Duty: A Secret Baby Romance (8 page)

Lindsey blinks, and I see a shine in her eyes before she turns her head back toward the road. I yawn. I was up late last night helping some of the graduating firsties clean out their stuff and make sure they were ready for graduation today, and I'm tired. “It's okay, close your eyes,” Lindsey says with a little chuckle. “I understand. Grab some rack, and I'll wake you up when we get to the city.”

I nod and close my eyes, letting Lindsey choose the music as we drive down. I know I doze off some, but I'm awake again when she turns off Hot 97 and touches my knee. “We're here.”

The hotel is close to Central Park, and both of us agreed to splurge on it, splitting the tab between us. Thankfully, I've been tight fisted since our last trip, and I've got some money. Lindsey's told me that I don't need to pay for anything, but still, the only big purchase I've made in the past few months is in my duffel bag that has all my uniforms for Airborne School. After this weekend, I'm going to fly back home to Michigan for a few days to see my parents before the Army pays for my trip down to Georgia. When I get back to West Point, I’ll be a squad leader, and I’ll have two months of pay sitting around with nothing to spend it on except Lindsey.

Lindsey and I check in, and our room is up on the third floor, just high enough that I can see the hints of some of the stuff in the distance. “So what would you like to do?” I ask, setting my bag down. “It's a bit early for dinner.”

“How about Central Park?” Lindsey asks. “It's only a half-mile away, not that bad of a walk. I've never been to the Met. You up for some art?”

We head out, getting to the museum just as a big clock nearby rings out five o'clock. “Glad we came on a Saturday then,” Lindsey remarks as we look at the hours of operation. “We've still got hours to enjoy it.”

As we wind our way through the collections, I'm caught breathless time and time again as we encounter works of artwork that stun us both, leaving us amazed. “I've never seen anything so beautiful,” Lindsey whispers as we look at an authentic Ming vase from China. “Have you?”

“I've seen something nearly every day for the past few months that beats it,” I tell her, reaching up and stroking her hair. Lindsey blushes and blinks before taking a deep breath, looking at me.

“Aaron,” she whispers, touching my cheek. There's pain and something else in her eyes, and I’m confused. “Aaron . . . I'm so sorry.”

“Why?” I ask, confused. “I know this isn't the ideal time, but what’s the problem? Aren’t we in lo—”

“No,” Lindsey half-strangles, putting her fingers on my lips. “No, don't say it. This is hard enough as it is.”

Lindsey turns and leaves the museum, leaving me stunned for a moment. I watch her nearly run from the room before I follow, finally catching up with her on the walkway outside, the one that leads deeper to Central Park. She's crying, but I just don’t understand why. I step in front of her and wrap my arms around her, trying to offer what comfort I can.

“Lindsey,” I whisper in her ear as she cries, “I don't know what's wrong. I don't know why you're sad. This is the best weekend I've had in months. What’s bothering you?”

Lindsey sniffles and wraps her arms around me, hugging me tightly. “It hurts, Aaron. I didn't say anything because it hurts too much.”

“What does?” I ask, stroking her golden hair. “That we're going to be apart for the summer? It’ll be okay. It’s what, eight, nine weeks at most? That first chance we get to spend some time together, we're probably going to have to be careful we don't start making out in the middle of Buff Soldier Field.”

Lindsey shakes her head, stepping back. “There won't be eight or nine weeks from now, Aaron. This . . . this weekend is it for us.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, even more confused. “Are you . . . what happened?”

Lindsey wipes at her eyes and touches her jeans pocket. “You're going to Benning . . . and yesterday, my orders came in. Come my June promotion, the Army's decided that there are too many Specialists in the S-1 shop. I'm being sent to Fort Lewis, Washington.”

I swallow, understanding. Transferred across the country, to a real unit. No more bike rides together, no more walks, nothing. “But . . . we can do a long-distance thing, can't we?”

“How?” Lindsey asks, crying and smiling in agony at the same time. “How am I supposed to be able to write you? You know the damn Goldcoats read your email. They snoop the system all the time. They keep you guys on a tight leash, Aaron. We've been pushing our luck as it is. So, we can't see each other. We can't talk.”

“But . . .” I whisper, reaching into my pocket and taking out the box that's been poking me since we left the hotel. “I got this for you, just because . . .”

I hold the box out, and Lindsey opens it, blinking at the necklace that's inside. It's not much, I know that, but it was all I could afford. “Aaron . . .”

“Lindsey, I'm not saying that this is good news. But it’s not the end either. And if it is, don’t you want to make it a weekend to remember?”

She nods, and I take the necklace out of its case, unfastening it and putting it around her neck. It lays on her blouse, the same color of her hair, glowing mellowly in the late afternoon sunlight. “I made sure to buy it thin enough that you can wear it in Class Bs or in ACUs.”

Lindsey fingers it, then smiles. “It's beautiful,” she says softly, then looks at me. “Thank you. It’s the first gift a boyfriend's ever given to me.”

I hold out my hand, and we entwine our fingers. “Let’s not let any news ruin this weekend.”

We walk through the park, sharing some hotdogs from a vendor on a bench as the sun goes down. I know that they say Central Park's not as safe after dark, but it doesn't matter, and as we walk back to the hotel, a sense of fate overtakes me. Going up to our room, Lindsey goes quiet again, and as the door closes, she walks to the bed, unbuttoning her jeans. “Come here, Aaron.”

“Lindsey, I didn't mean to pressure you,” I start, but she ignores me, pushing her jeans off and letting them fall to the floor. She's wearing just a satin thong underneath, and my words dry up as she unbuttons her blouse to reveal the matching bra underneath.

“I bought these two weeks ago, ordered them off the Internet,” she says, shrugging off her blouse and revealing the wine-colored lingerie fully to me. She's angelic, seductive, but I want nothing more than to rip those things off. “I didn't know then. I wanted to wear this because I wanted to tell you something. But I can't say those words. I'm not strong enough. It hurts too damn much to say them right now.”

“Then why are we giving up?” I ask, and she comes over, unbuttoning my shirt and sliding it off my chest, kissing my collarbones as she does. “Why?”

“Because you're going to be an officer,” Lindsey whispers, kissing lower on my chest. She licks my left nipple, making me moan in fear and arousal. I know what she's doing, and as much as my body yearns for it, what she is saying is at the forefront of my mind. “You're going to be a fine leader, a man who can be the sort of platoon leader that soldiers will follow into some silly battle because they know that you're going to pull them out of the shit when they need it. Because you're going to be the sort of officer the Army needs.”

Lindsey gets down on her knees, kissing my stomach and smiling when she rubs my cock through my jeans. “I'm going to miss this,” she whispers, unbuttoning my jeans and pulling my cock out of my underpants. She wraps her fingers around my shaft, pumping me slowly. “We both have our duties, Aaron. I've still got years left. I signed up for a long hitch to get my GI Bill and my college loans paid off. You get commissioned, and I'm still in service. But take this with you. You will always be in my heart, and I will always be in yours, supporting you.”

Before I can answer, she licks the head of my cock, sucking it into her mouth slowly, swallowing me until her nose is pressed against the hairs at the base. She draws me out carefully, letting her tongue wrap devilishly around my shaft and around the rim of the head, my body surging despite the heart breaking inside me. She pulls her lips off and looks up at me. “Let me give you this gift. These memories. For one more night, be the man of my dreams.”

I nod, stroking her hair as she swallows me again, and my fingers wrap through her hair, tightening slightly as she sends waves through my body. I hold her head gently, keeping her still as I begin to pump my cock in and out of her eager, loving mouth. Lindsey tugs lightly on my balls, not painful but keeping me from going too fast, guiding me higher and higher.

I give her everything. If this is the last night, if this is the last time, then I'm going to show her with my body what I can't tell her with my mouth. I love you, Lindsey. Can you feel it? The wave of pleasure that's building inside my belly, the explosion that's threatening inside me—that's for you.

I swell, and Lindsey hums around my cock, pushing me over the edge. I groan deeply, spurting thick and hard, filling her mouth. She takes it all, making sure to get every last drop before swallowing and looking up at me with a smile, waiting for me to react. I don’t hesitate, and I pull her up, taking her mouth and kissing her hard. Our tongues wrap around each other, and I’m not grossed out in the slightest. Eventually, I let her go, and she looks at me for a second, then smiles. “Why?”

“Because you asked for me to be the man of your dreams for one more night. I'm not afraid, and I want to share everything with you. We won't say that word, but I'm never going to be the same after this weekend. And I want to show you how much you mean to me.”

Lindsey strokes my face, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Come to bed with me . . . man of my dreams.”

* * *

“
A
re you sure
?” I ask, standing with her outside the security gate of Newark Airport. My flight's in an hour, but I've already checked my bags through. All I've got is a paperback Neal Stephenson book and my wallet right now. There's really nothing left.

“I'm sure,” Lindsey says sadly. “Last night. This morning. They were incredible. Perfect. And the memories will help. But we know the truth, Aaron. Our moment of fantasy is over.”

“And what if I don’t want it to be over?” I ask in a whisper. I swore when I woke up this morning, her naked body nestled in my arms, that I wouldn’t make this harder than it needed to be. But now, I can't let her go. I don't want to let her go.

“Nor do I,” Lindsey says quietly. “But by the time we could see each other again, that Gray Line's going to be Blue. I won't have you risk everything you’ve worked so hard for. I care about you too much. Go on. Please. If we stay here much longer, I’m going to start crying.”

I lean in, and we kiss. One last time. It's tender and soft, everything I want to remember about her, and when our lips part, she's smiling too. “Goodbye, Aaron Simpson. Be well.”

Before things get out of hand, I turn and join the security line, forcing myself to face away from Lindsey for as long as I can. Finally, I turn around, but she's left already. That's probably for the best. But still, I wish I could have said goodbye.

I wish I could have said a lot of things.

I
t's kinda nice
, watching the fireworks over the Puget Sound. It's a lot different from any other way I've celebrated the Fourth of July, even if it is a bit lonely.

The grand finale starts, blast after blast going off over the water, and even though I'm miles away, I'm buffeted by the sounds that pepper the air. I feel bad for any PTSD vets in the area. They've got to be going through hell listening to that, so much like artillery or even machine gun fire. I can understand why there were safety notices on the radio as I drove into the area.

Mom and Dad don't understand why I insisted on driving to Washington a few days early, but at least they didn't say anything about it. I guess after having me hang around the house for a week more or less constantly moping, they figured that they'd ask their questions later. I'm glad for that, because right now, I'm not sure I could trust myself to give the answers that they need to hear.

The truth is, I miss him. Walking away from that security checkpoint before he could say goodbye was the hardest fucking thing I've done in my entire life, and my last two weeks at the Academy before going on leave were pure hell. Twice, I found myself walking down by Central Post, not for work but just to be there, wishing he'd come around the corner by the library, his smile dazzling in the summer sun. I even ate a pizza at Grant Hall, or I tried to before the sadness made me leave. I couldn't eat another bite, knowing that even though I wanted to do nothing more than share the pizza with Aaron, we'd never be able to. I gave my half-pizza to some poor cadet who was stuck at the Academy doing summer school and walked out. Last semester, I looked up at Grant Barracks and wondered which window was Aaron's before leaving, trying not to cry.

I've been doing that a lot lately. More mornings than not, I've woken up to find that my pillow's a little damp, and I haven't even found the energy to ride my bike. It’s still strapped on the bike carrier on the back of my Honda.

The last of the fireworks goes off, and the silence reigns heavily over the water, except for the cheers of the crowd that's gathered lower near the shoreline while I'm up here in my hotel room. I know I could have checked into my unit early. They'd have just let me crash out until my official report date in two days, but I just didn't want to be near the Army for a little while.

The Army. The fucking Army. With their stupid fucking rules. Rules that tell us how to dress, how to walk, how to run, how to eat and how to sleep. But the Army never put out any guidelines about love. Oh, sure, they've written some rules about sex, about fraternization, but they've never given any guidance for when I found the man I still dream about and fall in love with him. They can't even tell me if I was right or wrong to not say it, or if I was right to be greedy and self-centered and demand that we never say that word. His chain is still around my neck, and I'm never, ever going to take it off short of orders.

I sigh and get up, dusting off my jeans. I can't let myself get down. It's not what Aaron would want me to do. Sure, he sometimes was a little rah-rah when I would bitch about work after he knew I'm an enlisted soldier, but he never wanted to see me frown, let alone cry. I can do that much, at least when I'm awake.

I force a smile on my face, looking up at the stars, wondering if perhaps Aaron is looking up at the same stars. Probably not. It's late back east, and he's just wrapping up Airborne school. Maybe they're giving him a long weekend. That'd be nice. Give his knees and ankles a chance to heal up from the pounding. I've heard Airborne's a major beating on the legs. Either way, a girl can wish, can't she?

“Hey, Aaron . . .” I start, forcing a smile on my face. “See? I'm smiling, just like you'd want me to. I hope . . . I hope that you had a happy Fourth. Take care of yourself, and take care of those new cadets when you take over there. I . . . I love you.”

Even if I couldn't tell him, I know how I felt. How I still feel. And if I can only tell the night sky, then so be it. I go to the shower and turn it on hot. Maybe the warmth will ease away the chill that's been inside my gut for the past few days. I hope I'm not coming down with something, I haven't been feeling so great lately, and I don't want to start off sick with my new unit.

* * *

“
S
pecialist Morgan
,” the Captain says, reading my file. “Hmm, really?”

“What's that, sir?” I ask, checking the name again. Captain Jellisco.

“You were stationed at the Academy prior to this. Not too many people get that straight out of AIT,” he notes, handing my orders back to me. “How'd you like it?”

“The falls were nice, sir,” I reply, standing at attention still. I don't know if Jellisco likes to play things by the tin soldier act or not, but he didn't tell me to stand at ease after I saluted to report, so at attention I stay. “I got lots of opportunities to ride my bike.”

“Yes, I saw that strapped to the back of your car outside,” he says, glancing out his window. His office has a view over the parking lot, on the ground floor. “Well, I hope you can still find the time. Okay, let me give you my rules, then I'll turn you over to the First Sergeant and your platoon.”

I let him run through his little speech as he outlines how he likes to run things, only answering when he's finished.

“Hooah, sir.” Hooah, the Army's universal reply for damn near anything. Useful when you don't know what else to say.

“Good. Okay, get out of here. They’ll get you squared away.”

First Sergeant Lincoln starts by personally driving me down to the clinic to get my physical. “Hey, Sergeant?”

“What's up, Morgan?” he asks, turning left. Lincoln's a nice guy so far, but I don't know for sure. Anyone can be nice up front. And First Sergeants have a reputation for being nice guys until you piss them off.

“Nothing. Never mind. Let’s just get this over with.”

Things go smooth at the physical until the doc takes a look at my history. “Says here you're feeling a bit under the weather. What's up?”

“Just not keeping breakfast down the past few days, ma'am,” I tell her, shrugging. “Probably nerves.”

The doctor, a First Lieutenant from the bar on her shoulders, hums. Medical officers tend to be unique in that most of them know they were only commissioned because the Army insists that all MDs have a commission. Guess it makes up for the suck of going to medical school. “Well, let's have a look. Let me draw some blood, and you get to go pee in a cup for me.”

The blood draw doesn't take much time. I'm no baby on that, but then the doc comes in while I'm putting my ACU top back on, the band-aid still fresh on the inside of my elbow. “I've found the problem.”

“Wow, that didn't take long,” I reply, buttoning my top. “What was it, bad sushi in Chicago?”

“No . . . you're pregnant.”

My fingers freeze at how easily she says it. I look up at the doctor, who gives me another reason to not like Army medical. Seriously, I've just been told I'm pregnant. Aren't you supposed to be fucking smiling? Even if I'm now instantly scared shitless? “I'm pregnant? How?”

I don't think she was expecting that question, because the doctor looks concerned. “I thought you'd know how that happens, but basically, you had sex, his sperm got inside you at just the right time, and viola. You're pregnant.”

I sit down, the breath rushing out of me. “I'm pregnant.”

The doctor nods and takes a seat in the chair opposite me. “I take it this isn't expected. If I can ask, have you been sexually active recently?”

“Not since the end of May,” I tell her, thinking. That night, we had sex so many times, and we definitely weren’t careful. It was the last thing on our minds. “How far along am I?”

“I’d think you would know that better than me. I'd have to schedule you an ultrasound to check,” the doctor says. “Specialist Morgan, you realize I have to tell your commander, right?”

“I know,” I reply, my mind whirling. Family care plans, updating life insurance policies, wills . . . all the paperwork runs through my head. I've been doing it for other people for a while now. I have the form numbers memorized. “Jesus.”

“Well, at least look at it this way. It's lucky that you got assigned to the Mobilization Brigade. If you'd been assigned to the 7th, they'd have had to bounce you around because you're non-deployable now. I've had to look after some people like that. The Infantry doesn't like those types of soldiers.”

“Thanks,” I say hollowly, sighing. Aaron. But what do I tell him? Oh, hey, I know I insisted that we break it off, but I'm pregnant, so call me maybe? No, I can't tell him. I know that much for sure.

Captain Jellisco isn't quite so friendly the next morning when I report to his office at nine o'clock along with First Sergeant Lincoln and my platoon leader, LT Brown. “I gotta say, Specialist Morgan, you know how to make an entrance to a new unit.”

“It wasn't planned, sir,” I tell him. He's at least had me relax and take a seat, but I feel sort of small and puny with Lincoln and Brown still standing, flanking my chair on either side. “Apologies.”

“Don't apologize,” the CO says, shrugging. “I guess congratulations are in order, however. Okay, we can adjust fire on this. It won't take that much. The docs say you'll still need to do your APFT, rifle quals, stuff like that. We'll just have less time to do it before your pregnancy profile starts. Also, if I can ask, has the father been told?”

“No, sir,” I reply, and CPT Jellisco raises an eyebrow. “I'm not planning on telling him, sir.”

“Why not?” Lieutenant Brown asks, and I look up at her. “Seriously, why not?”

“It's complicated, ma'am. The father and I were . . . well, it wouldn't be good for him if he finds out.” Not good is an understatement. There's a simple rule in the Corps of Cadets, one I double checked on my phone last night. Cadets must be single. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Married? Sorry, you can't be in the Corps. Have a child? Nope, can't be in the Corps. Even a female cadet, if she gets pregnant, she has to drop out and then give up legal custody of her child in order to rejoin in a later year group.

So the fact is, Aaron can’t be the legal father of my baby. He'd be tossed out of the Academy, and of course, that would bring our relationship to light, ruining my career too. No, I won't destroy his future out of fear. If I love him, and I do love him . . . he can't find out.

“I see,” Lieutenant Brown says, clearly not understanding at all. She probably thinks the father was married, that I was an affair or something. Ah well, I'll deal with it. “We'll discuss this later.”

“You can discuss it while you work out the Family Care Plan,” Captain Jellisco says. “Okay, Morgan. Like I said, it's one hell of a way to land in the unit, but I have another rule. We support the mobilizations, and we support each other. So, if you want to make that choice, we'll do what we can to support you on it. In the meantime, let's get on with the day. I think Morgan needs a chance to go meet her day-to-day office supervisor and get settled in. Dismissed.”

Outside, First Sergeant Lincoln turns left, leaving me with Brown. His day-to-day job is in supply, while Lieutenant Brown works in the same building I do, although she's in the housing group. While we walk, Brown gives me a look. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead, ma'am,” I reply. “I'll answer if I can.”

She nods and puts her hands behind her back. “I'm not going to ask the details, but you might be interested to know that I'm a West Pointer,” she says. “I graduated four years ago, so I don't know any of the cadets there now. All my Corps have graduated. But . . . well, there are lots of young guys there. Not too many young enlisted though.”

“Perhaps so. Your point, ma'am?”

Brown hums and shakes her head. “Nothing. Your choice, Morgan. Just . . . someday, the father might want to know.”

I'd like nothing better . . . but I can't. “Perhaps, ma'am.”

“I had a friend at West Point,” Brown says, her face grim. “Nice girl, smart as hell, except that one time, she let the guy shag her without protection. She got pregnant, and instead of just coming clean, she went up to Cornwall. They've got a clinic up there, and she had the pregnancy terminated. She ended up getting a reg board, but she graduated on time. Still . . . not a choice I'd like to make, and it’ll probably haunt her for the rest of her days.”

“Nor I, ma'am. I love the father, and I'm going to love this baby,” I tell her, maybe a bit more heatedly than I should. “Sorry.”

“No apologies necessary,” Brown says. We reach our office building, and she leads me inside. “Okay, let me go introduce you to Major Tellis. He'll be your section chief. Good luck, Morgan. And welcome to Fort Lewis.”