“Anything we fucking want,” Chappy answered. “But I’m not living in a city.”
“Well, I’m not living in a fucking suburb,” Bob retorted.
“As long as I’m not in a cell, chained to a wall, I don’t give a shit where we live,” Cal slurred.
“Rochambeau,” JJ decided.
“Huh?”
“What?”
“What the bloody hell is that?”
“Rock paper scissors. To decide where we’ll live,” he answered. Under the circumstances, it seemed ridiculous to decide where to put down roots once they were out of the military. Especially with a child’s game. But they all needed to think about something besides how much pain they were in . . . and when their captors would be back to inflict more.
“Sounds good to me,” Chappy said.
“Shouldn’t we decide what we’re gonna do for a living before we figure out where to live?” Bob asked.
“Nope,” JJ said with a shake of his head, warming up to the idea of making plans for their future. There was probably less than a fifty percent chance they’d even have a future, but right now, they needed to focus on something positive. “We can’t decide to be taxi drivers and then make the decision to move to some rural town with one stoplight. First, we figure out where we want to live, then we’ll settle on some kind of business to open.”
He waited for his friends to agree, then continued. “So, everyone think of where you want to live when we get back to the States. Somewhere you’ve always wanted to settle down. A place that calls to you. Then I’ll Rochambeau Chappy, and Cal and Bob will play. The winner of each round plays the other. Whoever’s left standing at the end decides where we live. Deal?”
Bob and Cal nodded.
A burst of laughter left Chappy’s lips. “We all know this is crazy, right?” he asked. “I mean, we’re about to decide on our future—a future with a high probability of never coming to fruition, considering where we are at the moment—with a game of chance.”
“Why not?” Bob asked. “You got somewhere else you need to be right now? Some other plans?”
“Well, you know, I had a hot date with this chick, but I suppose I can stay and play kids’ games with you guys instead.”
All four men chuckled quietly at that.
JJ was well aware the odds of getting out of their current situation weren’t good. But having something to look forward to could only help them in the long run. “Okay, Chappy and I will go first,” JJ said. “You ready? You got a place in mind?”
“Yeah.”
“Me too. Okay, on the count of three. One, two, three!”
JJ held his hand out flat, indicating paper, while Chappy made a fist.
“Damn,” JJ said, a small grin on his face. “Paper beats rock. Guess Hawaii is out.”
“Well, shit, I could’ve totally gotten on board with that,” Cal moaned. “We’ve heard Mustang and his team talk about how awesome it is there often enough.”
Mustang was a fellow Special Forces member they’d worked with in the past. He and his SEAL team had definitely lucked out with that duty station. The last JJ had heard, they were all settling down and starting families.
A pang hit him hard at the thought, harder than he could’ve imagined.
JJ had always wanted a family of his own. A woman he could protect and adore who would love him back just as much. And children . . .
He sighed. At thirty-nine, he was getting too old to think about having babies.
“Okay, Cal and Bob, your turn. On the count of three . . . one, two, three,” JJ ordered.
Cal held up two fingers in the shape of scissors, and Bob’s hand was flat.
“Scissors beat paper,” JJ announced.
“Shit,” Bob grumbled.
“What was your choice?” Chappy asked.
“New York City. Nothing better than the hustle and bustle of the greatest city in the world,” he said fondly.
“Looks like it’s you and me,” JJ told Cal.
His friend’s gaze was unfocused, and the pupil in the eye that wasn’t swollen shut was much larger than it should’ve been, but since there was literally nothing JJ could do right now to help other than take Cal’s mind off where they were for a few minutes, he did his best to hide his concern.
“You’re goin’ down, mate,” Cal teased weakly.
JJ’s lips twitched. They were all super competitive. It was partly why they were such good Special Forces soldiers. They didn’t like to fail. Didn’t like when things didn’t go according to plan.