Fiance Next Door

I arch an eyebrow. “And therefore I should go out with him?”

The conversation may have taken a detour, but it still seems to be heading there anyway.

“Huh?” my father surprises me. “Do you want to?”

“No,” I answer automatically.

I’m confused. Why was he singing Mason’s praises if not to convince me to go out with him?

“I’m just saying Mason isn’t as bad as you think he is,” my dad says. “Maybe he never even was.”

Now he’s making me feel guilty.

“Fine,” I say. “The next time I meet him, I’ll give him a medal.”

My father sighs. “You’re not listening, Aster.”

“Then tell me. What exactly do you want me to do?”

“Just be nice,” he answers. “Like you usually are.”

“Fine.”

I don’t know why my father’s making me out to be a villain here. I have been nice to Mason, except for that one occasion. Wait. Mason didn’t tell my dad about that, did he?

“Did Mason say anything about me?” I ask curiously.

He picks up the console. “What about you? You mean like if he said you’re prettier now, or…?”

“Never mind,” I mutter.

I guess Mason didn’t mention that incident. Good. But then why does my dad think I’ve been unfair to Mason? What have I done?

He goes back to playing, so I decide to drop the topic. I’ve had enough Mason for a day, after all. I should get to work. I still have some designs I have to finish for a client.

I leave my dad and the dogs to their toys and go to my room to sit in front of my computer. Even as I stare at the screen, though, I find myself still thinking of Mason.

So he was in the Army, huh?

Chapter Four ~ Blindsided

Mason

“Incoming!” someone shouts in the distance.

I jump out of my bed and scoot under it, crouching against the floor and holding my hands on top of my head. A second later, a deafening sound blasts through the air. The ground shakes. The wind nearly flicks me away. Then, just like that, it’s over. The wind is gone. The bed above me is gone. The tent is gone. Everything and everyone is gone. There’s just sand for miles and miles and the sun’s rays scorching my skin.

I start walking, one foot in front of another. Suddenly, my combat boot sinks into the sand. When I pull it out, I find an arm attached to it and a man attached to that, a faceless man in army fatigues.

I try to pull him out of the sand only to find more bodies beneath him. There are bodies all around me now, all in army uniforms speckled with sand and stained with blood.

My stomach churns. My head throbs. I look up at the sky and open my mouth to let out a shout, but no sound comes out. Then I see a missile falling out of a cloud, heading straight at me.

I wake up. My chest heaves with my efforts to breathe. My eyes stare at the ceiling, which is just a black blur at first. Then I see it. My other senses kick in. I feel the sweat between my bare back and the cotton sheets and I get up. On my way to the bathroom, vestiges of my dream come back.

Another nightmare. Different. Each one is different. Yet they are all the same. All set in the desert. All featuring dead soldiers. All ending badly, with me almost dying. No surprise there. I did nearly die, after all.

I turn on the faucet on the sink and splash some water on my face. As the beads of water trickle down my cheeks, I take in my reflection. My gaze rests on the scar on my left pec and I touch it.

A scar left by shrapnel. Tiny, barely an inch long, but if that shard of metal had pierced me but a centimeter lower, my aorta would have been hit and it would have been the end of me. Or so the doctor told me.

You’re one lucky bastard, he told me. Maybe so, but some wounds never heal. Some nightmares never go away.

I wash my face some more, then leave the bathroom to put on a shirt. Outside the window, the sun has just started to rise. The sky is still dark. Treetops and rooftops remain cloaked in shadows.

I glance out the window at Aster’s room. Her curtains remain closed – she hasn’t opened them since the other day – but the light is on. Maybe she’s getting ready to go jogging?

I have an urge to go as well but decide to quell it. I don’t want to disrupt her routine, to encroach on her territory and make her feel uncomfortable. God knows she’s already uncomfortable enough with me at arm’s length, though I don’t know why. Is it because of what happened before I left? She doesn’t seem hostile towards me, but that doesn’t mean she’s forgiven me. Or forgotten that kiss.