Page 6

“You look fuckin’ awful,” I laughed. “Marisol leave you already?”

“Don’t do me like that, bro. Girl’s too good for me. I don’t need her getting any ideas,” he said, trying for seriousness.

The thing about Marines is that we’re absolute shit at staying in touch. When you’re expected to keep your family informed and trying your hardest to keep up with the lives they’re living without you, everyone else falls by the wayside. I have two younger sisters who lost their father last year—when I have the time to touch base with or visit anyone, it’s always going to be them.

Good lad.

That’s how it is for all of us. It doesn’t mean we love each other any less. The last exchange I had with Ortiz popped into my head:

Ortiz

See you back home

Me

Cool

“What’s going on? You in school now?” I asked.

“Yeah, dude. Jumped on the empty slot after Thompson washed out. Told ‘em I had family in Boston, and I gave them your mom’s address.” His parents moved to Florida a few years back. I nodded, and he continued, “Mari’s pregnant with Christian, Jr.” He pulled an ultrasound from his breast pocket, pride lighting his whole face.

“Damn, that’s what I like to hear. I’m so fucking happy for you two,” I said, swallowing hard to keep my emotions at bay. “You’re doing it, man. This is your dream.”

Ortiz was probably the best man I’d ever known aside from my dad, and he was going to make an incredible father. We met in boot camp, the only Southies in our series, then deployed to Afghanistan together in 2010. He was an 0311, a rifleman; I was attached to his unit for bridge construction and demolition support. He never stopped talking about his girl back home, Marisol—how he was going to marry her and keep her pregnant and happy as long as God let him. I stood beside him at their wedding last year and cried like a baby, completely overcome with relief that he made it home whole enough to take that step with her.

“Ay, I’m one lucky motherfucker,” he chuckled.

“Come get a drink with me. I’m meeting my new roommate for happy hour.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve already fucked it, so I could use you as a buffer.”

“If it involves another TA, I’m out, man. Marisol nailed me with La Chancla just for being friends with your dumb ass last year,” he said, already pulling up her contact in his phone.

“Maybe she was jealous,” I teased, dragging my tongue across my lower lip and laughing when he shot me a look.

He held his hand over the microphone while it rang. “Don’t let her hear you say shit like that, Will. You don’t even know. She’s at her sister’s this weekend, but I’m gonna tell her where I’ll be so she doesn’t worry—Ay, mamacita.” He turned away, slipping into soft Spanish with the woman he loves, asking how she’s feeling, treating her with that quiet respect I’ve always admired.

“All right, all good,” he said a moment later. “I met a couple of the other new guys earlier. They don’t know anyone here. Where should I tell them to meet us?”

“I figured we’d go to Eilidh’s. Tell them we’ll be at The Swan Dive on Robertson.” He nodded and shot off a text.

Eilidh Swan was a fucking trip—first-generation American like me, older than my father, never married. She’d run the jankiest bar in downtown Boston ever since her oldest brother died in Vietnam and left it to her. Aunt Eilidh had been drinking wine at our dining room table since before my sisters were born, and she’d given me my first job, my first truck, and eventually saved enough for my sisters’ college tuition without telling anyone. Eilidh was good people.

She and my dad could riff off each other all night, and cooking old country recipes for Eilidh’s Scottish father was my mom’s way of paying for the entertainment.

Christian and I went our separate ways to change into civvies, and I met Hasan at our dorm. Together, we headed for The Swan Dive. Christian intercepted us a couple of blocks away, and introductions were made. I was pretty sure he took to Hasan as quickly as I did. It was kind of hard not to like him.

Christian Ortiz had never met a stranger, so he filled Hasan in on how we know each other, and I walked a couple of steps behind them. He was showing off the ultrasound photo when we swung the door open and stepped inside. Eilidh’s eyes registered no surprise; she was probably pissed I hadn’t come over last night after I’d dropped my things at Mom’s.

“Liam Ó hEacháin,” she scolded. “You don’t call. You don’t write. You come in here looking like a washed-up bag of dicks and expect me to come around the bar to greet you?”

We’ve only just got in the door, haven’t we? Mother Mary!

“You’re just an impatient old crone, Aintín álainn,” I laughed. “Hold your horses, I’m coming around.” I crossed the room, hopped the bar, and wrapped my arms around her.

“You aren’t drinking for free, young man,” she sniffed, tilting her cheek for a kiss.

“It’s a fuckin’ privilege to give you my money,” I said loudly so everyone at the bar could hear.