Marrying Daisy Bellamy. Сьюзен Виггс

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      The officer in the mirror stared back at Julian with a sense of grave purpose. Who was this intensely serious guy? He didn’t even recognize himself. Was that him?

      Like so much of officer training, this was a deliberate strategy on the part of the air force. Through all the drills and preparation, the individual was taken apart and remade, perhaps reborn in a way. This suited him fine, dumping a past he couldn’t change for one he could control. He was learning to look the part—an officer. A leader. A warrior.

      “My, my,” said Davenport, letting loose with a wolf whistle. “Aren’t you as sweet as honey?”

      “Screw you.” The man in the mirror grinned, appearing a little more familiar now. Then he checked the time. “I’m ready to get the show on the road.”

      “Have a seat. We’ve still got a half hour.”

      “Can’t,” said Julian.

      “Can’t what?”

      “Can’t sit down. Do you know how long it took me to get these creases right?”

      “Hours and hours,” Davenport said with a laugh; then he sobered. “Dude, you look like a million bucks. Or at least like you’ve earned the commission you’re getting today.”

      Julian had no idea if his suite-mate was right. He’d worked his ass off, but given the nature of his first assignment, whether or not he was prepared could be anybody’s guess. The most frustrating thing about the news was its top secret classification. He couldn’t tell anybody the details. He didn’t even know most of the details himself. For the past year, he’d been groomed to be part of a special team, a highly unlikely designation for someone at his level. Although he knew his base assignment, he could tell people only that he’d been commissioned for active duty.

      He shook hands with his friend, and Davenport resumed his jocular air. “I might advise you to go for a short walk to clear your head, but that would be a bad idea.”

      “Why?”

      “You are way too pretty in full dress uniform. You’ll end up going through the whole ceremony dragging along an entourage of drooling women.”

      “Right. And how many women do you know who get turned on by the sight of brass buttons and epaulettes?”

      “I guess you’re about to find out.”

      Julian checked out his service dress uniform again, making sure every detail was right. Ribbons, devices, badges, insignia—all present and accounted for. Stuck in the side of the mirror was a five-year-old photo of him and Daisy, standing side by side, laughing at the camera. He remembered the exact instant it had been taken, with the shutter on timer. She’d made him laugh by saying, “Okay, pretend you like me,” knowing full well they were totally into each other.

      He was glad he remembered because otherwise he might not even believe the kid in the picture had ever existed. That tall, skinny kid with waist-length dreadlocks, assorted tattoos and piercings and a bad attitude was a stranger to the clean-cut officer in the mirror. Julian had been a punk—an adrenaline junkie with not much going for him except an unexpectedly stellar academic record and test performances. And of course, his status as a minority. He didn’t want people to assume race was the reason he’d been admitted to an Ivy League school and an elite training program, so he made sure he outperformed everyone else.

      Taking pains not to mess up his uniform, he slipped his hand into his inner breast pocket and touched the ring for luck.

      His phone buzzed, and he picked up. “Gastineaux.”

      “Hey Mister Almost-second Lieutenant,” said his brother, Connor. “We’re outside. Come on down.”

      “I’ll be right there.”

      Connor and Olivia had driven from Avalon with Daisy. His nerves jangled with excitement. He turned to Davenport and was startled to see all five of his suitemates gathered at the exit. They had shared quarters all year long. They’d fought and laughed and partied and competed and helped one another. Now the five of them formed a gauntlet at the door.

      “Good luck, Jughead,” said Williams. “We wish you the best.”

      The solemnity of the moment was broken by Del Rio, who played the air force hymn on a kazoo.

      Julian saluted them with all the smartness and respect he would afford a superior officer. СКАЧАТЬ