The Final Line (4 page)

Jonah nodded and said nothing. He glanced at the pool but Corey didn’t think he really saw. “Are you drinking again, Corey?”

Fuck. It was trying to keep Jonah’s respect that had convinced Corey to stop drinking the first time. “Can’t sleep if I don’t,” he said, teeth clenched and voice raw.

“Get yourself to a counselor,” Jonah said sharply. “You’re still active duty and not in a combat zone. You don’t have to buck command or a slow moving VA.”

Corey fisted one hand on his hip and ran his fingers roughly over his cropped hair. “That wouldn’t look good with Kellan starting an investigation into the events in Ghazni City.”

Jonah shot Kellan an aggravated look. “Come on, Corey, this is Kellan we’re talking about. He’ll treat genuine memory loss and PTS with the compassion and consideration it requires, if that’s what we’re dealing with here.”

Corey nodded vigorously. He knew this was true. He might envy Kellan his relationship with Jonah, but he still admired and respected him.

“At least go to a regular doc and get something to help you sleep,” Jonah continued, his tone more mild now, “so you can quit the alcohol.”

“Don’t want to jeopardize my cushy new job,” Corey said ruefully.

“You don’t want to jeopardize a promising career.” Jonah corrected him.

This conversation echoed some of the ones he’d had with Jonah the first time his drinking got out of hand. “When do you two start your investigation?” Corey changed the subject, not yet ready to admit Jonah was right again.

“Kellan starts digging into documents tomorrow.” Jonah let the topic change without comment. “He probably won’t be ready for interviews until next week.”

“Copy that.” Corey was relieved that Jonah didn’t press the issue.

Jonah cuffed him on the arm. “I’ll let you get back to work before the Master Sergeant throws you into the pool.”

Corey chuckled. “It’s good to see you again, Jonah.”

“Always good to see you, Corey,” Jonah said over his shoulder as he left out the pool gate.

Just as Corey reached the edge of the pool, a Marine surfaced several feet out. He gasped and tried to speak but made no sound.

“I got him!” Corey shouted, stepping down onto the lower metal rail of the pool. He grasped the collar of the limp Marine’s uniform as a safety swimmer helped lift his weight from the water. Laying him out for Carville to examine, Corey glanced at his fellow instructors. “How many attempts did this guy make?”

“This was number four,” Gunnery Sergeant Quiñones replied. “He’s been half-assing it all day. If he’d put the same effort into his first try, he probably would have made it.”

“Gentlemen,” Master Sergeant Whitfield barked. He tilted his head to indicate the instructors should follow him. When they were out of earshot of the Marines scattered on the deck, Whitfield asked, “Anyone have a reason for
not
wanting to bounce this one?”

Corey and his two fellow instructors all indicated that they did not. Stepping past them, Whitfield asked the corpsman if the Marine was okay to be up and around. When Carville said he was, Whitfield told the Marine he was out of BRC.

When he’d gone through BRC, Corey had felt bad for the half of his class that dropped out or were disqualified. Now that he’d been through combat and knew how critical it was to have Marines at his back who would never give up, never only give a half measure, he didn’t feel bad at all.

Master Sergeant Whitfield lined up all the Marines who had survived the first day. The first day was the easiest. It only got harder from here. Whitfield dismissed the Marines as the instructors secured their gear and the pool.

Thirty mikes later, the instructors were gathered in the Master Sergeant’s office for the debrief of the day’s training. The next day was going to be rough for instructors as well as students, since it would last about fifteen hours. Corey welcomed it. Exhaustion might make it easier to sleep and to stay asleep, without nightmares.

Whitfield dismissed them for the night. Corey changed into his utilities and headed for the chow hall. With his tray piled high, he looked for an empty table.

“Staff Sergeant Yarwood!”

Corey turned to find several members of his former platoon seated at a table. They made room for him. He took a seat next to Lance Corporal Tyler Howe. Tyler had the brightest blue eyes and fullest, pouty mouth. He’d also served in Corey’s command so he pretended he didn’t notice.

“Scuttlebutt says the platoon is under investigation again,” Sergeant Michael Nygaard said angrily.

Corey narrowed his eyes at Nygaard and clenched his jaw. “It’s not scuttlebutt. I know the investigator and I served under his aide in Iraq.”

There was harsh swearing around the table. Corey focused on his food.

“We’re not going to get court martialed are we, Corey?” Tyler asked.

“Did you do anything wrong or lie about what you know happened?” he asked quietly.

“No!” Tyler looked surprised and appalled, as if the thought of doing either had never occurred to him.

“Then you’ll be fine.” Corey turned back to his tray.

“We need to stick together, otherwise they’ll pin something on us we didn’t do just to appease the fucking Afghans,” Nygaard said with venom.

Corey kept silent. He’d always suspected that people who tried to circle the wagons in a crisis were the ones with something to hide. He focused on his food, blocking out the conversation that swirled around him. He responded when Tyler addressed him directly, but otherwise, he just wanted to eat and get out. He bolted his food like he was back in boot camp, even though he didn’t have to. He had shit to do and an entire night to get through without getting drunk.

Corey said goodbye to his former platoon members and set out on foot for the base exchange. At least he didn’t have to drive off base to get what he needed for tonight.

He had a large bottle of Nyquil and a smaller one of Benadryl in his hand when he glanced up and saw Master Sergeant Whitfield coming down the aisle toward him. Corey felt caught out. He took a breath and swallowed hard, reminding himself he hadn’t been caught with contraband. He knew his guilt stemmed from the reason he was making this purchase.

“Feeling under the weather, Yarwood?” Whitfield asking, seeming genuinely concerned.

“Something might be coming on, Master Sergeant,” he replied. “I’m trying to head it off. Already got plenty of vitamin C and zinc.”

“Good thinking, Staff Sergeant.” Whitfield stepped past him with a smile. “See you in the morning.”

Corey breathed a silent sigh of relief and went to pay for his purchases.

CHAPTER THREE

Getting out of bed was damn difficult for Corey. He was glad he’d set the alarm on his cell phone, as well as his regular alarm. The Nyquil had helped him fall asleep the night before, helped along by the stellar orgasm he’d rubbed out while thinking of Sean’s upturned nose and pouty lips. Neither of those had stopped the nightmare, so he’d popped a Benadryl to get himself back to sleep. Now he was groggy and slightly disoriented.

Corey hit the chow hall, loaded his tray, and knocked back his entire cup of coffee. He got a refill to go on his way out the door. He didn’t encounter anyone he knew on his route to the training grounds, thankfully, since he wasn’t in a chatty mood.

Several instructors were already gathered around when Corey arrived. Most of them were dressed as he was; in his utility trousers, black instructor’s T-shirt, and utility cover. Corey was one of the instructors who would actually teach a skill set today. It was going to be a day of long hours as they all began to teach the candidates the tasks they would complete once inserted in an AO; the area of operation.

“How’d you sleep, Staff Sergeant Yarwood?” Whitfield surprised Corey by asking first thing.

“Well enough, Master Sergeant,” Corey answered quickly. “Still fighting something off but I’m squared away.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Corey relaxed as Whitfield moved on to greet the rest of the instructors.

Fifteen hours later, Corey was more than ready for the class to be over. He sent a silent apology to the Marines who had been his BRC instructors, just in case he’d been a pain in the ass. He didn’t think he’d been a total fuck up, but now he wasn’t so sure. At least he’d passed the course in the end.

Corey hit the gym that evening. The class had worn out his mind, he wanted to wear out his body as well. He fell into his rack that night, hoping it was enough.

The next morning, he realized that it had worked to a point. Still, Jonah was right; Corey needed to get to a doctor and get something to help him sleep. Hopefully they could give him something that wouldn’t make him feel hung over the next morning.

Today was Friday, though. He could get legitimately shit faced tonight and tomorrow night, and not have to worry about waking up, sweaty and shaking, wanting to lift his weapon and point it at…someone.

The class was only marginally less frustrating today. Broken into teams, the Marines practiced the skills Corey had taught them about in principle the day before. Many of them mastered the tasks quickly. Others took a little more explanation, a few more demonstrations, before they eventually caught on.

When they broke for chow, Corey realized he was keeping a mental list of the Marines he thought should be bounced. He’d give them the afternoon to get their shit together. But if they weren’t showing signs of at least comprehending the basics by the end of class, they weren’t Marines that Corey wanted watching his six on a mission.

He was on his way to resume class, comparing notes with some of the more experienced instructors, when Master Sergeant Whitfield intercepted them.

“Staff Sergeant Yarwood, nice job with the class the last couple of days,” Whitfield said.

“Thank you, Master Sergeant,” Corey said sharply, falling back on his Marine training to mask his discomfort with the compliment.

“You’re going to have to make some cuts tonight,” Whitfield continued. “Are you prepared?”

“Yes, Master Sergeant, we were just conferring about that very thing.” He gestured toward his fellow instructors. “They have the afternoon to show they’re worthy of continuing the class, otherwise I’m ready to bounce them out.”

“Excellent,” Whitfield said pleasantly. “Carry on.”

By the end of class, a couple of the stragglers had managed to catch up to the rest of the class. For most of the Marines on Corey’s mental list, today was their last in BRC. Master Sergeant Whitfield concurred with the recommendations of Corey and his fellow instructors, and the cuts were made.

Finally heading back to the BEQ, Corey allowed himself to think about the coming night and his plans. His pulse quickened when he thought of seeing Sean again. He had to get that reaction under control. Glancing at his watch, Corey decided it was late enough to start getting ready to go.

Corey showered thoroughly and headed back to his room with a towel around his hips. He splashed on aftershave and tugged on a pair of dark wash jeans. As he smoothed the tight fitting gothic graphic T-shirt over his chest, he realized he was dressing with too much care for a Friday night of quiet drinking.

He shouldn’t go back to that bar tonight. He should wait until tomorrow. Corey might think Sean was the hottest guy he’d met in years, he might constantly think about what it would feel like to have those pouty lips around his cock, but it couldn’t go anywhere.

Fuck it. Corey stuffed his wallet in his back pocket. He called for a taxi as he headed for the main gate. It was just beer and music on a Friday night. If Sean seemed like he wanted more, Corey would let him down gently.

It was nearly 2300 hours when he entered the bar. He’d expected music when he entered, but all that greeted Corey was the dull roar of a sizeable crowd. He froze just inside the door, wondering if this was such a good idea. It was too crowded for him to find a seat where he’d be comfortable. There were too many strangers moving around and the steadily rising volume had him fisting his hands at his sides.

Corey glanced around, trying not to appear as though he was looking for Sean. One of the three women standing in front of the bar shifted her weight to her other foot and he caught a glimpse of the man seated on the bar stool. Sean was gorgeous tonight. His dark T-shirt clung to him, straining at the biceps. His thick brown hair was styled, spiked with a casual negligence. Sean saw Corey at almost the same moment, his expression morphing from polite interest to enthused pleasure.

Corey’s heart was already pounding but it still leapt a little when Sean smiled at him. He carefully pushed his way through the crowd, trying not to flinch when someone innocently bumped him. He took a deep breath when he reached Sean.

“Hey, you made it.” Sean’s eyes sparkled as he continued to smile up at Corey.

“Yeah, I made it.” Corey buried his hands in his front pockets.

“Ladies, this is my good friend Corey,” Sean introduced him to the three women. He quickly rattled off their names but Corey didn’t catch any of them. “Hey, we’ll talk again on my next break, okay?”

Sean was polite but it was clearly a dismissal. The three women all looked surprised and confused but they complied, returning to their drink-laden table right in front of the small stage.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Corey said awkwardly.

“Oh, you didn’t interrupt anything.” Sean rolled his eyes. “Those three have been hanging on me all night. I have to be polite and humor them, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy it.” He turned to the bartender and gestured toward Corey. “My friend needs a drink.”

Linda appeared beside the other bartender, smiling at Corey. “Jack with a beer back, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Corey grinned at her, impressed she’d remembered.

“It’s on me,” Linda said. “As a thank you for earlier this week.”

Sean polished off his beer and stood up. “Here, take my seat,” he told Corey. “I gotta get back to work. I get another fifteen minute break at midnight.”

Corey settled onto the barstool Sean had vacated and thanked Linda for his drinks. He watched Sean step up onto the stage, slide a guitar strap over his head and shoulder, and perch on the edge of a stool behind a microphone. When he strummed the strings, the bar filled with the sound and the crowd grew quiet. Corey was suddenly nervous. He wanted Sean to be good and he had no idea if he was or not.