Grey Skies - A Military Romance (Complete)

Grey Skies: Chapter 6

Max's thumb slid across the bump on his wrist as the pitcher released the ball. The whack of wood hitting leather jumpstarted his heart.

"It's going... going... gone." The sports announcer's commentary not necessary as the image on the TV screen trailed the baseball soaring through the air, into the scrambling crowd. A man in a white and blue stripped jersey emerged from the seats, ball in hand, a smile plastered across his face.

Glass clanked against the steel table as Campbell pushed a beer toward Max. "Aaron Judge at it again?"

"Yup." The cool liquid hit the back of Max's throat, easing the dry throat he'd nursed since coming ashore. In the southern hemisphere, it was technically winter in the summer months, but Africa was hot and humid. "That's number 37 this season."

"What was your record again?"

Max's wrist twinged with an all too familiar ache. "44."

Campbell whistled. "Impressive."

"It was a lifetime ago." Max concentrated on the shots of the dugout, eyes peeled for a glimpse of his former teammate Devon Graizer. Unlike Max, the talent scouts had recruited Devon out of high school and the second-base player had made it to the show this season. In another life, Max would be next up in the batter's box, not thousands of miles away in an un-air-conditioned bar in Africa.

With the time difference, 9pm was just in time for the first inning of the afternoon game. Campbell and Max had escorted their ship's Admiral to an offsite dinner and were due to pick him up in two hours. Finding the Labour Day baseball game playing in this Djibouti City bar was a stroke of luck. The American flag shining in neon lights through the grimy window had drawn them in and, despite the sparse interior, the place had cold beer and satellite TV. What more could a Marine with a few hours to kill need?

Peace came to mind. Max could feel the eyes of the three men huddled in a corner table on his back, his gut buzzing with anticipation. After three years as essentially a police officer in the Navy, he'd picked up almost telepathic abilities, able to read a person's malicious intentions before they moved a muscle. He stretched his shoulders, trying to ease the tension.

"Ignore them." Campbell took a lazy sip of his beer, like he didn't have a care in the world. But Max knew his team member well enough by now to catch the signs. Campbell had one eye on the TV and another on the mirror on the wall that reflected most of the bar interior. "Talked to Lily today. She's excited I'll make it home for Thanksgiving this year."

A different, stronger ache echoed in Max's chest. "Can't remember the last time I had real pumpkin pie."

Home for the holidays was not something he was used to. For years, he and Finn had avoided the landmines of returning stateside and the turmoil of visiting family during the season. Instead, they preferred to celebrate on foreign soil, in the company of strangers. Finn had now joined the marriage ranks with Campbell and was about to become a father. Without him, the Navy lacked something; the brotherhood that had saved him irrevocably cracked.

Campbell nudged his elbow. "Have you decided what to do with all that time off?"

"Not sure." The beer soured on his tongue.

"I'd kill for eight weeks' leave." Campbell shook his head. "I don't know how you lasted without any time off."

Max did. He'd run to the Navy six years ago, when the place he grew up and its occupants had made it abundantly clear he was no longer welcome. Then stayed away as long as possible. Those first few years he'd trudged home during his time off, regretting each trip. He'd learned he could delay leave to the legal limit the Navy allowed for two years and the vacation time had piled up. Now he had no choice. No option but to go home to Balder.