Page 16 of Written in the Charts

“Well, that’s the thing. With my knee the way it is, I don’t think I can walk all the way from the housing to the off-base parking. So I think I’ll be pretty much stranded there until the two weeks are up.” He pouted his bottom lip out, and I reached up and kissed it, nipping it with my teeth.

“It’s okay. We will still be able to call and text.” I shrugged. “It’s not like you’re leaving the country. That would be really bad, but this is nothing. Okay?”

Evan furrowed his brow, a passing look of angst in his eyes, but I didn’t ask. I just curled up on his chest and kissed his skin softly, thankful he was there. We could get through anything if we just communicated.

CHAPTERELEVEN

Evan

My knee was shot. This time, all I had done was a set of jumping jacks with the squad as they warmed up. I felt something tweak in it and the same familiar pain shot down my shin and up into my quad. I grimaced but didn’t tell anyone what I was feeling. It was impossible, however, to hide the limp.

The guys were taking a rest day, and I should have been too, but I’d volunteered to help mop up after another northeaster dumped a few inches of snow which had gotten tracked into every building on the boots of every recruit here. So, using the old rag mop like a cane, I inched my way down the hall, sloshing water out on the floor and mopping it up.

I had made it almost halfway down the entrance hall in the main building before I realized I’d need clean water. The walk to the cleaning equipment closet was painful the first time, and on slippery floors it would be even worse. Not to mention how far away it was and the fact that I had to limp right past the mess hall during lunch.

I looked up the hall and resolved myself to the fact that without clean water I would not be making the floors look any better than they were right now. So after whispering a prayer that no one saw me limping, I hobbled myself and the rolling mop bucket, one step at a time, toward the closet.

After dumping out the old water and putting clean water in the bucket, I felt accomplished. The walk had taken me twice as long as it normally would have, but I made it. So with confidence, I started back toward the entrance to continue mopping. I was halfway back when I heard a familiar voice call my name and it made me grit my teeth immediately.

“Master Sergeant Miller.” The tone in her voice curdled my blood. I stopped in place, knowing what was expected of me, despite feeling like it was a ridiculous practice. I turned on my heel, presenting a full salute, which may as well have been a slap in the face. Serah scowled at me, Lieutenant Packard standing beside her. He snickered at my show of disrespect—saluting indoors wasn’t necessary and was akin to a “fuck you”. I stood at attention, knowing I was in for a dressing down.

“Yes, Captain.” Offering the required respect, I faced her, but only because it was protocol.

“Master Sergeant Miller, I thought I told you to report to me if you were in pain.” Serah crossed her arms in front of herself and held her hat. She looked upset with me, which was likely more due to the fact that she was my friend and I had pissed her off last time we spoke than anything truly duty related. Lieutenant Packard held his hat in hand too, looking down at my mop bucket.

“You did, ma’am.”

“And I saw you limping.” She scowled.

“That was my swagger, ma’am.” I kept a straight face, but Packard got a good laugh out of it, which only enraged Serah more. Her nostrils flared, and she pointed up the hallway, glaring at me.

“Go to MTF now, Miller.”

“With respect, ma’am, I’m fine.”

“Now, Miller. That’s an order.” She wasn’t taking my shit at all, and it pissed me off. She had no right to be this way with me. She might have outranked me, but we were friends, and she knew what going to MTF would mean for my career. “And Packard?”

The man squared his shoulders, immediately snapping to attention.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Take his mop bucket to the entrance hall where he’s cleaning and do his job for him. Since you think he’s so funny, you can walk a mile in his shoes.”

I saw the scowl wash over his face briefly before he responded, “Yes, ma’am.”

She followed me every fucking painful step of the way. I held the limp back for about twenty paces before the pain was too excruciating, and by the time we got to MTF it wasn’t just a tiny limp, it was a whole-body event. Even my shoulders were tense.

Serah directed me to an exam room and disappeared, likely to grab my file, and I brooded. If the Major found out I’d been ordered to MTF for evaluation, I’d likely lose my flight of recruits to another drill instructor. At the very least, I’d lose my weekend leave again after my two-week punishment.

I leaned against the wall and waited, and when Serah returned she held the tablet with my file pulled up. She instructed me to drop my pants and sit on the table, so I did. She leaned over my knee, pressing on it with gloved fingers. I screeched in pain as she prodded around.

“Fine, huh? Dammit, Evan, this isn’t just your career, you know? You’ll end up being the only thirty-year-old who’s had knee replacement.” She fingered the scar across my quad from the surgery I had as a teenager to set my femur in place. A surgery Dr. Marshal had performed and one I’d rather have erased from memory.

“You seriously had to bone me in front of Packard?” I pushed her hands away. In the privacy of the exam room, she was no longer “Captain Jones”. She was my friend whom I was very pissed at.

She rolled her eyes at me and scowled again. “You really had to crack it like this is some joke or something?”

“Serah, you know what this will do to my career. You know I wanted to avoid being here. I don’t want to be put behind a desk somewhere because of a little knee pain.” I slid off the table and yanked my pants back up. Serah stepped back, giving me space to move, but her scowl didn’t let up.

---