Page 137 of Reeves

“Thanks.”

I tap the button to end the call. The truck falls quiet.

I don’t look at her, but I know she's watching me. The shift is obvious, the way she’s putting pieces together from half a conversation she wasn’t meant to hear.

I don’t offer anything.

She doesn’t ask.

"Do tanks have bathrooms?" His voice cuts through the tension from the back seat.

I catch his eyes in the rearview, grateful for the distraction. "No bathrooms. The crews use special bags if they really need to go."

"Like when we camp?" Benjy leans forward against his straps.

"Sort of, but less comfortable."

"Gross." He wrinkles his nose.

"That's why tank drivers try not to drink too much water before missions."

"I would bring extra bags," Benjy declares with absolute certainty.

Charli laughs, the sound breaking through whatever wall the phone call built. "I like your planning, Ben. Definitely bring extra bags."

I take the exit toward the fairgrounds, joining a line of cars turning into the parking area. Flags snap in the wind above the entrance. A massive M1A1 Abrams tank sits on display near the gate, its barrel angled toward the sky.

"Look!" Benjy points frantically, bouncing in his seat. "A REAL TANK!"

His excitement is contagious, even as my shoulder throbs, a physical reminder of the life waiting for me outside this bubble. I park the Hummer in a spot near the entrance and turn off the engine.

"Ready to see some serious hardware?" I ask, meeting Benjy's wide-eyed gaze in the mirror.

"Yes!"

The fairground buzzes with noise and movement. Families stream toward the entrance. Speakers announce a demonstration starting in fifteen minutes. The world expands around us, pulling us forward.

I get out of the truck and help Benjy down, his body practically vibrating with excitement as his feet hit the dirt parking lot. The fairground entrance looms ahead, crowded with families and veterans moving in waves toward the displays.

"Stay close, buddy." I rest my hand on Benjy's shoulder as we approach the ticket booth. My fingers curl protectively around the curve where his neck meets his shoulder.

Charli stands beside me as I pay for our tickets. When we step through the gates, the full scope of the show hits us at once. There must be ten tanks lined up going back as far as the eye can see, several helicopters with open cockpits, and uniformed personnel answering questions.

The air smells like diesel fuel, grass, and food trucks.

Benjy tugs forward. "Can we see that one first?" He points to a Bradley Fighting Vehicle where kids are climbing on the treads.

"Lead the way, Captain." I keep my hand light on his shoulder, not directing but present.

The crowd thickens as we approach, bodies pressing in from all sides. Without thinking, my other hand finds the small of Charli's back, fingers splayed just enough to guide her through the mass of people. I don't pull her closer, but I want to make it clear she is mine.

She doesn't pull away.

Benjy breaks free when we reach the Bradley, scrambling up the metal steps to peer inside the turret.

"Reeves! Look at me!" He waves frantically from his perch.

"I see you." I give him my full attention, not scanning the crowd or checking my watch. I could watch my son discover in wonder all day.