Page 92 of The Man I Hate

Suspended in that moment, we kissed each other as if our lives were dependent upon our successes.

When our mouths parted, I was mindless.

I knew one thing, however.

Braxton Rourke held my heart in his hands.

I prayed that he handled it with care this time.

Braxton

My fellow Marines were placed in two categories. The trustworthy and the incapable. While in combat, both groups of men faced the prospect of dying.

When placed at the crossroad of life and death, the trustworthy Marines stood firm in their convictions. They fought to uphold their system of beliefs; death be damned.

The incapable Marines were unwilling to devote themselves to a cause they were contractually—and morally—obligated to uphold. They were promptly deemed unreliable and disloyal.

The men who risked their lives received the same level of devotion in return. The men who were indecisive in the heat of battle never held my respect for a fleeting moment.

My experience in combat taught me many things. Most importantly, I learned that when a man is staring death in the face, the decisions he makes will define him.

Four days earlier, when I woke up from my sickness, I telephoned Pratt. I felt guilty for not informing him of my illness and embarrassed for haphazardly exposing myself to the virus. In short, I owed him an apology.

I called him and apologized. He explained what Anna had done. When faced with the prospect of forfeiting her life to save another, she made the decision without hesitation. She chose to run toward the threat instead of away from it.

Pratt may have prevented her from entering my home, but his choice didn’t negate the decision she’d made when she was at the crossroad of life and death. Her decision, like the decisions of my fellow Marines, defined her.

There was only one thing left for her to prove.

When I reached the age that I found interest in women, my father offered mountains of advice. I never knew if my failure to secure the right woman was a result of my father’s poor advice or my inability to make good decisions.

One piece of his advice now came to mind.

“Never choose a woman because she’s good in the sack,” he said.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because good pussies aren’t always attached to good women,” he replied.

“So, what am I supposed to do?”

He looked at me like I was a complete idiot. “Choose a woman based on how she makes you feel when she’s not fucking you.”

I returned six months or so later, asking him to expand upon his advice.

“Human beings have a propensity to lie,” he said. “But a kiss will always tell the truth.”

He explained that the moment he kissed my mother he knew she was the one he’d spend the rest of his life loving, caring for, and building a family with. I laughed at his claim. Something as simple as a kiss revealed absolutely nothing about who a woman was.

Or, so I thought.

“Holy crap,” Anna said. “What was…” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “What was that about?”

“I guess it was a test.”

She playfully batted her eyes. “Did I pass?”

Her curly brown hair glistened in the afternoon sun. Her face—which had worn the looks of either worry, wonder, or aggravation for the past month—now expressed delight. I gazed at her admiringly.