Here We Go Again

  Here We Go Again

  Romeo Alexander

  Books Unite People

  ROMEO ALEXANDER

  Published by Books Unite People LLC, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 by Books Unite People

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. All resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Editing by Jo Bird

  Beta reading by Melissa R

  Contents

  1. Oscar

  2. Troy

  3. Oscar

  4. Troy

  5. Troy

  6. Oscar

  7. Troy

  8. Oscar

  9. Troy

  10. Oscar

  11. Troy

  12. Oscar

  13. Troy

  14. Oscar

  15. Troy

  16. Troy

  Epilogue

  Author Notes

  More Books by Romeo Alexander

  1

  Oscar

  Looking around the assembled pile of boxes, Oscar took a deep breath and wondered where he should start. The team of movers had already brought in the furniture and assembled everything before he’d arrived. It was a disconcerting feeling, looking at everything he had left in the world, bundled up and shoved into boxes. It honestly didn’t feel like there was as much there as he might have once thought.

  Then again, he hadn’t bothered to keep a lot when he’d shipped out for Basic shortly after hitting eighteen. His brother had held onto some things, but most of what he had in his new apartment was what he’d managed to accrue and hang onto during the past six years. That time had been split between spending most of it on deployment, with moments here and there where he was allowed to come back to the States to visit family and friends and take up temporary residence either on base or on a monthly lease at an apartment.

  And now he was at Fort Dale, and possibly for good.

  Snorting in annoyance at himself, Oscar ignored the pile of boxes and decided he would scope out the rest of the apartment that was to be his new home for an indefinite period. The offer of his new position at the base had come from the man in charge, General Winter. It had been passed along to Oscar as he’d consigned himself to his fate, wasting away on his brother’s couch. He still wasn’t sure what the general wanted with him, or why he’d been picked to come and work out of Fort Dale, but it was still better than waiting for someone, anyone, to figure out what desk he was going to be parked behind.

  Oscar stepped around the pile of boxes spread across the living room floor, and down the hallway leading to the rest of the apartment. His steps were more sluggish than he would have liked, his hip twinging from all the effort. The limp was a gift from an IED, and apparently, they hadn’t been able to remove all the shrapnel from his hips while they’d been fighting to save his life. Surgery would require more recovery time, and Oscar was happy to limp around for a few more months before he had to go through lying in bed and waiting to get better all over again.

  The bedroom was empty of anything save the massive bed against the far wall, beneath the only window in the room. There was no dresser, and Oscar never used the damn things anyway. That’s what closets were for.

  He would have to put sheets on the bed and pillows, and probably get around to hanging up a few pictures. Oscar had never bothered to do a whole lot of decorating in the previous apartments he’d lived in, telling himself there was no point when he would just be shipped out again. It was strange, and it sat uncomfortably in his head, to know he would probably be at Fort Dale long enough to need to set up an actual home.

  Sighing, he pulled his phone from his left jean’s pocket and checked the time. He had an appointment to check in with General Winter in an hour, and he supposed it was about time to start getting ready. With his hip slowing him down more than usual, he would need more time to get ready, walk to the meeting, and still be a little early.

  He shuffled into the bathroom, reaching to flip on the light. Wincing against the all too bright light, he made a note to buy a dimmer bulb the next time he found himself at the store. Oscar gazed in the mirror and checked himself, a frown creasing his face.

  His dark hair was shorn close and looked perfectly respectable, and although there were dark circles under his brown eyes, making them look even darker than usual, he was used to seeing those. His uniform was tidy, without any wrinkles or stains, and other than the slight bit of stubble showing on his cheeks, he was in good, presentable shape overall.

  But he still wasn’t used to his arm.

  Oscar stared at his right arm in the mirror, or rather his upper arm and half an empty sleeve. Along with even more scars than he’d had before and the shrapnel in his hip, the IED had taken half his right arm with it. From the elbow down, there was nothing, and every time he caught sight of it, reached for something instinctively with what had once been his dominant hand, or felt the strange itching of a limb he no longer had, what little good mood he had plummeted into the dirt.

  Before he could grow too morose, his phone started buzzing in his pocket. Tearing his eyes away from his mangled reflection and pulling his phone back out of his pocket, he saw his brother’s picture and name flash across the screen, drawing a small smile from Oscar as he swiped to answer the call.

  “Gabriel,” Oscar said by way of greeting.

  His brother chuckled. “You don’t have to answer your phone like you’re preparing for bad news.”

  “Call it force of habit.”

  “You might want to get some new habits.”

  “You’re right. I’ll go out and find myself a yoga class, maybe take up meditation and become a vegan.”

  Gabriel snorted. “Aren’t you in a mood today. Hip bothering you?”

  “My life is bothering me,” Oscar said.

  “So that’s a yes.”

  “It’s been a long day, Gabriel.”

  “So, I probably shouldn’t mention that Anne and I were planning on coming to see you in a couple of weeks?”

  Oscar paused, frowning. “Why?”

  “The hell do you mean? We want to come see you.”

  “You just saw me a couple of days ago, Gabriel. I’ve been living on your couch for weeks.”

  “The couch in the guest room, maybe.”

  “Gabriel.”

  Gabriel sighed, speaking quietly. “She’s worried about you and doesn’t want you to know.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Right, but you try telling her that.”

  “I have, repeatedly.”

  “And look how well that’s worked out for you.”

  Oscar sighed, stepping out into the living room and fiddling with a box. “You could have chosen a less stubborn woman to marry and have kids with.”

  “The kids would also like to see you again, they miss you,” Gabriel added.

  Oscar sighed. “Why? Again, three days.”

  Gabriel laughed. “Because they’re kids, and they miss their uncle Oscar.”

  Oscar shook his head, as puzzled as ever to understand what the appeal was. His seven-year-old niece and four-year-old nephew were admittedly adorable, something Oscar never thought when it came to other kids, but it wasn’t like he was a great uncle, especially recently. If he wasn’t sleeping off the pain and pills at the beginning of his stay at his brother’s, he was grouchy and antisocial for the rest of it.

  “Natalie says she wants to have another tea party with you,” Gabriel said, a grin in his voice
.

  Oscar stopped fussing with the now open box. “I did not have a tea party with her.”

  “My little girl is many things Oscar, but she’s not a liar.”

  “She promised she’d keep it a secret,” Oscar grumbled.

  “She’s also absolute shit at keeping secrets.”

  In the background, Oscar heard his niece call out. “Mom! Dad said a bad!”

  Gabriel’s voice became muffled as he spoke. “Nobody likes a tattletale, Natalie.”

  “You said not to say bad words.”

  “I know. You’re not supposed to.”

  Oscar shook his head as he listened to his brother get into an argument with his daughter, knowing the cause was as lost as it would be if Gabriel were arguing with Anne. As he listened to the familiar sounds of his family, Oscar continued digging through the box in front of him. Most of it had been packed up a long time ago, either by Oscar himself or by his brother when Oscar needed someone else to do it for him. It had been long enough that he’d forgotten what most of the boxes contained, but this one appeared to be various pictures.

  Idly flipping through the stacks, he smiled at the pictures of his brother and him when they’d been much younger. At seventeen, Oscar still had a few more inches left to grow, and probably another eighty pounds of muscle. The intervening ten years had not had much of an impact on Gabriel, though, and Oscar wondered how his brother looked almost the same at thirty-five as he had at twenty-five, albeit with a few more wrinkles. Considering their parents had died when Gabriel was twenty, leaving him to care for a twelve-year-old Oscar, there should have been more than just a few lines on his face.

  The next picture brought Oscar’s fingers to a stop, and he plucked it out to stare at it. It had been almost six years since he’d seen the picture, and he’d honestly thought every piece of evidence from that time was gone. But there he was, twenty-one years old and smirking at the camera, his thick arm wrapped around the shoulders of a shorter blond man, who grinned wickedly at the camera.

  Oscar wished he could say it had been forever since he’d last thought of Troy, but he’d found the man on his mind a lot during his recovery. His finger rubbed over the happy moment, caught by a camera handed off to a stranger, as he and Troy enjoyed some free time on a beach far from the base at which they’d both been stationed. It was one of those few moments where Oscar had felt free and open to hold the man close, even steal a kiss when he thought they were in the clear. It had been a good vacation, and his heart squeezed as he remembered the fun days and tender nights.

  Oscar watched Troy as the other man sprawled out on his beach towel, dozing in the sun and on display for anyone who dared to look. It was tempting to reach out and touch the napping man, but Oscar didn’t want to wake him. He was content to watch Troy sleep comfortably, and not have to worry that someone they knew might spot them.

  Troy stirred, foot twitching, and his eyes cracked open. “What are you doing?”

  “Waiting to see how long it’s going to take before you got your lazy ass up,” Oscar teased.

  Troy chuckled, stretching his legs out with a groan. “I wasn’t sleeping.”

  “Sure you weren’t,” Oscar said, glad he was stomach down on his own towel so no one could see his reaction to the low noise Troy made.

  “You were watching me sleep,” Troy said with a grin.

  Oscar wanted to hate how easy it was to fall into those eyes as they opened wider, creasing at the corners from Troy’s genuine smile. Losing his parents had driven a young Oscar to find ways to express his pain, and not always in the healthiest way either, which usually involved trouble with the law. It had also meant friends who bailed at the first sign of trouble, there only for a good time. And a string of half-hearted relationships that were really just him and the girl using one another. Trust was a commodity Oscar couldn’t afford, not when it came to anyone but his brother.

  But Troy? God, it was so easy to melt under his warm smile and the softness of his touch.

  “Alright, maybe I was,” Oscar admitted, smiling himself.

  “Yo! Oscar!” Gabriel called, his voice ripping Oscar from his memories.

  Oscar jerked. “What? Sorry, were you talking?”

  “Yeah, I was, and you were off in outer space. You sure you’re okay?” Gabriel asked, concern leaking into his voice.

  Oscar snorted, dropping the picture back in the box. “I’m fine, just tired, sore, and cranky.”

  “So, a normal day for you then.”

  “Your compassion for me is overwhelming, Gabriel.”

  “Right, and if I showed you even the slightest bit of sympathy or compassion, you’d get all pissy and growl at me to fuck off.”

  “I’m not going to tell you to fuck off,” Oscar said.

  “Not directly, because I’d beat your ass when I see you,” Gabriel said, amusement heavy in his voice.

  Oscar rolled his eyes. “Even with only one hand, you don’t stand a chance against me.”

  “Your fancy training isn’t going to help you.’

  Oscar grunted. “Wow, would you look at the time? Sorry, Gabriel, I’ve got to get going, I have a meeting with the general.”

  “Of the base? Why, what the hell did you do?”

  “Oh, thank you, Gabriel, for the vote of confidence.”

  “I mean, he’s got to be a busy man, why would he want to speak to you directly?”

  “Well, I guess I’m going to find out. And maybe I’ll find out why he sent the offer to bring me here for a position.”

  “A position he hasn’t actually described to you, but you took anyway.”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Well, call me and let me know how it goes.”

  “I will.”

  He ended the call, giving one last glance at the box of pictures before closing it and heading out the door.

  General Winter turned out to be considerably younger than Oscar thought he’d be. Every other general he’d ever met had been a man of considerable, if not noticeable, age. Some of them had grown so used to life behind a desk they’d let themselves go as well, growing thicker around the waist to some degree.

  Winter, however, was a man whose age Oscar was having a hard time nailing down. He certainly hadn’t hit his fifties yet, but in some respects, he could easily have been in his mid-thirties. He was a handsome enough man, Oscar supposed, with a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and a close-cropped cut to his salt and pepper hair. The general also apparently believed in taking care of himself, filling out his uniform comfortably, not with fat, but sheer muscle from the looks of it.

  General Winter stood behind his large desk, beside his straight back chair, waiting as Oscar entered the room. Once Oscar had taken a few steps in, he stood straight, moving his right arm to cock a salute to the older man. Thankfully, with a grimace, he remembered he didn’t have a right arm before switching to the left almost immediately.

  General Winter returned the salute, before easing back. “At ease. Have a seat, Staff Sergeant.”

  Oscar dropped his stance, privately relieved the general hadn’t said or reacted to Oscar’s initial attempt to salute him. He took one of the two chairs in front of the desk, waiting until General Winter had sat down. Once comfortable, he took a look around the room. It wasn’t as spacious as the last general’s office he’d been in, and it reminded him more of a cozy home office than a man in the military. Most of the shelves were made of warm wood and stacked with books and small decorative statues. Pictures hung along the walls, containing images of General Winter with others, smiling and looking happy. In contrast, a few looked like the expected pictures of other generals and important people.

  General Winter folded his hands on the desk. “Have you managed to settle in?”

  Oscar nodded. “Everything has been moved in, now comes the unpacking.”

  “Good, we’ve used the same movers in the past. Did they get everything set up for you?”

  “Uh, yeah, they did, sir,” O
scar said, trying to keep the shame out of his voice.

  While he could manage to do just about anything on his own without help, it was still a struggle. Oscar supposed that with time, he’d be able to do ordinary tasks one-handed with nearly the same speed he had before, with two hands. As it was, though, it would have taken him forever to assemble the furniture and his bed without help. Missing one hand and having to use his left hand meant he would fumble and struggle every step of the way, and he hated the reminder.

  General Winter leaned back in his seat. “And I’m sure you’re curious about why you’re here in the first place.”

  “I am, sir.”

  “But you took the offer, even not knowing.”

  Oscar raised one shoulder and let it drop. “It beat staying at my brother’s house, wondering when I was going to get thrown in a corner and forgotten about.”

  Winter’s lips pursed. “Not...an unfounded fear. There was talk of doing something similar, or perhaps putting you back into the civilian world again, with high honors, of course.”

  The idea of being thrown out of the service and being a civilian was a horrifying one and had been Oscar’s greatest nightmare from the moment he became aware of how grave his injuries were. Serving had been the one thing to give his life purpose and meaning. Sure, it hadn’t been easy, but he’d always believed that anything worth having had to be worked for, fought for. Without the military, he’d have nothing, he’d be just another broken former soldier, left to fend for himself in a world that didn’t operate with the same rules he’d known for the past nine years.