Keegan
Blue hasn’t been the same since the hearing.
I can feel his breath, warm and regular on my cheek. We’re tangled together the way we love to sleep.
He looks peaceful for the moment, and it makes my heart hurt to know how quickly his expression will change when he wakes up.
After the Article 32 hearing, the media coverage absolutely exploded. The charges against him, the wrenching details of what happened in Afghanistan, the reactions of the family members who attended, it’s all being analyzed and chewed over and, many times, distorted.
Blue’s character and motivation—even his posture and composure at the hearing—have been mocked and maligned. One TV talking head called him “the most hated man in America,” and it stuck. There are pictures of him all over the internet with that label.
We’re both living at the ranch now, where Virginia’s employees can keep everyone away from us. Blue’s been getting death threats.
My head is still spinning at how fast everything changed, how abruptly it became clear we couldn’t stay in Hickory Flat.
Media people and lots of others started showing up on the Oval. Sometimes they’d surround buildings where one of us had a class. Sometimes they yelled awful stuff.
Ikana quickly banned non-students from the campus, but that was hard to enforce, and there was some kind of ugly incident almost every day.
The newspaper’s faculty advisory committee insisted that Jason fire me after someone broke into the newsroom and spray-painted threats against me and Blue all over computer monitors and keyboards.
And then, our house was vandalized two nights in a row. Someone spray-painted coward and killer and traitor all over the outside of the house and threw rocks painted with the same words through the front windows.
After that, Hunter’s stepdad decided to evict us, leaving the job of informing us about it to his gloating stepson. The asshole clearly enjoyed the task.
We’d become a problem for Ikana and a threat to public safety; we kept showing up on the news. Plus, we no longer had a place to live in Hickory Flat.
Holmlund urged us to drop out and stay at the ranch.
We’re still waiting for the decision about whether Blue will face court-martial, but he is sure that he will. Blue’s lawyer seems to think so too.
“We can’t afford any more bad publicity,” Holmlund said. “The future members of the military panel that will render a verdict if there is a court-martial are out there right now, absorbing all this. It might affect what happens to Blue.”
So we left Ikana, and the ranch became our refuge.
I’ve been upset about leaving school and especially about losing my job at the paper. But it’s nothing compared to how distressed Blue has been.
Last night after supper, I found him in the barn, furiously throwing around bales of hay and then punching into them over and over again.
“The one thing,” he snarled at me when I grabbed his arms and finally got him to stop, “the one thing I wanted was for you to keep going, Keegan! And now look what’s happened. I’ve ruined your life!”
He’d whirled angrily away from me when I assured him it was okay, when I tried to kiss his scratched-up knuckles. We ended up screaming at each other.
Blue hates himself for what he did in Afghanistan. He wants to atone for it. But he also wants to keep his promise to me. He wants to have a life with me. So he’s at war with himself.
Maybe I’ve just made everything worse for him. But I’m hurting too. I’m at war with myself too.
Sometimes it feels like Blue forgets that.
Our fight was eventually interrupted by my brother.
“You’re freaking out the horses!” Buick growled, enraged at the unease we were spreading among the animals. “Both of you, calm the fuck down!”
He’d gone from stall to stall, soothing each horse in a low voice before adding, “And get the hell out of my barn.”
We’d retreated to my bedroom then. Blue curled into a ball on the bed, so despondent it scared the shit out of me. I did the only thing I could think of, wrapping my body around him and refusing to let go.
I lay there, praying he’d feel better the next day. At some point during that awful night, I realized it was probably mutual pain that cemented Blue and me so strongly and so quickly.
There was pain in me the day I moved to campus. My mother’s death and the dysfunction in my family left a wide-open wound that I’d shoved down and tried to ignore.
The day I met Blue, something in him—the broken, bitter parts, the howling, screaming monster in his head that he’d described—connected in some irreversible way with what was inside of me.
That connection, even if it was born out of pain, is priceless to me. It means more than any degree or career. I just wish I could make him understand that.
The rising sun is starting to light up my bedroom. For a moment, I can’t remember what day it is. Without a regular schedule of work and classes, it’s easy to lose track.
After a second, though, I realize it’s Monday.
Blue has a late-afternoon appointment today with the therapist who’s been coming to the ranch to treat him. Then he has a Zoom call with Holmlund.
I hear Max’s long, heavy sigh from the floor next to our bed and dangle my hand toward him. After a second, his warm doggie tongue licks my fingers.
It’s supposed to be sunny today and unusually warm for winter. Maybe this morning, we can take a long, cleansing ride along the river and bring Max with us. If we take it slow, the dog can keep up. He loves going along on the rides.
Maybe being out on a good horse with a good dog alongside is the best therapy there is. My brother certainly thinks so.
Blue stirs and a little moan escapes his lips. I seductively trace his mouth with my finger, and he gingerly opens one eye.
Maybe a little morning sex would be therapeutic as well.
That’s the thing. The sex is always so good, no matter what our emotional state is at the moment. It’s our go-to, the temporary solution to every problem. I know that’s probably not healthy.
Sometimes I think our relationship happened way too fast. We just went “whole hog,” as my Grandpa used to say, diving headfirst into this intense, breathtaking, scary, wonderful togetherness.
I so wish I could talk to my mom about it.
Both of Blue’s eyes are open now. He’s smiling at me.
“Good morning,” I breathe. “How’s the most hated man in America this morning?” I don’t know why I’m thinking a little gallows humor would help, but there it is.
Blue’s expression freezes for a second, but then he gives me a wry smile. “Okay,” he whispers, drawing the word out. “So that’s how it’s going to be.”
I hook my knee over his hip and grind into him. It doesn’t take long to feel his response.
Blue moans again and curls his hands under my nightgown, squeezing my bare butt. “God, Keegan,” he says. “You feel so good.”
To hell with my worries. I want to enjoy every moment we have right here, right now.
~~~
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