Cadet - 4. Cadet Fourth Class • III

On the last day of 2020, even though Ethan Feldman had returned to New York City, every bedroom at Everhope was occupied. Ritch had spent the night and so had Chipper and Thiago. Another Squad member, Thiago Baravento had attended Walls—School Without Walls High School’s in Foggy Bottom—and was one of CJ’s oldest friends.

A single father of an eighteen-month-old boy, he was about to enter his final semester at Howard University’s College of Pharmacy. “Hey, guys. I’ve got something to tell you.”

The television set was off, but everyone was sprawled on the furniture in front of it, while Ritch sat on the floor. When he left for Colorado the previous summer, CJ and Owen had taken in his golden retriever to serve as a companion to Liebe and her great grandmother. He missed the pooch and hoped at some point he could reclaim him. At the moment, Wingnut had his head on Ritch’s lap, enjoying behind-the-ears scratches. “What up, bro? You dropping out?” Ritch knew there was no chance of that happening, Thiago was as focused on becoming a pharmacist as Ritch was on becoming an Air Force pilot.

“No, but I’m leaving The District.” Everyone’s attention focused solely on the sad looking man. “I accepted a position in Atlanta. Fabricio and I are moving there after graduation.”

“WHAT?”

“Where again?”

“WHY?”

Thiago waited until everyone had their say. “It’s a good opportunity. Not a lot of people over me, and that means I could get a promotion faster than if I stayed in D.C.”

During the flight back to Colorado, Ritch pondered what would become of The Squad in the years to come. Patrick Kennedy was at Boston University, planned to pursue an advanced degree in theology, and eventually be ordained. Ethan Feldman already lived in New York City. Chipper Pereira would be back in California the following week to work on his debut album and tour as the opening act for Maroon 5 over the summer. The State Department planned to post CJ overseas at the end of the August, so he and Owen would move then. Thiago planned to spend at least the next five years in Atlanta.

Ritch had three and a half years remaining at the Academy and, at a minimum, a five-year post-graduation commitment. Longer if he went for further training to become a fighter pilot. He would miss being in Washington around his friends, but he would make the best of it. Soaring above the clouds in control of a jet would be a great cure for homesickness.

“I really don’t have time for this shit tonight. Chemistry’s going to kick my ass this semester unless I spend some serious time studying.” Ritch had grumbled about attending the evening forum since morning. Part of the Academy’s approach to developing leaders, seminars such as the one on life after the military were part of the curriculum. This one in particular irked him. “If I leave the military, I’ll become an airline pilot or go work for my parents. End of discussion. I don’t need this shit.”

“Peterson, you’re a conceited pain in the butt.” Will Bender, his roommate, had been shooting down his complaints from the get go. “What if the airlines don’t want you? Or your dads sell the business? What then?”

“I’ll move to California and buy a weed plantation.”

“Okay, now you’re talking, stoner.” Will had heard about Ritch and his brother both foregoing pot because of the Academy and the State Department.

The one bright spot of the evening, as far as Ritch was concerned, was Cadet First Class Claire Ross leading the seminar. In the same squadron as Ritch, she had harassed him the least out of all the seniors. He thought it was because of his speaking up during the diversity seminar she led during BCT. Afterwards, she made a point of thanking him for his contributions to the discussion.

“How many of you think you’ll graduate from the Air Force Academy?” C1C Ross halted her scan of the room when she came to Ritch. His was the only hand not raised. “Peterson, you don’t think you’ll make it to the end?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t think so. I know so.”

Her chuckle was accompanied by tittering from the rest of the attendees. “A little cocky there, doolie?”

“Respectfully, ma’am, I disagree. I have the physical and mental ability. The only other thing needed is dedication. Hard work. And that, I’m willing to do. I will become an officer in the United States Air Force.”

“Nice speech, Peterson. You’re still being cocky.” She turned away from him, but Ritch thought he noticed the corners of her mouth tick upwards an infinitesimal amount. “You all know we lost basics last summer. This January, a handful of cadets did not return after the break.”

Following a few gasps, the room was silent. Ritch assumed those came from people like him who had not yet heard the news. Ross pivoted in place and walked towards the front of the room. “Would it surprise you to know twenty percent of those who accepted their appointment will not make it?

“What about those of you who do get your bars?” Upon graduation, cadets would be commissioned as second lieutenants. “How long will you remain in the military? The minimum required? Twenty years? Thirty? Do you plan to make it your life-long career?”

Ross spent time discussing the benefits of having served when searching for employment once in civilian life, and the importance of good relations with non-military individuals. “There will be times when the support net provided by the government is not sufficient, and we must rely on others to help us integrate into life after discharge. How many of you know veterans?”

About half the class, including Ritch, raised their hands. Ross nodded while pacing the front of the room. “Okay, how many of you know someone who had a difficult time after being discharged.” About half the hands came down. She focused on a female cadet. “Tell me about your experience.”

The woman spoke about an uncle who had come live with her family after being discharged from the Army. Diagnosed with PTSD, it had taken a long time in therapy before the man was able to function properly. It remained an ongoing battle.

Ross encouraged a couple of other cadets to share their experiences before returning her attention to Ritch. “What about you, Peterson? You always seem to have interesting anecdotes.”

“One of my dads’ a retired Marine.” The fact he had two men as fathers had made the rounds of his squadron by this point. “Please don’t hold the fact he’s in one of the lesser services against him.” Rivalry with other branches was intense, and his fellow cadets laughed as expected. “One of my parents’ neighbors, a D.C. cop who’s one of their best friends, was in the Army”—Ritch referred to Brad and Patrick’s father, Tom Kennedy—“and so was his son.” Ritch’s tone was somber. “Brad was overseas, driving, when his vehicle hit an IED. He lost both legs below the knees.”

Damns, oh shits, and fucks greeted his comment. Ross waited until the cadets had quieted before asking what had happened afterward.

“They evacuated him to Ramstein right away, and his father and my brother flew over to see him. He and my brother had gone to high school together.”

“Weren’t you born there? At Ramstein?” The question came from a cadet Ritch did not know well. Gossip was as prevalent at the Academy as it had been at Sidwell.

“Yeah… My biological father was stationed there at the time. Anyway, Brad came back to the States and was at Walter Reed for a bit. Then he spent six months at a community that builds tiny homes for homeless vets.”

Ross raised a hand to stop him. “He ended up homeless?”

“No, ma’am. He spent six months there as part of a documentary about the place and the plight of returning vets.”

“How’s he doing now?”

Ritch brightened up. “He’s doing great, ma’am. I saw him when I went home for Christmas and even went jogging with him. He has metal blades for that. And I got to watch a rough cut of the documentary too. A Home for Warriors should come out in late spring.”

A few days later, Ritch received a message asking him to stop by the office of Dr. Perry J. Sloane, Associate Professor of Behavioral Sciences and Leadership. “Come in, Peterson. Have a seat.”

Although not a member of the military, Dr. Sloane kept himself in decent shape. Ritch had seen him jogging around the Terrazzo more than once and done a double take after encountering someone with a beard in a sea of clean-shaven faces. He had taught Ritch’s Introduction to Psychology course.

“Thank you. What can I do for you, Dr. Sloane?”

The man chuckled. “Straight to the point, eh? Ross did say you’re a no-nonsense type of man.”

“C1C Ross?” Ritch asked, wondering how his name had come up in a conversation between those two.

“The one and only. I understand you’ve been a participant in two seminars she’s led?”

“Yes, sir. Once during BCT and another one a few days ago.”

“She claims in both instances your participation was vital to the discussion. And I remember you doing well in my class last semester. Good for you, Cadet.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ritch at last recognized the connection; both seminars led by Ross had been part of Dr. Sloane’s portfolio of responsibilities.

“You might be a good candidate to be in her position in a couple of years, Peterson. Sounds like you’ve had an interesting upbringing, and it may be a good base on which to build leadership abilities. I’ll follow up with you at the appropriate time.”

Ritch tried to keep his excitement hidden. Based on what he had learned about the command structure, even the suggestion there might be a position for him in the BCT cadre was unusual with a first year cadet.

“However, what I’d like to discuss with you is a documentary you supposedly watched over Christmas break. Something about a community for homeless vets?”

“Yes, sir. It’s called A Home for Warriors, and what I was able to watch was a rough cut. They’re doing a little more editing before it’s released.”

“What’s your connection with the project?”

Ritch tried to figure out how to respond without revealing his family’s involvement but could not find a way to do it. “My friend, Brad Kennedy, lost his legs in an IED explosion and spent six months at Heroes Haven as part of his recovery. Haven’s a tiny home community for mostly homeless vets. Cameras followed him around while he was there, and he’s the narrator.”

“Was that how you had early access to the film?”

“Well…” This was the part Ritch was always uncomfortable with, discussing his family’s wealth. “My brother sits on the board of directors for the organization. He, his husband, and our parents underwrote the project.”

The man grinned at Ritch. “Guess the rumors I’ve heard about us having a cadet who’s a millionaire are true.”

“I had nothing to do with it, sir.” Knowledge of his finances had obviously spread too, and Ritch was certain some people thought he had more money than he actually did.

“But you’re close enough to it you were able to watch an early version. What are the chances you could put me in touch with your brother or your parents? I think I’d like to screen that documentary as part of next summer’s sessions.”

“You’re sure there’ll be stuff for me?” Will had asked the question a few times, and Ritch was ready to smack him for repeating himself so frequently.

On Friday of President’s Day Weekend, Ritch and Will left Colorado Springs so they could arrive at Denver International Airport about the same time César and Brett’s flight landed. They had made Dean’s List the previous term and earned themselves additional passes for spring semester.

“Bender, stop asking, okay? I already told you there’s plenty of crap at the house. Somebody always leaves something behind. At times on purpose, sometimes by accident. What I’ve used before’s all there, so you’ll at least have that. I’ve got the new gear the dads bought me.”

“Aren’t you guys afraid some renter will steal your stuff?”

“Nah… The management company screens everyone, and renters have to put up a hefty deposit to cover damages.” César and Brett had explained the procedures at one point, when Ritch asked a similar question. “Plus, there are two huge closets in the basement and a loft storage space in the garage. When the place’s readied for renters, someone from the rental firm goes through, and locks up anything we might have left out.”

“Sounds complicated and expensive. Can the place fetch enough to cover all that? And for your dads to make a profit?”

Wanting to surprise his roommate, Ritch had not mentioned the size or amenities of the lodge. “I don’t think my dads are interested in making a profit, Will. If they can cover taxes and maintenance, that’s probably enough for them.”

“Do you guys use it a lot?”

“Some… After a bunch of us went there to celebrate my brother’s eighteenth birthday, it’s been used a few times a year. They lend it out to friends too.”

Ritch cackled as soon as he saw his fathers. “What the hell are those things on your faces?”

“Welcome back to Colorado, Captain Davenport, Mr. Abelló.” Ever the nice guy, it was Will who properly greeted the two men. Curbside at Denver International Airport, he stood by the rental, while Ritch hugged his parents. Will did not acknowledge the facial hair.

“Hi, Will. They’re pornstaches, Ritch. They’re the new beard amongst millennials.” César grinned while finger combing the hair above his lip. “Google it later. It’s what all the porn actors in the seventies wore. They make you look kinda sleazy.”

“I can see that! The new beard for millennials? If you say so… And why exactly did you grow them?” Ritch’s raised eyebrow was a move he had copied from César.

“As a joke. One of our neighbors in Malibu’s an actor. We met him last month, and he had one of these things. He’s playing a villain in his next movie and grew it early to get into character. We made fun of him, so we figured he would laugh when he sees us.”

“You look like the actor who played Superman, Dad. He had one of those in a Mission Impossible movie.”

“A Ford Escort?” Shaking his head, Brett threw his bag in the back of the car and slammed the hatchback’s rear door shut. “I can’t believe you pick us up in a lousy Escort.”

Staring at his father in the rearview mirror once the Marine settled in the back seat next to Will, Ritch grinned. “Sorry... I tried to get a Rolls, but Enterprise only rents sensible cars. And for the record, Ford hasn’t made an Escort in years.”

“Ha! Sensible wheels are boring. You guys should have been with us in San Francisco last month. We rented a Lamborghini.”

“What’s this we shit, Jarhead?” César gave his husband a dirty look. “I had nothing to do with it, guys. It was all him.”

A slack-jawed Ritch glanced in the mirror again to see Brett grinning and Will looking as astounded as he was. He turned his attention to César. “You guys rented a Lambo?”

“I told you I had nothing to do with it. Brett’s been reliving his wild youth since we flew out to California last month. Mid-life crisis, I guess.” César turned in his seat. “Tell them what happened in Napa, Jarhead.”

“What? We had a great time and drank a lot of good wine.”

“And you got a five-hundred dollar ticket for speeding.”

“Say what?” His fathers’ antics left Ritch surprised more often than not. “I’m not taking crap from you ever again, if I get stopped. At least the Iowa trooper last summer let me off with just a warning.”

The sudden silence felt oppressive until César broke it. “Excuse me? You were stopped during your ride out here?” He did not sound happy. “How come we never heard about it?”

“Ummm…” Belatedly, Ritch realized he had put his foot in his mouth. “I figured Rod told you. It wasn’t a big deal anyway.”

“You’re lucky you only got a warning. How many points you have on your license now?”

“What were you in San Francisco for, sir?” Will’s question saved Ritch from having to answer.

“We had planned a vacation in Napa a few months before, buddy. In December, something came up with a property we had sold a few years before, so we went to L.A. to deal with that issue first.”

“Yep.” Brett replied before César had a chance to say more. “We now own the Malibu beach house I grew up in again.”

“Think about it, Bender. A warm place to spend spring break in!” Ritch had already told his parents he would probably use the beach house more than them, since he was closer to Southern California.

César repeated the admonition he had already voiced in a call. “Not this year. We’re headed there again after this weekend. We hired someone to furnish and decorate a portion of it, and we want to see the results. If he did well, we’ll hire him to do the rest of the place too. Maybe spring break next year you and Ritch can use it.”

While still in Washington, Brett and César had contacted the management company and arranged for food and lift tickets to be waiting for them upon arrival. As soon as they were on the road to Vail, Brett texted his contact at the agency. The fathers and Ritch had keys. There was no need to meet with them, but the call was part of the security procedures. With the place empty so much, Brett did not want the safety patrol the company used to be surprised when they noticed activity at the property.

“You’re kidding, right, Peterson? This is the little place you said your parents owned?” Will lowered the window, stuck his head out and gawked, as they drove up to the stone and cedar sided house. “Hell, man, we could fit our whole squadron in there.”

“Don’t exaggerate. I didn’t mention how large it is ’cause I didn’t want you babbling about it. The dads already said we can come back over break next month and invite a couple of friends. But I didn’t want people asking to come with us this weekend.”

“So you guys own a house in D.C., another one in L.A., and this place?”

“And an apartment in Manhattan.” Brett sounded dismissive of Will’s comment. “This one and the place in Malibu both belonged to my parents.”

“How long have you had this one, sir?”

“It’s been in the family since before I was born. The resort opened in 1962, and my grandfather bought the land as an investment soon after. Eventually, Mom and Dad built on it. They created this place to entertain family, friends, and clients. I used to come here a lot when I was a student at Berkeley.”

Inside the door, Will stopped to stare at the soaring cathedral ceiling while shaking his head. “This looks like a fancy hotel.”

“That’s what Mom wanted, and Dad used to say it helped with business. Guests were always relaxed and agreeable. I just used it to get laid.”

“Jarhead, enough bragging.”

“Come on, Bender. I’ll show you to your room and we can change.” The cadets were still required to wear their uniforms most of the time, and Ritch was ready to ditch it for a couple of days. He had carried his ski bag and board, but otherwise had packed light, and convinced Bender to do the same. The previous summer, he had left behind a large duffle full of clothes. Since they were of similar size, Ritch had promised Will there would be plenty for him to wear on and off the slopes.

As he had done during previous family trips, César had requested the management company include a rotisserie chicken and premade salads when stocking the refrigerator. That was dinner their first evening in town. Afterwards, wine glasses in hand at Brett’s insistence, the four men had relaxed in the hot tub before calling it an early night.

Because snow was forecast around lunchtime, and because the Jeep had four-wheel drive and a ski rack, they rode in Defiant the following morning. Will had been introduced to it the previous evening.

“Are you going to change the name?” Will had been told Ritch’s brother had named the vehicle, when he received it as a sixteenth birthday present.

“Nah… I grew up with it being Defiant, and it wouldn’t feel right calling it anything else. I mean, this is what I learned to drive in. Kinda emotionally attached to it.”

Brett’s raspberry sprayed the top of Ritch’s head, making him duck closer to the steering wheel. “Give me a fucking break. Emotionally attached to a car? What kind of pussy-ass shit is that?”

“Oh, that’s rich.” César turned to his husband. “Aren’t you the man who drives a twelve-year-old truck you refuse to replace? Talk about being in love with a hunk of steel.”

“Whatever!” Chuckles greeted Brett’s dismissive hand wave. “It’s a Harley-Davidson Edition F-350, Will. It’s an investment. A classic. A collector’s item.”

“Except when you lend it out to one of the construction guys and it comes back splattered with concrete. You should see him clean it, Will. Now that Ritch’s not home to do it as part of his chores, Brett spends hours babying it every weekend. I swear he caresses that thing when he polishes it.”

Ritch could not stop the chuckles. “Ignore them, Will. They’re like this all the time. They’re an old married couple.”

“Old, my ass!”

“Asshole!”

With Will and César carrying skis, while Ritch and Brett shouldered boards, the men were amongst the first at the lifts when they opened Saturday morning. Some hours later, flapping their open coats to help them cool down, they met for lunch.

“The conversation about Defiant this morning left me thinking.” Will picked up his sandwich and raised it towards his mouth. “What about the motorcycle in the garage, Peterson? Does it belong to you too?”

“Rosebud? Nope. It’s my brother-in-law’s. What are you gonna do with it, Dad?”

César shrugged. “Not sure. We originally thought you might like it here, but having only one...”

“Yeah, four balls on two wheels ain’t a good look.”

“Asshole!” Brett tried to slap the back of his head, but Ritch ducked in time. “You have a problem riding nuts to butt? You did it plenty with me when you were a kid.”

“Duh! That was then; this is now. I’m the straight son, remember?”

César rolled his eyes, as he usually did during Brett-initiated banter. “We really don’t know, Ritch. Now that we have a place in L.A., we may end up taking it out there. Or we might just sell it. We can always rent bikes for a few days, either here or in California. Harley has a new off-road model, the Pan America, that would be good to ride out in the desert.”

“How come your brother-in-law gave it up? He doesn’t ride anymore?”

“Oh, he still rides.” Ritch considered joking about Owen and CJ riding each other, but was unsure how Will would react to the sophomoric humor associated with the family’s interactions. “My brother got a custom Harley as a high school graduation present and an electric one when he graduated from college. They decided those two would be enough. No sense having three in the garage.”

A fast-moving front had been forecast to descend on the region and was expected to depart the area in the evening. Mother Nature had different plans. By early afternoon, flurries blanketed the mountain and visibility was poor. Since none of them were experts, they decided to call it a day, hoping Sunday would be better.

In the evening, when Brett offered the cadets an after-dinner drink, both declined. Ritch and Will had brought books with them and wanted to review the most recently covered section for their History 100 class. It was the only course they shared that semester apart from physical education.

The retired Marine shook his head. “You’re gonna study? You guys need to get a life!”

“Stuff it, Jarhead. I think they know what they need to do better than we do. If they think they need to study, then that’s what they should do.”

“Thanks, Dad. Papa, you may have gone through ROTC, but you were at a regular school. Berkeley and the Academy are worlds apart. You had wheels and most of the time you could do what you wanted. You have any idea how tough it is to crave a Slurpee and not be able to jog a few blocks to a 7-11? It’s a miserable feeling.”

César looked surprised and concerned. “How bad has it been, Ritch? You didn’t mention any of this when we saw you over Christmas.”

“I didn’t want to whine.” That was something strongly discouraged within the family. If you had a problem, you did not complain. You either did something about it or accepted it could not be changed or fixed. “I figured I’d get over it. Kinda happening already.”

“What about you, Will? Have you felt the same way?”

“Not really, sir. But, I grew up in a small town instead of a big city like Peterson did. Some of the things he’s done. my parents would have never allowed.”

Ritch chuckled and decided he needed to get Bender to spend more than a couple of days with the entire family instead of just the parents. “Ha! These two”—he pointed at his fathers—“were a lot stricter with me than with my brother. CJ got away with murder.

“Anyway, studying over a weekend like this one’s common, Dads. People don’t realize how different a service academy is from other universities. We don’t get to choose all afternoon classes and sleep late, like I heard a lot of my friends do.”

During the academic year, from early August through May, Cadets had a busy schedule of classes, study periods, military training, and athletic participation. Awake no later than 5:30 a.m., they had to be at morning alignment at 6:45 a.m., after ensuring their room and their uniform of the day were in order. Following breakfast, cadets had classes between 7:30 a.m. and 11:23 a.m., returning to their squadron area for the noon meal formation.

After marching to the dining hall, they had twenty minutes to eat, before attending more classes or study periods. This was followed by further training, athletics, club meetings, and a multitude of other responsibilities. The evening mealtime was from 5:00 p.m. to 7:00 p.m., and academic call to quarters was at 7:50 p.m. That was when cadets retired to their rooms most nights.

Some military activities took place in the evening, but the majority of time was devoted to studying in their room or in the library. A cadet’s day ended with Taps and lights out at 11:00 p.m. Most everyone found there was not enough time during the day to complete all their assignments and fulfill all their responsibilities. They had to learn time management and prioritization were skills key to survival.

“It all sounds more complicated than what I went through.” Brett’s smirk telegraphed a zinger coming next. “When do you have time to rub one out?”

“JARHEAD!”

“Asshole…” Ritch could not stop smiling. “By the way, Dad, I thought of you last week when we started a module on American isolationism.”

“Yeah? How come?”

“The class is Foundations of Modern America. Like most courses, it’s heavy on how the subject relates to the military. The instructor talked about how Americans were opposed to entering World War I and the Second World War. Then the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, and patriotism went through the roof. Even though we had a draft, there were a gazillion volunteers. Vietnam was a boondoggle many people opposed, so it was different.

“When he got to the Gulf wars and 9/11, the professor played ‘The Rising.’” Having grown up listening to César enjoying Springsteen all the time, Ritch surprised classmates when he muttered the lyrics along with The Boss. “He said he wanted to show how being attacked had mobilized all sectors of society. He claimed Springsteen wasn’t a hard-nosed conservative, but was so affected by the attack on the Twin Towers and the Pentagon, he wrote an entire album exploring the topic.”

César nodded as his son spoke. “That song still moves me to this day.”

The weather did clear by the following morning, and they spent the entire day on the slopes. By the time they quit, everyone was exhausted. César insisted on going out to dinner that night. Snow still fell, but the roads to Vail Village had been plowed and salted. Even then, Ritch never shifted into high gear.

Up the Creek, the American cuisine restaurant they had chosen, was a short walk from the parking structure. Sandwiched between Gore Creek and the eponymous street, the outdoor dining Ritch had enjoyed the previous summer was out of the question thanks to the weather.

“Do they have like an army of road shovelers? It’s been snowing since noon, and there’s nothing here.” Will had stopped in the middle of Gore Creek Drive and appeared confused.

“A bunch of the sidewalks and pedestrian streets are heated.” Ritch had learned that detail during a previous visit.

“You’re shitting me!” Will’s surprise made the other men grin.

“Nope. I found out about it and read up on the setup. It intrigued me. The engineering isn’t that complicated. The system pumps a heated water-glycol mix through the pedestrian streets in the Village. The heat keeps the roadway at just over thirty-two degrees, even when it's dumping snow.”

“Jeeezus!” Brett smacked his forehead. “Is this what it’s gonna be like around you when you become an engineer? Next thing you know, you’re gonna pull up schematics on your phone.”

“Schematics? Quarter word! I won’t. But I’ll add one thing: they’re not universally popular. They use natural gas, which releases a shitload of carbon dioxide, pissing off more than one environmentalist.”

“Shit! Forgot my sunglasses.” Brett dropped his backpack at Ritch’s feet and jogged back to the house.

“You guys should have sneaked in a little snow time this morning and left later in the day. We could have caught the airport shuttle.” César handed Will the last of the luggage.

“It’s not a problem, sir. We need to get back and get squared away for classes tomorrow.” Will threw the duffle bag in the rental’s back and slammed the door. Following breakfast, as the fathers readied for their flight to Los Angeles, the cadets offered to drop them off at the airport on their way out of town.

“I’m jealous of you, Dad.” Ritch leaned his back against the car and repeatedly tossed the key fob in the air. “Boarding yesterday and surfing tomorrow.”

Brett had finished locking the house and joined them by the vehicle. “You’re confused, Ritchie. He’s old, so he skis. I’m the one who boards. And as for surfing, buying a stick’s on my to-do list for this week. I doubt César plans on hitting the waves with me.”

“And you’d be correct. I’ll be hitting the links instead. Isn’t being able to play golf the reason we left the clubs at the house last month?”

“Surf, golf, eat, surf, sleep, repeat. All after chewing a cannabis gummy before each activity.”

“Fuck you, Cap. You know Bender and I can’t go near that stuff.”

“Jesus, Ritchie, I can’t believe the way you talk to your dads. Mine would kill me if I said that to him.”

Ritch whirled around to stare at his grinning roommate. “Listen to me, shithead. You better not call me anything but Ritch or Peterson when we get back. We don’t need the rest of the crowd hearing about my family nickname.”

Brett slapped his son on the back hard enough to make him move. Ritch was solid; he barely budged. “Dude, you’re sooo fucked. I may have to come hang during spring break and call you Ritchie all the time.”

“Asshole!”

Bender was still laughing when he slipped into the back seat next to Brett.

“Speaking of spring break…” César slid into the front passenger seat. “Only four of you?”

“Yeah. Bender, myself, and two of our buddies,” Ritch replied. “Thanks for lending us the place, Dads.”

“I swear you get dumber every time I talk to you.” Brett tapped Bender’s thigh to let him know he was going to wind his son up. Ritch saw the move and was ready. “It’s your place too, dickwad. What part of family retreat don’t you understand? You know the only time you can’t use it is if it’s rented out. Did you talk to the management company about spring break?”

Ritch grinned while looking at Brett in the rearview mirror. “Family retreat? Last month. After you guys said the beach house wouldn’t be ready in time, I called them to put a hold on it.”

“Maybe you should call them again and ask them to line up girls for you. When was the last time you got laid? Your stupidity may be due to lack of pussy.”

“JARHEAD!” César turned to look at Bender. “Ignore them, Will. Hey, I think we’re gonna do Christmas in Vail this year. Not sure how crowded it’s gonna be with all the family, and this is months away. But if you want to come meet the rest of the gang and do some skiing, you’re welcome to join us after the twenty-fifth. You can spend New Year’s Eve with us.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll talk to my parents about it.”

“Ritch, who are the other guys coming back for spring break?”

“They’re good guys, one’s from Hialeah. When he found out I grew up in South Florida, we started talking. The other one’s from Texas. They’re roommates and in our squadron.”

“Sounds like an interesting group. Okay, don’t burn the place down.”

A slack-jawed Ritch stared at his father.

If Brett was also surprised there were no lectures or warnings, he didn’t show it. He and César had always been somewhat more protective of their youngest son, and he was obviously glad to see his husband relax. Not wanting to deal with his fathers’ admonitions was one of the reasons Ritch had not wanted word of the house’s size to get out. He might invite more people in the future, but he wanted to see how it went with only four of them at first.

Ritch was on his way to becoming an Air Force officer; it was time the fathers let him spread his wings and fly.