Page 2 of Grunt: A Marine Romance

“That’s what I told her. But she has this crazy idea that the Marine Corps would let me do it for one season—like a recruiting tool. I doubt that, but I could use my vacation leave. Remember that kid on American Pop Star?”

“Yeah. Didn’t he gain like thirty pounds and fail his PFT? Can you still dance, Patrick Swayze?”

“Good enough to teach some teen mom from MTV how to cha-cha. I’d be the laughing stock of the Corps.”

“Maybe not. I mean you are the only Devil Dawg who happens to be a ballroom champion. You could be that all-American hero. The pretty face that recruits a load more boys to come join the rest of us here, and get shot at.”

“If you think it sounds so great, I’ll tell her you’ll do it.” Bret hated the public’s obsession with the “celebrities” on these shows. Young kids who became millionaires for making sex tapes or wasting their days doing nothing but going to the gym, tanning and partying. Meanwhile, Bret and his buddies were out here in hell, dodging bullets.

Bret checked his spaghetti. He dug into the warm, gooey meal.

Ray shrugged. “The only dance I know is the ‘Harlem Shake,’ and something tells me I’d be more of a target for that than I am for being a Marine in Iraq.”

Bret had no desire to ever dance again. Once he’d joined the Corps, he had found his calling. “Nah, I’d rather stay here with my men. I wouldn’t even consider it—if it weren’t for Pierce.”

Ray blinked hard. “What does the show have to do with Pierce?”

“I promised him that I’d take care of his family if anything happened to them. If I did the show, I could earn enough money to buy them a house.”

“Dawg, you would do that for them? That would be crazy.”

“He’d have done it for me.” Bret knew that Pierce would’ve done anything for him. Pierce had already proved that.

They sat there in silence.

Ray nodded toward Bret. “Pierce was a good dude. You should do it.”

Bret’s hands became sticky with sweat. “I couldn’t. I’d make a fool out of myself.”

“Man, it wouldn’t be that bad.” Ray stretched out. “And you can go check out your ex-fiancée—she is Maxim’s Sexiest Girl Alive. Even if she is with that pretty-boy dancer.”

“Dima? That guy’s a jerk. He was one of our coaches. But I would never get back together with Selena.” Though she was sexier than ever, Bret had no desire to go there, despite the fact that he could still remember every inch of her body. A relationship between them could never work out. She was too focused on her career—always had been. He loved the Marines and wouldn’t allow himself to get tempted by the fame and money of Hollywood. But he still felt protective over her after all she had been through as a child and he hated seeing her all sexed up for the cameras. The thought of a bunch of Marines jerking off to pictures of his first love made him sick.

Ray rolled his eyes. “Well you never know. Maybe she’s changed.” Ray broke out a bag of Skittles. “I’ll go with you. Can you request Beyoncé as your partner?”

Bret laughed. “Not sure if Jay Z would like that. Or your wife.” Ray had one of the good ones. Ray’s wife was any Marine’s dream. Beautiful and faithful, Nia raised their four children while Ray was away. She was the head of the Key Wives’ Club, kept her body tight, and still had time to send Ray the best care packages, hence his endless supply of Slim Jims.

Bret had tried to have that family life once, but it didn’t work out. After that experience, Bret had vowed never to get close to anyone again, at least until he left the Corps. He needed to focus on guiding his men—not be distracted wondering if another man kept his girl’s bed warm while Bret fought a war thousands of miles away.

Ray stood up. “Nia’d be cool with it. She loves the show, man. Do it. Big shot reality star will need security. I got your back.”

If Bret did it, he’d want to have Ray by his side to handle the entertainment world. But it wouldn’t be to get back with Selena. Bret had no desire to live in the spotlight, and from what he could see, she had no desire to leave it. He stuffed the article back into his pocket containing his “If I should die” letter.

The roar of the rounds boomed through the sky. His cammies were soaked in sweat and felt heavy on his chest. He couldn’t see anything, but the rumbling of the helicopters overhead told him this was no training exercise.

Ray and Bret didn’t say a word; they knew what was about to go down. A fire built in Bret’s chest and adrenaline took over. Moments like this made all the sacrifices of war worth it—knowing that his life meant something and that he was responsible for not only protecting his men, but also ensuring the safety of Americans back home. Bret tossed the rest of the food into his pack and gathered his weapon. They raced into the tent.

Bret screamed at his men. “Grab your weapons and take cover!”