Collateral Damage (26 page)

Rusch, my partner before I was assigned Bedford, smiles. "Mighty big words, Whalen."

"Right? We haven't exactly seen you on this field lately," adds Amy, another member of our unit. She's sporting camouflage pants and a Columbia jacket, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Very bad-ass. "Don't forget that while you've been undercover, we've been training."

"You're implying I've gone soft."

"We're about to find out, aren't we?"

We finish putting on our safety gear and split off into teams. "Hey, she's pretty feisty," Erik says, trailing me onto the paintball field, eyes fixed on Amy. "Think she'd say yes if I asked her out?"

"Not a chance."

"I could try," he says.

"You can do whatever you want. You asked me if I thought she'd say yes."

"You underestimate me."

"You underestimate
her
."

We gather in the middle of the field, our two teams of six differentiated by colored armbands.

"All right, players!" the referee calls. "This is a simple game of Capture the Flag. Know your teammates. Know your colors. You will guard the flag at your home base while trying to steal the other team's flag. When you're hit, you're out. Lift your hands, raise your gun, and make your way off the field. If you're hit while carrying the flag, you must drop it where you stand. First team to steal the opponent's flag and carry it safely to their home base wins. Safety first! Never remove your masks while in play. If you're in close range and a member of the opposing team surrenders, do not shoot him. Do not shoot people leaving the field. Do not shoot the referees. Do not blind fire. Do not overshoot. Are we clear?"

We agree and head to our designated sides to strategize. Erik and I will guard the flag; everyone else will play the field.

When the whistle blows, Erik and I run past inflatables and barricades to where our flag hangs on a pole. We position ourselves behind a low wooden wall in front of it.

"Man, I forgot how intense this game was," Erik says, breaths heavy. "When was the last time we played this together?"

"I don't know. High school?"

"That's right. Remember when we brought Callie and Jess out here?"

I watch the field, listening for action at the other end. "I remember Jess."

"The one that got away," he says, voice collapsing.

"I thought
you
broke up with
her
."

He thinks about this for a second. "Oh, yeah. You're right."

I force my eyes not to roll.

"Speaking of Callie, how's the wedding planning? You told her I'm in charge of the bachelor party, right? What did she say?"

"No. But I told her you're Best Man. I didn't want to spring too much good news on her at once."

A series of shouts and commands erupts mid-arena, and the whistle blows. Someone's out. I grip my paintball gun tighter, keeping my eyes peeled. If we lose our teammates on field, it's up to Erik or me to go after that flag.

"Speaking of weddings...." I continue, convinced we're still secure. "What are your thoughts in general?"

"I have no thoughts about weddings, dude. Seriously."

Of course he doesn't. "Okay, well, do you think I'm too young to get married?"

"Yes," he replies, not hesitating.

I blink back my surprise. "Wow. Thanks for the honesty. My parents got married when they were my age, you know."

"That was also a billion years ago."

"Okay. Hypothetically speaking.... What would you say if I told you I was thinking about calling it off?"

"I'd say 'good. I'm finally rubbing off on you.'"

This is not the direction I expected this conversation to take. "What if...." I trail off, running my hand across my jaw line. "What if I'm not hypothetically speaking?"

His forehead crinkles, brows pulling together. "Wait. What? As in—you're really thinking about calling it off?"

"I don't know. Maybe," I confess.

"Why?"

"Because...I don't know. I don't think I'm ready."

"Of course you're not ready. What warm-blooded, fully functioning male is ever ready to settle down with one woman?"

"That's not what I'm saying. I think...I don't know. I don't know if I want to get married."

"Ever?"

"To Callie."

He glares at me from behind his mask, mouth gaping. "Shit, Chris. Are you fucking
kidding
me? You guys have been together forever!"

"I know! I know! It's just...I don't know if she's the one, you know?"

"What do you mean 'the one'? There is no 'one.' There's a person in your life who annoys the shit out of you twenty-four hours a day, but you'd never get rid of because you'd miss them too much if they were gone. Until you
would
get rid of them because they do, in fact, annoy the shit out of you."

"
That's
what you think marriage is?" I ask, eyeing him incredulously.

"That's what I
know
marriage is! My parents hated each other's guts for years before they divorced. Then they both remarried and now they hate my step-parents' guts, and I still have to buy two extra Christmas presents every year."

"Which explains why you've never had a real relationship with any girl."

"Hey, I've had plenty of real relationships," he says.

"That have lasted more than two months?"

A blur captures my attention—Rusch bolting from one inflatable to another. I aim my gun and shoot, but it's too little too late. He's clear.

And getting closer.

Focus, Whalen.

"I like to keep my options open," Erik continues, watching that barricade. "Anyway, you're not me. You're
nothing
like me. You and Callie, you have a history together. You
don't
annoy the shit out of each other. You piss the rest of us off because you get along so well. You're perfect for each other."

Perfect.

I think I hate that word.

"Hypothetically speaking..."

"God.
Can it
with this hypothetical shit!"

"I'm falling for someone else!" I blurt out the words without thinking, without realizing the implications. I say it. Out loud. I can't take it back because it's real now. I'm falling—I've fallen—for someone else. I own this.

"Jesus Christ," he mumbles. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. I am."

"You're undercover. When have you had time to fall in love with someone else?"

I don't answer. I watch the field instead, waiting for Rusch to make another appearance, to come after what rightfully belongs to us.

"Oh my God. It's that girl, isn't it? Your partner. For that project. The one we ran into at the pizza place!"

My spine stiffens at this—the connection he's made. Does he realize I could get fired if anyone else finds out? "Please keep your voice down," I beg.

"Are you
kidding
?" he asks, eyes wide. "She's in high school, Chris! That's not even legal!"

"She's eighteen. I checked."

"You checked? You
checked
?" His voice lowers to a whisper: "Are you
banging
her?"

"No! God, no! I haven't even kissed her."

Yet.

And I would never just
bang
Jaden. It would be more than that—she would mean more to me than that.

"Good," Erik replies. "At least part of your brain is still functioning. Not that I'm saying that wouldn't be wicked hot on every level."

I exhale—my energy, my defenses,
everything
depleted. "But I
want
to kiss her. I can't stop thinking about her. I keep making excuses, trying to find ways to be with her."

"What's happening is that you're nervous about getting married. This whole wedding thing has you freaked. And I get it. I do. But would you
really
call off the whole thing, break up with Callie, over this one girl?"

"She's incredibly smart. You have no idea. She's going to Harvard to become a doctor. She's so down to earth. She's funny. She genuinely cares about the world and the people in it. And her eyes.... God. You have no idea," I repeat.

"Okay, see? You just solved your own problem, because if she's going to Harvard, no way in hell would she want to be tied down to you."

"She hasn't gotten in, yet. But if she does.... I don't know. We could make it work."

"No girl at Harvard wants a long distance relationship with Boy Back Home," he asserts.

"There's a police force in Cambridge."

"So you'd move? You'd drop
everything
to be with this girl?"

My shoulders lift, shrugging.

I don't know. No. Maybe.

"That's what we call being a stalker. And what if it doesn't work out?"

"What if I don't even
try
?" I counter. "What if I finish this assignment? What if she graduates and moves on? What if I wake up every morning regretting letting her go?"

"I'm just saying...you've got it made. You've got a good job and a great fiancée. Most guys would kill to be in the position you're in right now—not me, obviously—but this whole 'other girl' thing sounds risky and stupid. Don't go and screw with the order of the universe. And I'm serious about the screwing part."

"Surrender!" The enemy stands over us, gun aimed, ready to fire.

Erik and I jump to our feet, hands lifting to the sky.

Rusch jogs toward the pole, snatches our team's flag, tucks the strip of fabric in his coat pocket.

"See what you did?" Erik yells. He points his gun at me and flicks the trigger, firing at close range. "I'm not your fucking therapist, asshole!"

"Jesus, Erik!" I turn, trying to protect my chest, each ball of paint exploding against my skin, like rocks.

He shoots my arm. My back. Stoning me to death.

The whistle blows, calling him out for the infraction.

"He
deserved
that!" Erik shouts across the field.

*
    
*
    
*

I switch out the ice packs in the freezer, sit down on the couch, and ice my arm.

I dial Callie's number.

"Hey, you. You're early," she says.

"I have to go out tonight."

"How was paintball?"

I shift, feeling the bruises all over my body. "I'm apparently out of practice."

"Aww. I'm sorry." There's a smile in her voice.

"Me too."