Faking It(56)

That didn’t worry me. Braden could always find another gym. Maybe not someone as good as my dad, but there were options. “I know you’ll do whatever you need to, dad. But you’re wrong about him. There’s no way he’s coming back to the gym. I have a feeling his next fight is going to be on another level entirely.”

With that, I went upstairs and cried. I knew I was right. Braden was headed into something bigger than the octagon. True danger. In that moment I just felt so bad for us all. When I felt composed I called Chantelle. She came over and brought a box of little bottles of champagne, small enough that we used to sneak them into movie theaters.

She let me whine and moan and whimper at her all night. When I thought I had it all out of my system, she asked me if I wanted to watch Braden trash that hotel again, just for old time’s sake.

We laughed until we were sick.

At one point I heard my dad’s footsteps in the hallway. I knew he wanted to knock. To poke his head in and see if things were alright. To feel useful.

But his footsteps moved away.

Eventually Chantelle lay down next to me and we slept. I dreamed of Braden, gunfire, flames, fear and the day he came home.

In the morning there was a text from him. He was going to be away for two weeks at a camp that would serve as a precursor to basic training.



Chapter 12



When I signed up, the military gave me a huge battery of aptitude tests. The tests were meant to show them what you were best at, or most inclined to be good at. That way, they could shuttle you around to wherever you would do the most good in the service. I figured that that tests weren’t going to reveal that I should be a nuclear scientist, a submarine pilot, or anything on the fringe, and I was right about that.

To the surprise of no one—including my recruiter, who asked for an autograph the second I walked in—I was a lock for training people in hand-to-hand combat. But there was one surprising thing to me.

They assured me that I would make a perfect officer. I had the bearing, the leadership skills, and the courage that men would follow. At least, that’s what the tests said, and who was I to argue with a piece of paper that said here’s how you’re going to spend the next three years of your life?

I spent two weeks at a camp upstate that was an introduction to becoming an officer. It wasn’t basic training yet and there were very few physical demands beyond a morning run and a general series of calisthenics that were far easier than my usual training regimen. The camp was more of a primer for the mental aspect and the philosophy of warfare and combat that I would need to have command of when I led a unit. A lot of it came naturally to me. I knew tactics and strategy. Adaptation and improvisation. I knew how to think under pressure and while in pain. My time in the gym with the other guys had also shown me that they would always follow my example, for better or worse. That was a big responsibility, but one I took great pleasure in.

No, that doesn’t say enough. I loved it. It felt right and it felt real. I was at peace.

When I told my family about my decision, my mom lost her mind. Janie was supportive, but it definitely made her nervous. My brothers still hadn’t resurfaced and whoever was in charge of them over there was being incredibly tight-lipped about it all.

“I know you need to do it.” My mom said that over and over. “I know you need to, I just wish that weren’t true. I can’t lose you all.”

I had made a promise to myself that I would not contact Alyssa before she contacted me. I needed to focus. The stakes were going to be higher than any I had ever faced. My mistakes were going to have the potential to affect other people in grave ways. There was something zen about this level of detachment from all but the goal I was working towards.

She didn’t call. She didn’t text. I went into those two weeks knowing that I might have blown my shot with her. I would have to accept that. This was something I had to do. If Alyssa was the one for me, she would find a way to recognize that and to let me know, in the near or far future. To do so, she would have to become her own person, shaking off her dad and sticking up for me. If it turned out that she couldn’t do it, I knew that I would never blame her. I wanted to know for sure, rather than to be wracked with uncertainty.

Once I got to the camp I did my best to put her out of my mind, although I did tack a small picture of us on my small desk. It was a picture a sparring partner had taken of her in the gym, at my request, using my phone. I had it printed out and brought it with me. In the photo, Alyssa is standing next to a hanging heavy bag that is nearly as tall as she is. Her wrists are wrapped and she’s making what she considered a furious face. “Go crazy!” I had shouted at her. “Show the world what a savage Alyssa Edwards is!”

Guys stopped by my desk every chance they got to whistle at the photo and ask me questions about her. Every time I said the same thing: “That woman changed my life.”

“How?” they would say. Like all guys in a group, we were desperate for stories about women. But I wouldn’t say.

She would be there or she wouldn’t. It was now out of my hands.

The day the camp ended was bittersweet, which made me feel silly. I would be seeing most of the guys a week later when we reconvened for basic training. Still, the seeds of a real brotherhood were already developing. We all knew that we were heading into the most serious thing imaginable, and it would be up to us to keep men, and each other, safe. Our goodbyes were curt but heartfelt.