Starting smoking was a bad idea
Gabrielle Moore knew this, had known it from the first shaky drag she'd taken in her car two weeks ago, parked outside the building that used to house her job, her routine, her perfectly curated life. She'd watched the smoke curl against the windshield and thought, This is disgusting. This is exactly what I need.
Now she sat on the balcony of the fanciest hotel she could find, in a city she'd chosen because she'd never been there before, and proved herself correct on both counts. The cigarette was disgusting. The ash threatened to tumble onto her sweatpants with every exhale. Her lungs felt scraped raw from the three hours spent in the gym an hour ago. And yet, here she was, lighting another one off the dying ember of the last, because it gave her something to do with her hands and a reason to sit still.
Below her, the city hummed with a life that had nothing to do with her. Cars slid through intersections. People walked in and out of buildings, carrying bags, holding hands, living their contained, purposeful lives. Gabrielle watched them like she was watching a nature documentary—mildly interested, completely detached. She'd spent twenty-five years building connections: friendships, a career track. And in the span of seventy-two hours, she'd thrown a grenade into the whole operation.
She'd chosen to give up and leave her cushy tech job instead of defending her honor. Maybe if she had thought there was something worth fighting for, she would have fought a little harder to prove that what her colleague Mandy saw wasn't Gabrielle trying to seduce her boss, but the boss making advances at her. But no one believed her. Not even her so-called best friend since college; that's what work-place competition and jealousy does to friends.
Gabrielle and her best friend Tamara were up for the same promotion and Tamy thought she would be the one getting it because she worked the most hours. But Gabrielle was better at her job overall so she ended up being the one promoted.
And that promotion she'd earned a few weeks earlier became a bad taste in her mouth .
Her phone buzzed against the metal railing of the balcony, the vibration rattling glass. The screen lit up with a name that made her chest tighten, but not in a bad way. Not in the way the other names had started to tighten, like a snake coiling.
Sarge,
She almost smiled. Almost. Her oldest brother: Stephen, or Sarge, as she liked to call him, had earned that contact name years ago, long before he'd actually made Sergeant in the Marines. It was just who he was. The guy who organized the backyard football games. The guy who checked her oil when she visited home. The guy who, at fourteen, had threatened to beat up a twelve-year-old boy who'd made her cry on the school bus, even though she could do it herself with the martial arts lessons he'd given her.He was the family's designated pillar, the one everyone else leaned on, and he wore it like it cost him nothing.
Gabrielle took one last, pointless drag and stubbed the cigarette out on the underside of the railing, flicking the butt into the empty ashtray she'd requested from housekeeping. She picked up the phone.
"Hey, Sarge."
"Gabs." His voice was a low rumble, even through the tinny speaker. She could picture him exactly: probably in some common area on base, feet up on a cheap coffee table, squinting at a muted TV playing something with explosions. "You sound like you're outside. And breathing heavily. Are you running from the cops already?"
"Balcony," she said. "Smoking a cigarette."
A beat of silence. Then, "You don't smoke."
"Started recently. Don't like it."
Sarge laughed, a short, warm sound. "Okay, wild child. So you're on a balcony. In... where are you, exactly?"
Gabrielle laughs "Nice try Sarge. I know if I tell you where I am, you will have Matt here by morning to take me home where the rest of my brood of brothers would interrogate me until dad rescued me. So no, I'm not telling you."
Sarge sighed. "Ok fine Gabs. Atleast give me a hint so I know you're safe."
Gabrielle leaned back in the balcony chair, tilting her face toward the evening sky. The last of the daylight was bleeding orange and purple along the horizon. "I'm in a hotel. In a city. With a balcony."
"Helpful." He replied
"I'm between things, Sarge. That's the most honest answer I've got." She paused, watching a bird cut across the fading light. "I quit my job. Packed a bag. Ended up here."
The silence on the other end was different this time. Sarge was good at that. He didn't react until he understood.
"Okay," he said finally. "You okay?"
It was such a simple question. So direct. No panic, no lecture, no twenty questions.
Gabrielle felt something shift in her chest, a small tectonic plate of tension she hadn't realized she'd been carrying. "I don't know," she admitted. "I think I might be."
"Even though I don't know what to do next." Gabrielle added
More silence. She could hear ambient noise on his end—muffled voices, the clank of something metallic. "That's Impulsive." he said. "Very you."
"Shut up." Gabrielle smiled into the phone.
"I mean it as a compliment. We're a very dramatic family. Comes with the territory when you have five kids, one of which is the last born and only girl and a dad who communicates almost exclusively in eyebrow movements." He paused. "So what now? You just gonna sit on balconies and smoke for the rest of your life?"
Gabrielle laughed. "First of all, dad does not communicate using grunts, he always calls me to talk. And secondly, I'm quitting smoking, it's not my thing."
"We both know he only talks to you that way. He only talks to us if he's mad or feels we're not taking care of you properly. Of which in his opinion, will never be enough." Sarge replied with a chuckle.
Gabrielle stared thoughtfully into the starless night. "Yeah I know. If it were up to dad, I'd be the stay at home sister while my four brothers worked and took care of me"
Sarge laughed. "I can't imagine you not working." He paused as someone in the background called out his name. Gabby could hear him ask for five minutes before he returned to the phone. "You couldn't stay still from the day you started walking Gabs. And you bullied all of us into training with you as soon as you could talk.
Gabrielle didn't tell him that training with all of them started as her way of trying to spend time with her older brothers because that's all they seemed to do at the time. But she grew to like it and it became a part of her.
At the time, all of Gabrielle's brothers were in the U.S Army. All following in their dad's footsteps. Maybe it was the fact that their mom had died giving birth to Gabrielle so they had no other parent to look up to or ask about other careers but their dad. Who was also in the army at the time. Or it was because fighting was in their blood, Gabrille never figured it out.
All she knew was that their family were all born to fight. They did it so well such that all her brothers' careers had skyrocketed from the moment they joined the army. And she, though she never followed through on the plan to follow in their footsteps, could hold her own against each of her brothers and the respective skills they taught her. Besides eating and watching movies together, training together was all they did.
Gabrielle chuckled softly as she stood up from the chair on the balcony. "Remember when i wanted to join the army like you guys?" She asked as she snuggled onto a sofa next to the bed.
"Yeah I remember. And Matt and the guys encouraged you, to dad's dismay." Gabrielle could hear the smile in Sarge's voice.
"I'm thinking of doing it, sarge." Gabrielle sighed into the phone. "Fighting and getting dirty and pushing my body to its limit physically and mentally is all that really made me happy and feel alive. And the last years have shown me that our training sessions are not enough. I love tech, yes, but sitting still for the rest of my life while other people fight my battles for me is not what I want."
Sarge let out an audible sigh. Gabrielle could imagine him running his hand down his face and then through his buzz cut of golden hair that all five siblings had in common, thanks to their mom. "Gabs, I always said that you could achieve anything you set your mind to. That's in our blood. We are not quitters. And fighting runs through our veins. Whatever you decide, we'll support you. But you'll have to break it to dad."
Someone in the background called out to him again. Gabrielle heard rustling before Sarge spoke. "I have to go Gabs, we'll talk later. Think about everything carefully. OK? Bye." He cut the call.
****
The drive to her dad's house took forty-five minutes longer than it should have, because Gabrielle spent the first thirty of them sitting in her parked car outside the hotel, gripping the steering wheel like it might try to escape.
She'd made the decision after speaking to Sarge three weeks ago. Signed the papers two weeks ago. Told the rest of her brothers last week—separate phone calls, each one handled with varying degrees of replies. "Finally." Luke, her least older brother, had deadpanned.
Her second oldest brother had surprised her by being ok with everything, because he could be as overprotective as her dad. The quiet "proud of you, brat" from Matt that had nearly made her cry.
Tristan, her third oldest brother, had asked her if she was sure about everything before telling her he supported her. Gabrielle knew that she didn't need their permission to do anything, but they were a close knit family and they talked about decisions like this.
Just like when Matt and Luke wanted to start their Close Protection Agency after their army contracts had expired. They'd gathered everyone and announced it over dinner.
One person left.
One person she'd been avoiding.
Her dad's house sat at the end of a long gravel driveway, same as it had for thirty years. White siding, blue shutters, a porch swing that had held all five of them at various stages of childhood meltdowns. The flag was out. The lawn was mowed. A truck she didn't recognize was parked next to her dad's ancient Ford, which meant one of her brothers was already here, which meant—
She cut the engine and sat.
The front door opened before she could chicken out.
Luke stepped onto the porch, arms crossed, looking at her like she was a bomb that might or might not detonate. Behind him, the screen door banged shut.
"You coming in or what?"
Gabrielle got out of the car. "Whose truck?"
"Tristan's. He's in the kitchen."
She stopped halfway up the walk. "You called a family meeting? Without me?"
"We called moral support. For Dad. You're about to drop a grenade in his living room and you expected us to let him deal with it alone? Stephen and Matt couldn't come so it's just us."
Gabrielle kept walking, brushing past him up the porch steps. "I expected to tell my father something in private like a grown adult."
"Yeah, well. Welcome to the Moore family. Privacy isn't really our thing."
Inside, the house smelled like coffee and something Luke was burning on the stove. Tristan sat at the kitchen table, nursing a mug, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Gabs." Tristan said. He stood up to give her a crushing hug and kissed her head.
"Did Luke burn the kitchen down yet?"
"Not yet," Tristan said. "Give it time." He continued as he showed one dimpled smile and ran a hand over his short hair.
She moved through the kitchen, past the living room, toward the back porch where she knew he'd be. The door was open. The screen was shut. And there, in his usual chair, facing the woods they'd grown up exploring, sat her father.
Frank Moore didn't turn around when she stepped onto the porch. Just kept looking at the tree line, one hand wrapped around a coffee mug, the other resting on his knee. His once dark hair was mostly white now.
"Heard you drive up," he said. "Took you long enough to come inside."
Gabrielle sat in the chair next to him. The wood was warm from the afternoon sun. A bird called somewhere in the distance. Another answered.
"Hey, Dad."
"Hey, baby girl."
They sat in silence for a minute. Two. The screen door stayed shut behind them, which meant her brothers were smart enough to give them this much at least.
"You've been avoiding me," Frank said finally. It wasn't a question.
"I've been busy."
"Bull."
Gabrielle smiled despite herself. "Okay. Yeah. I've been avoiding you."
He turned to look at her then. Same blue eyes she saw in the mirror every morning. As pale and clear as an unpolluted ocean. Same stubborn jaw. Same way of looking at a person like he could see straight through to the back of their skull.
"Why?"
Because I'm scared of this conversation. Because I'm scared of you being scared. Because I'm twenty-five years old and I still want you to tell me everything's going to be fine.
"I joined the Army," she said.
The words landed between them like stones. Frank's face didn't change. Didn't twitch. Didn't do anything at all for a long, terrible moment.
Then he looked back at the woods.
"No," he said.
"Dad—"
"I said no."
Gabrielle felt her spine straighten. Felt the training kick in—Stephen's voice in her head, don't show weakness, don't back down, hold your ground. Gabrielle sighed "Dad. I'm not asking for your permission. I'm informing you."
Frank stood up. Not fast, not angry—just up, like he needed to move, needed to put distance between himself and what she'd just said. He walked to the edge of the porch, gripped the railing with shaky hands. Gabrielle felt a lump that didn't want to go down sit in her throat.
"Your brothers," he said. "All four of them. I watched them go. Watched them ship out. Watched Matt get on a plane to places I couldn't protect him from. Watched Luke come back different. Watched Tristan try to hide what he saw. Watched Stephen pretend it didn't change him." His voice cracked, just slightly, at the edges. "I did my time. I know what it costs. And you think I'm going to let you—"
"Dad"
He turned. His eyes were wet. Frank Moore, who hadn't cried at his wife's funeral because he'd had four boys and a new-born baby girl to hold together, who hadn't cried when each of his sons left, who hadn't cried in front of anyone in many years—his eyes were wet.
"You're my baby," he said. "My only girl. Your mother made me promise—made me swear—that I'd keep you safe. That I'd never let anything happen to you. And now you want to walk into the one place I can't follow, can't protect you, can't do a damn thing if—"
He stopped. Swallowed. Looked away.
Gabrielle stood up. Walked to him. Didn't touch him—he wasn't a toucher, not like that—but stood close enough that he'd feel her there.
"You trained me," she said quietly. "You and the boys. Every weekend. Every afternoon. You taught me to fight before you taught me to ride a bike. You made sure I could hold my own against anyone. You did that because you wanted me to be able to protect myself. To be strong. To survive."
Frank stared at the trees.
"I'm not walking into danger because I don't know any better. I'm walking into it because I do know better. Because you made sure I'd be ready. Because everything you and the boys gave me—all of it—points to this. This is where it fits."
Silence.
"The Army's not the same as it was when you served," she continued. "It's not the same as when Matt joined. And yeah, there's risk. There's always risk. But there's risk in staying here too. There's risk in playing it safe and never knowing if I could have done something that mattered."
Frank's jaw worked. Back and forth. Thinking.
"You could do anything," he said roughly. "You're smart. You're tough. You could be a lawyer, a doctor, run a company. You don't have to do this."
"No. I don't have to. I want to."
He closed his eyes.
"I want to," she repeated. "I want to know what I'm made of. I want to use what you gave me. I want to fight for something bigger than myself. Like you did. Like Stephen does. Like all of them."
"Your mother—"
"Would have kicked my ass if I didn't try."
Frank let out a sound that might have been a laugh if it hadn't been so broken. He shook his head, rubbed a hand over his face.
"You're so damn stubborn."
"Wonder where I got that from." she smile even though her eyes watered
He turned to look at her. Then brought up his hand and softly poked at the dimple on her left cheek that Gabrielle knew was there. The way he used to when she was little and had scraped her knee, or lost a tooth, or brought home a report card covered in As and was crying or laughing. Like she was the most precious thing in his world, and he couldn't believe she was real. Her brothers told her that their mom was the one who'd had a dimple on her left cheek. And that it was always there whether she was crying or laughing.
"You ship out when?"
"Two weeks. Basic training. Then—"
"I know what comes after basic." He held up a hand. "I know the process. I lived it, remember?"
"Right. Sorry."
Another long look. Then he did something he almost never did—reached out and pulled her into a hug. Tight. Brief. Over before she could fully process it.
"You don't fail," he said against her hair. "You hear me? You don't fail. You don't quit. You don't come home anything less than what you are right now. Proud. Strong. My daughter."
Gabrielle blinked hard. "I won't."
He let her go. Stepped back. Cleared his throat.
"Good. Now go tell your brothers to stop lurking in the kitchen like idiots. Luke's burning something and it's going to stink up my house for a week. He knows never to attempt cooking, but he just won't stop"
Gabrielle smiled. Actually smiled, wide and real, the kind that hurt her face. "Yeah, okay."
She turned to go. Made it to the screen door.
"Gaby."
She looked back.
Frank Moore stood at the edge of the porch, hands in his pockets, looking at her like she was already gone and he was already proud.
"I know you won't fail," he said. "That's what scares me."
The screen door closed behind her. In the kitchen, her brothers pretended they hadn't been listening. Luke scraped burnt eggs into the trash. Tristan studied his coffee like it held secrets. Luke turned and raised an eyebrow.
"Went okay?"
Gabrielle leaned against the counter. Let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.
"He'll survive."
Tristan nodded. "Yeah. We know. He doesn't have a choice."
From the backyard, through the screen, she heard her dad's chair creak as he sat back down. Facing the woods. Probably already figuring out how to let her go.
She'd prove him right. All of them.
She wasn't going to fail.