The Shavetail: Career Soldier: West Point Tour of Duty, #3

Prologue

Paige

When I was nineteen, I had sex for the first time. It happened with a guy who’d been asking me to go out with him since my first day of freshman year at Briarmoore College. He also happened to be the brother of my roommate, Heather. I’d always thought that Josh was a decent person, funny and definitely on the hot side. From an unbiased point of view, he wasn’t a bad choice for a girl looking to pop her cherry.

The problem wasn’t with him. It was with me. I’d held this dude at bay for over a year because I was so totally and deeply in love with my best friend, Wyatt Henderson. Even though Wyatt had never given me an indication that he saw me as anything other than his buddy, I harbored a secret dream that one day his eyes would be open, and he’d realize that we were meant to be.

Cue that Taylor Swift song that’s probably running through your mind right now. Yeah, I was that girl.

Anyway, the deed was done on a Saturday night. That evening, Wyatt had texted me a picture of himself at a West Point dance—did I mention that Wyatt went to West Point? Not only was he a stellar student at the Academy, but he was also starting quarterback for the Black Knights, Army’s football team. Yep, my best friend had it all going for him.

So he sent me this selfie from the dance, which would be a really sweet thing . . . if not for the fact that he wasn’t alone. There, in the frame with him, was a gorgeous woman with blonde hair and big blue eyes, her perfect teeth displayed in her wide smile. She was in a fancy dress, because the dance was formal, and that gown’s neckline dipped low enough that I could see she also had gotten all the boobage I was never blessed to have.

Even so, I might have been okay with that. After all, I’d lived through Wyatt dating other girls before in the long tenure of our friendship. But what plunged the dagger into my heart and twisted it was the message he sent along with the picture.

Wyatt: This is Kimberly! We’re about to head out for the dance, but I wanted you to see her because toots—I’m pretty sure she’s the ONE. I’m crazy about her. I know it’s early, but I think I can actually see us getting married after graduation. I can’t wait for you to meet her.

My throat had tightened, my mouth had gone dry, and I’d felt like I was going to be sick. What I’d dreaded most was happening, and I was losing the love I’d never really had. I’d been considering climbing into bed with a bottle of Jack and a box of tissues when I got another text. This one was from Josh, my roommate’s brother.

Josh: Hey, gorgeous, I’m in town. Didn’t realize Heather was away this weekend. Want to grab dinner with me? Otherwise, I’m just going to pine away by myself . . . no pressure, though.

I couldn’t explain what happened, but something clicked in my mind, and suddenly, I didn’t want to get into bed with Jack Daniels; instead, I decided to get into bed with Josh.

There’s a line from an old movie that says you should never go to bed with someone when you learn your ex is getting married. Apparently, that sentiment also applies when the man in question who isn’t your ex—he’s your never.

Because while everything was fine during the time Josh and I were actually having sex, afterward, I was a mess. I was devastated. All those years, I’d been saving myself for when Wyatt finally realized that we were meant to be together, and now I’d ruined that. I was crushed, angry at myself, and heartbroken that I’d shared this important milestone in my life with a guy who would never be anything other than a casual fling. And what would I do if Wyatt decided that he was in love with me now? What if Kimberly wasn’t the ONE for him? What if he texted me and said he’d been mistaken?

It didn’t happen, of course. Wyatt dated Kimberly for the rest of his time at West Point. Over the summer before his firstie year—that’s senior year in civilian college—on a perfect summer evening, with the moonlight gleaming on her perfect blonde hair, he’d proposed to her, and of course, she’d said yes.

I didn’t have meaningless sex again that night, but I did get rip-roaring wasted.

What made everything just that much more fun for me in the months that followed Wyatt and Kimberly’s engagement was that I had to be involved in their wedding planning. I’d graduated from college early by taking extra credits, finishing a full year ahead of my classmates. Since my mom was stationed at West Point, though, and I wasn’t sure exactly what I wanted to do after graduation, I moved in with my parents. I took a position in the events planning department at the Thayer, the beautiful and elegant hotel just inside the gates at West Point. It wasn’t a hard job, and I enjoyed the work—or at least I did until Wyatt recruited me to help Kimberly plan their reception, which would take place at the Thayer right after their wedding at the chapel, which was set for two hours after graduation.

It was during that planning process that I got to know the real Kimberly. I wish I could say I liked her, too, even though she’d stolen my destined love from me, but I didn’t. She was, in point of fact, an utter bitch who made my life a nightmare. In front of Wyatt, she was sweet as sugar, but when we were alone, she treated me with snarling nastiness.

Still, I couldn’t say anything to Wyatt because in his eyes, Kimberly remained the epitome of all things perfect and lovely. If I had raised a differing perspective, I would have lost his friendship. I wasn’t willing to risk that.

But now, as I sat in the empty ballroom at the Thayer, I couldn’t help remembering that morning after I’d had sex with Josh because that day had been the lowest in my life thus far. I’d never been so miserable, before or since. Now, though, as Wyatt sat next to me at the table, I saw on his face even greater pain and grief than I’d experienced that day.

The ballroom where Wyatt and Kimberly’s reception had been slated to take place was empty because early this morning, before graduation, Kimberly had informed Wyatt that she wasn’t going to marry him, after all. She’d hadn’t given him any reason why. Wyatt’s mother had speculated that maybe Kimberly had realized she didn’t want to be an Army wife, but I didn’t buy it. I wasn’t sure what had prompted Kimberly to call off the wedding, but she’d known all along that Wyatt had a commitment to the Army. That didn’t fly with me.

Not that I was saying this to Wyatt right now. He didn’t need to hear it in his current state of mind, which was basic despondency. Still in his brand-new green uniform, the one he’d worn for his swearing-in, he was slumped in the banquet chair, staring at the salmon-colored linen tablecloth.

This is the ugliest color I’ve ever seen. His voice was rusty, mostly because he’d been almost completely silent for the last hour or so. Why were we going to have these ugly tablecloths at our wedding reception?

I bit my lip, refraining from reminding him that it was his ex-fiancée who’d chosen the color. Kimberly had been quick to brag to me often about how involved Wyatt was in the wedding planning process. I’d known that was a fib, but I’d been too polite—too interested in keeping the peace so that Wyatt wouldn’t get mad at me—to call her on it.

But now, he met my eyes, and beyond the bleakness there, I saw a glimmer of knowledge. She chose it. Of course, she did. I remember when she showed me a piece of cloth and asked me if I liked it. I told her it looked like someone had chugged Pepto-Bismal and then puked it up. A smile ghosted over his lips and vanished as quickly as it had appeared. She got mad and told me I had no taste, no, uh . . . sense of color.

I sat back in my chair, thinking it was the singularly most uncomfortable piece of furniture on the planet. It didn’t help that I was wearing a dress, the one I’d put on early this morning before I’d known that the wedding was off. It wasn’t designed for sitting around with your best friend, trying to offer him some lame solace. I liked the color—a pretty and distinctive cornflower blue—and I’d thought the design was a tiny bit daring when I’d bought it. Now, however, I wished it was less like a scratchy straitjacket and more like sweatpants.

Kicking off my shoes—heels that were cruel to my poor feet—I rested my toes on the rung beneath Wyatt’s chair. This is . . . this whole thing, dude. It sucks. And there’s no road map here. I don’t know what you need from me. Do I tell you that Kimberly is a fucking bitch and I hate her? Would that help? Or do I tell you that it just wasn’t meant to be, and you’ll get over it eventually? Should we go get drunk, so you don’t have to feel? Or should I take you . . . I stopped abruptly, frowning. Where are you staying tonight, Wyatt? I didn’t even think about it.

This whole day had been a blur. I’d gotten up super early to go to the Thayer and check the last-minute preparations for Wyatt and Kimberly’s reception. I’d met with the banquet manager, spoken to the staff who were setting up the room, and examined the centerpieces to make sure they were fresh, with no wilting or brown