"You can call me Red when we're at home," he says, and gives me a kind smile. "Or Major, if you can't shake the title. Hell, that's what Maggie calls me most of the time anyway."
He shrugs as he talks about his daughter, but I can see the soft look in his eyes. He grabs the pot of coffee off the counter and fills my mug up before his own, then takes a seat beside me.
"You've got your PT scheduled?"
"Yes, Major. I go in at oh-eight-hundred."
I've come to live with Major and his daughter because I was wounded in combat and need extensive physical therapy for the next year. He knew my history and was there for me when it happened. If he hadn't, I'm not sure where I might have ended up after being discharged from the Marines.
I was brought up in the system, bouncing around from foster home to foster home my entire life. I was one of those kids who was given up as a baby but never adopted. My life was always in transition. I never stayed in one home for more than six months, and I got into all kinds of shit. When I was fourteen I was sent to juvenile detention because I kept getting into fights at school. I spent a year there before I got out and was popped for trying to steal a car. After that the judge gave me a choice of going back to juvie until I was eighteen or going into a military school. The idea of getting out of the foster system and being in a stable place for at least three years was like hitting the lottery. I knew what being in jail was like, and I didn't want to go back to it. I didn't give a fuck if I had to scrub a toilet with a toothbrush. Having a steady bed and not being behind bars until I was eighteen sounded like heaven. I jumped at the chance and was sent to a military academy in South Carolina.
It turned out that a military school was exactly what I needed. It was absolute hell for the majority of the time, but I applied myself to the work, and to my surprise did really well at it. I excelled in all of my classes and even graduated early with honors. After that I enrolled in the Citadel and went to a military college, and I graduated a year early there, too. I was at the top of my class and was thinking of my next move when Major Drummond came to visit me to talk about my future.
I'd known that going into the military was the next logical step, but my high scores kept my options open. The Major was different than everyone I'd met with before. Right away I felt like we had a connection and he saw something in me that reminded him of himself. I trusted him, and he helped me see that my abilities could be used for something special.
I was twenty-one when I graduated and was commissioned. Then I spent a year training before I was deployed on missions. Secret ones I could only talk to the Major about. He was my contact for the small unit I led. We went all over the world, running ops for the United States government. I was four years in when the shit hit the fan.
On my last mission we received bad intel and it nearly killed my men. I was injured, but some of them were worse than me. We were all given honorable discharges, but I knew the road to recovery was going to be hard. When we made it back stateside, families were there to welcome everyone home. Everyone except me. I'd started to feel sorry for myself all over again, but then the Major had shown up and told me everything was going to be okay.
We'd grown close over the four years of working together, and he was like a father to me. I never knew if he felt the same or if I was just harboring some sort of hero worship. But I'm not ashamed to admit that on that day on the airstrip when he walked over to me and pulled me in for a hug, I may have shed a tear. I was back in America, but it finally felt like I was coming home.
"What happened there?" Major asks, shaking me out of my thoughts.
I look down at my hands and see the bloody knuckles adorning them. "That's a need to know, Major."
"Do I need to know?" He raises an eyebrow, and I smile.
"Absolutely not."
"Does it have anything to do with you going out late last night?" he pushes.
"Yes, Major." I won't lie to him, but I don't have to tell him all of the details of where I went.
He shakes his head, seeing that he doesn't want to know the whole story. Just then we both turn to hear Maggie coming down the stairs.
"Morning, bug," her dad says, and walks over to kiss the top of her head.
"Morning, Major," she replies, hugging him and then going to the fridge.
I watch their dynamic as they move around the kitchen. She makes breakfast and they talk a little about their day, and it's so normal. I smile because I find it funny that it's so normal.
"Are you taking the bus today, or do you need a lift?" Major asks.
For a moment Maggie looks nervous and bites her lip. I wonder if it's because she was planning on riding to school with that asshole from yesterday. I clench my fists and feel the burn in them, the pain reminding me of what happened last night.
"I can give you a ride if you want. I'm heading out that way, and I'll be there until this afternoon," I offer. I want to try to be as much help as I can while I'm staying in their home. Even though the Major keeps telling me to think of it as mine, too.
"That would be nice. I've got to head into work now, but it's in the opposite direction. That okay with you, bug?" Major says, and Maggie nods.
She gives me a look of relief, and I nod. I'd have to imagine being driven around by your dad in high school has to feel lame.
Major leaves for work, and we finish eating and cleaning up before we head out to my truck. Luckily my damaged leg is the left one, so I'm still able to drive. I took some shrapnel to the face, but by the grace of all that is holy, it didn't get my eye. I've been left with a nasty scar, but the doctors say it will lessen over time. It's not really my concern at the moment. Walking like normal again is my goal, then eventually being able to run.
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