows shoot up when I tell him the tidbit about her failed marriage and I remind him not to crack a single joke unless he wants me to crack his face. He nods once, compliant as a friend can be in a moment like this.

“I gave her a ring before I left, man,” I say, swallowing hard. “There was no question in my mind what she meant or how far I’d go to keep her. No other woman compares and it makes me sick to think I’m just some dude she can toss away so easily.”When you say you’re the kind of guy you toss? What exactly does that mean?Malena asked me. I defined it for her so very clearly, and here I am surprised by the outcome. Like a sign that says IDIOT should be flashing over my head, signaling how I botched this from the word go. Maybe Dylan is her keeper, the man I’ve been preventing her from going back to until now. Banging a fist on the dash, I let out a roar.

Aidan swallows hard. “You haven’t straight up asked her what the deal is? Face to face, or by video chat though?”

I shake my head. “This is fresh information. Just the email.” Now it seems a little immature. I should have called her. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. She does that to me. It’s unnerving,” I explain. “You wouldn’t know the feeling, man.”

“Sounds like I don’t fucking want to know that feeling,” he says. “Sounds like this is a bunch of horse shit and drama that I’d do well to avoid. This is what I think of anytime someone asks me if I’m going to settle down with a woman. This. Right here. Is it worth it? All of this heartache?”

“I guess it remains to be seen. I’ll keep you posted,”

“Wait. This is the first time you’ve…cared for a woman before?”

“Yeah,” I say, shrugging. “Without a shadow of a doubt.” All I’m left with to show for it are shadows and doubts.

The strand is a long stretch of road that leads to Imperial Beach and it lays in front of us. There’s sun begins to set as we talk through my messy love life. He asks questions I’m surprised by, and I give him answers that he never expects. Aidan keeps his eyes on the road, as do I, out of habit, and also because while we’re off tonight, we’re still on alert. You don’t see the things we’ve seen and live a normal, carefree life ever again.

“The taco place?” Aidan asks, either trying to change the subject or giving me an out to be finished with this conversation. “Figured low key might be best,” he adds.

Running my hands down my face, I say, “Yeah.” And even though there are probably a thousand taco places in Imperial Beach, he knows the one. The same one we frequented when we first arrived in San Diego all those years ago. It was delicious, cheap, and fast. “You see that black car that just passed?” I add, narrowing my eyes looking at the side mirror to try to catch a glimpse of the tail end of the sedan.

“Yeah, looks like a convoy of sorts,” he replies, nodding in front of us at the cars heading toward us in the opposite lane of traffic. Another sleek sedan passes with windows tinted so dark we’re unable to see how many passengers are inside. The next car, exactly the same as the first two slows down, a significant change in speed, and Aidan follows suit. “What the fuck is going on, man,” Aidan whispers. It’s not a question, it’s a statement. “A suicide bomber?” he asks, eyes cutting to mine quickly, and then focusing back on the car, now crawling toward us. There are no cars behind us in our lane, and there’s one car quite a distance behind the one creeping toward us. The four cars, the two that passed going in the opposite direction and the two now moving toward us, are all identical.

My hand automatically falls to my sidearm on my hip under my T-shirt. A weapon that would have no purchase in a fight against a bomb. “No. The car is too nice,” I say, letting my mind wander back to our meeting earlier in the day. This is what the war has done to us. This mentality of assuming the very worst right off the bat. Action first. Questions later. Innocent lives have been lost when we pause to question before springing to action. “The two that passed have stopped,” I say, shifting in my seat. While this truck is armored, like any military use vehicle, we’d be fucked if a bomb is involved.

“Call it in,” Aidan says.

“So much for someone following us,” I say, regretting my earlier statement. We need backup. The phone call to base takes mere seconds as I give them exact details of the situation, I disconnect as the sleek car veers into our lane and blocks all forward movement. “Fuck,” I mutter, opening the glove box rooting around for anything that might help us.

Aidan swallows hard, pulls the truck to a stop and puts it in park, his concealed carry already in hand. It will take our heavily armed backup at least ten minutes to get down this far. Underneath the seat, I find an errant bulletproof vest someone stashed after a training session and toss it to Aidan. He doesn’t question it and slides it over his head, on top of his shirt, gaze focused on the imminent threat in front of us. “Wait them out,” I say. “Give the boys more time to get here,” I say. “They’ll bring the bomb squad just in case. Staying put is our best chance if these bastards get funny.” What else would they be doing? Why would they stop us? They wouldn’t know who we are. Except for…the truck. They’d know our vehicle.

My heart is pounding, and my stomach turns upside down as different scenarios flit through my mind. My chest rises and falls as I watch the car door open. I check the clock on the dash. We need more time, but we also have to stay ahead of the situation. The cars behind us are still far enough in the distance that our focus should remain in front of us. “Okay, fucker,” Aidan growls. “Ready?”

“Yes,” I reply, the grip on my gun tight, my only weapon. A man in a dark suit steps out of the car, a casual swagger in the slight movement, sunglasses covering his eyes. He’s being protected, it’s obvious. “Cover me,” Aidan says, stepping out of the truck, staying behind the open door. Opening the passenger side door, I repeat the movement, keeping my gun between the jamb and the truck.

The sunglasses come off. “You boys are all alone,” the accented voice calls. “How explosively perfect.” He grins, and two more men similarly dressed step from the back seat of the car, guns bigger than ours clutched in their hands.

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