Yellow Ribbons
leadership skills and was too soft-spoken. Some thought him sneaky. Greg considered him to be a ticking bomb. A man that subdued had hidden issues of some kind.
    “What if Captain Hollister is wrong? What if he’s only with his new girlfriend and lost track of time?”
    Greg wanted to ask him where the hell he’d been the last several months. Hadn’t he smelled the booze on Major Kenyon? But it wasn’t fair to shove blame Cornwall’s way. They were all at fault.
    “He’s not at work, and his drinking’s escalated. We can’t reach him and have no choice. If he’s sober and doing his woman, fine. But it won’t excuse the fact he has a drinking problem and needs help.”
    “What if he’s violent and out of control? What if he’s pissed and takes it out on us? I can’t afford to jeopardize my career for…”
    Greg resisted the urge to whip his truck to the shoulder and let the man have it. Verbally, of course. He focused on the road and reminded himself he was dealing with a wet-behind-the-ears lieutenant.
    “Marines take care of our own, Lieutenant Cornwall. In battle and at home. If you expect your marines to follow you during wartime, they have to know they can depend on you in peacetime too. You have to show them you have what it takes to lead, to do what’s tough, to make the right choice for everyone. Being a marine isn’t about a career. It’s about being the best, doing the best. We’re the go-to guys. Those who work with you need to know they can go to you, no matter what.”
    “God, you really believe all that.” Was that awe or disgust in Cornwall’s voice? Greg didn’t care enough to dissect it.
    “I do believe it. I wouldn’t be a marine otherwise. And if you don’t believe it, maybe you shouldn’t be a marine anymore, sir.” It was damn hard to add that sign of respect military required enlisted give to officers.
    “I…”
    Greg glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Cornwall fiddled with the bandage on his forearm. His gaze was locked forward. Greg wasn’t sure but thought he saw a trickle of sweat make its way down the side of his face.
    “What happened to your arm?”
    Cornwall jerked his hand from the bandage. “Cut it on my car. Flat tire. Jack slipped.”
    Greg heard him swallow, caught a glimpse of his Adam’s apple plunging down and then up.
    “You…” Cornwall pulled in a shaky breath. “I hear talk in the office.” Greg could barely hear him. “That no matter what’s going on, the troops can come to you. That you won’t judge. That you find solutions.”
    Greg tried to be that type of man in all that he did. “Life has its hurdles, and I’ve had my share. Someone was there for me at a dark moment; I like to return that consideration.”
    “How dark a moment?”
    “Very. If it weren’t for that help, I wouldn’t be a marine today.”
    Greg waited for him to ask what it was and debated his response. It wasn’t his proudest moment. He’d been young, stupid, volatile. No, Cornwall didn’t need to know the specifics.
    “Are you…gay?”
    Fuck, didn’t see that one coming . Since Cornwall asked, Greg suspected he was looking for a sympathetic ear. That, he could have. “No, I’m not.” He replied without judgment or rancor, his voice inviting open conversation if Cornwall wanted it. In fact… “And I don’t have a problem if you are. In my opinion, it’s no one’s fucking business.”
    Tension drained from the man. He slumped into the seat and gave a sigh that spelled relief. “I wanted to serve my country. Wanted to be a marine more than anything. Told myself I could manage being gay and being a marine. I didn’t expect it to be so difficult. I hear people trash talk gays, threaten them. Relaxed tolerance doesn’t mean shit.”
    It was the first time Greg had ever heard the man curse. He was human after all.
    “I’m so afraid of being outed. So afraid of losing the thing I wanted most. So afraid someone’s going to notice a hard-on and

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