Free Soldier On by Sydney Logan

the same roof isn’t temptation enough. The bell on Bangle’s collar jingles, letting us know that she’s hot on our heels. When Steph opens her bedroom door, the feline gives me one last hiss before heading inside.
    Steph smirks. “See? You’re growing on her.”
    “Yeah, like a fungus.”
    We both laugh and lean a little closer. The urge to touch her is overwhelming. The need to kiss her is worse.
    “You’re driving me crazy, Steph.”
    “I don’t mean to.”
    “You can’t help it.”
    She smiles.
    “Sleep well, Brandon.”
    “You, too.”
    And I do. It’s my best night’s sleep since the semester began.
    When I wake up the next morning, I quietly climb out of bed and make my way to the shower. I know Steph’s first class isn’t until ten, so I don’t want to wake her any earlier than necessary. As I stumble into the bathroom, I flip on the light, and there on the mirror is a yellow sticky note. I wipe the sleep from my eyes, and when I’m able to finally focus on the words, I can’t help but grin.
    Brandon,
    You drive me crazy, too.
    Love,
    Steph

    By the end of January, Steph and I fall into a comfortable, if not frustrating, routine. I’m out of the house each morning by five, and I don’t usually see her again until later that night. Between my PT, weekend field experience, regular classes, and my job at The Grind, combined with her six classes and her job at the library, we’ve barely had time to say hello. We had planned a couple of movie nights, but something always happened to screw it up. My PT would run late, or she’d have a last-minute project that had to be completed. Or Xavier and Tessa would stop by. The only time we’re really together—and awake—is during Women’s lit, and we can’t do anything in there except hold hands.
    I just want to kiss her . . . for an extended period of time. Is that too much to ask?
    It’s Friday afternoon, and The Grind is pretty dead, so I’m using the free time to study. I’ve just started reading a chapter on military ethics when I hear my sister’s ringtone.
    “ Sister Christian.” I bet Steph loves that song.
    “Hey, Chris.”
    “Don’t hey me. You hung up on me and didn’t call back.”
    “Yeah, well, I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, and I’m still not, so unless you’re calling to talk about Dad or the girls—”
    “It’s about Dad.”
    This shuts me up, and I listen as Christian tells me that she’s had to take over Dad’s personal finances after the bank informed her that he had overdrawn on his checking account.
    “And it wasn’t a small amount,” Christian explains. “We’re talking thousands of dollars. He’s been a customer for decades so they’ve been really understanding, and he had savings to cover it, but I’ve basically had to hide his wallet and checkbook.”
    Bruce Walker is a decorated war hero and deacon in the church. He survived two tours in Vietnam and a divorce after thirty years of marriage. Our dad is respected in the community and stubborn as a mule. I can only imagine how deeply it’s wounded his pride to have his daughter take over his finances.
    Alzheimer’s sucks. And this is supposedly the early stages.
    I try to swallow the lump in my throat. “I should be there.”
    “No, you should be right where you are. You have an obligation, Brandon. The United States Army owns you for the next four years.”
    “I know, Chris.”
    “That’s why I said it was terrible that you like that girl,” she says. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s great that you’ve met someone, and if you can keep it casual, and keep it in your pants—”
    “I am not having this conversation with you.”
    She takes a deep breath. “You’re headed to Fort Gordon in June. After that, who knows where you’ll be. A serious girlfriend—whether she likes the military or not—is not a good idea. Not right now. You need to stay focused on school and your field exercises. Fulfill your duty. Serve your country. You