Rogenna Brewer - Mitzi's Marine

He had a desk job he couldn’t stand after one day. And the recon job he loved was still out of reach. At least until he passed the obstacle course. Soon.

Meanwhile, he did have the one thing Henry didn’t have. Family.

The house was empty when he got there.

He found a sticky note tacked to the refrigerator door—“7:00 p.m.”

That could have meant almost anything. But in the Calhoun household it meant there was a basketball game tonight. Why hadn’t his mother mentioned it at breakfast? Why hadn’t Keith said something this afternoon?

He more or less knew the answer to that one.

It was a quarter to seven now. He didn’t have time to shower or change if he wanted to make the first quarter. He looked down at his sweats. No big deal.

Pocketing the house keys, he walked the few blocks to Englewood High School. The parking lot was near capacity and he was glad he wasn’t trolling for a space. Light spilled from the building. Every time the doors opened he could hear the band pumping up the crowd.

Once inside, he found the sound almost deafening.

The halls outside the gym smelled of buttered popcorn and were lined with tables of blue-and-white team T-shirts with EHS printed on them. Both were being sold to raise money for the team. He bought a bag of the popcorn and entered the gym.

The Englewood Pirates bleachers were full.

He didn’t bother searching for his family. They’d find each other eventually. Instead he made his way to the nearest available seat. Which happened to be fifteen frustrating rows up in the opposing team’s territory—The Alameda Pirates. Both teams were Pirates.

This was the rivalry of the year—the battle for Pirates’ pride.

At least he didn’t stand out as the only Pirates fan sitting on the wrong side. He wore nondescript gray sweats and there was plenty of blue and white filling in around him—both teams’ colors were blue and white.

He caught Keith’s attention from the bench, and they nodded to each other. Home team was wearing white tonight. His brother was wearing his old number—twelve. Keith turned away from him toward the home team bleachers. Bruce looked to see what had captured his brother’s attention and picked out Kelly in her band uniform, second row from the top. She made a cute drummer. Her long dark hair and light-colored eyes reminded him of someone he’d thought was pretty cute back in high school.

Now he knew that someone was smokin’ hot.

Scanning the crowd to the left of the band, about halfway down, he found his mother. Eva and John were going over the program of players, which Bruce had forgotten to grab.

Farther down on the right, Lucky sat holding Chance while leaning over Cait to talk to the boys on the bench. Bruce didn’t see the coach. Or Mitzi. But her father was sitting behind the team, near Bruce’s older brother and sister-in-law. He watched as they exchanged a few words.

Cait spotted him and waved. She nudged Lucky and his brother looked up. Lucky, not to be confused with Luke—though they’d often been confused—was Bruce’s only full blood brother. He made Chance wave a chubby fist even though the baby, now almost one, couldn’t pick his uncle out in the crowd.

Bruce waved back. Yeah, he could count his blessings. Parents who loved him, a younger brother who worshipped him—most of the time. And an older brother he envied.

From his vantage point he could see the JROTC Drill Team forming up outside the double doors, which had been opened wide for the occasion. They wore white ascots, white gloves and black berets with their junior paramilitary uniforms. Wooden rifles painted white with black plated accents added just the right snap to their routine.

Behind them stood the color guard.

And behind that line of flag bearers he caught a glimpse of Mitzi and Estrada in deep discussion. Even though Estrada was an active duty reservist and taught JROTC at the high school, it seemed odd that the coach would be wearing his dress uniform on a game night.

Then Bruce caught a glimpse of the folded jersey in Estrada’s hands. Number fifteen. Zahn.

Realization hit Bruce with the full force of a rocket-propelled grenade.

“Can I see that program?” he asked the couple seated next to him. Sure enough, Freddie’s number was being retired tonight. And no one had bothered to tell him.

Not Mitzi. Not his family.

When the hell had he become the home less guy?

KEITH LAUNCHED a three-point shot at the buzzer and Englewood edged out Alameda 86–85 for the win. In the midst of all the excitement, Mitzi stopped trying so hard not to notice him.

Bruce knew, because he’d spent the entire game watching her. He wasn’t going to make a scene. This was Freddie’s night. He just wanted to know why she felt the need to exclude him. Why Estrada had stood at the podium while he sat on the sidelines.

Only one of them had been Freddie’s friend and teammate. On the court and in combat where it really counted. And it wasn’t the schoolteacher. Of course, only one of them could say he’d let both Freddie and Mitzi down.

Bruce remained seated while the crowd filed out around him. Fred Zahn Sr. caught sight of him and waved on his way out the door, presumably to head off the crowd before they beat him back to the Broadway Bar & Bowl.

“We’ll meet you over at the bowling alley,” his mom called out as she and John passed by his bleachers. “Lucky said they’d give you a ride.”

Lucky and Cait were slower to cross over to his side. They had Chance’s baby stuff to haul, and Cait had to be at least eight months pregnant.

“You just going to sit there?” Lucky stood at the foot of the bleachers.

“I’m wondering why nobody bothered to tell me they were retiring number fifteen tonight.”

Cait tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “I’m so sorry, Bruce,” his beautiful, blue-eyed sister-in-law apologized. That’s all he wanted, an apology. Lucky got an “I told you so” as Cait balanced Chance high on her hip to compensate for her baby bump.

His brother wasted no time in clearing the bleachers two steps at a time against the thinning crowd. “I guess we all just assumed Mitzi would say something.”

“Yeah, well, she didn’t.”

Lucky stopped below him with one foot resting on the step above. “At least Keith—”

“He didn’t.”

Lucky seemed surprised by that. “Well, you made it, that’s what’s important. Cut us some slack. We’re happy to have you home, but a little advance warning would have been nice. Nobody knew you were flying in on that red-eye this morning. Or that you’d even taken the recruiting assignment. Last I’d heard you were hoping for something closer to San Diego. Communication works both ways, little bro.”

Bruce shifted his gaze to center court. Now that the bleachers were cleared, players headed to their respective locker rooms. Coaches paused to shake hands. The visiting and assistant coaches followed their teams, while Estrada went back to the bench where Mitzi waited for him.

“Don’t go there,” Lucky said, forcing Bruce’s attention back to him. “She’s moved on.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“So come spend time with the family. We’ll have pizza and beer and maybe even bowl a few frames if the lanes aren’t already too crowded. We can listen to Keith brag about tonight’s three-pointer at the buzzer and you can shut him up with all your state championship wins.”

Lucky had bragging rights of his own. He’d been a point guard in his day.

Bruce shook his head. Any other night he would have. But that half sandwich and half bag of popcorn already felt like lead in his gut.

“Can we at least give you a ride home?”

“I’ll walk.”