Chapter 10: Meeting the Master Gunny
The truck's engine ticked as it cooled. Riley hadn't turned it off so much as let it die, her hands still wrapped around the wheel like she was bracing for impact. The gravel driveway crunched under the tires. Dust hung in the air, suspended in the late afternoon light.
Kenzie sat beside her, hands folded in her lap. The sundress was pale yellow—buttercup, almost—and it made her look like something out of a magazine. Something soft. Something that didn't belong in this hard-edged world of rusted tools and chain-link fences.
"You're gripping the wheel pretty hard," Kenzie said.
Riley looked down. Her knuckles were white.
"Yeah."
"You want to tell me what we're walking into?"
Riley exhaled. Long. Slow. "My dad's a Master Gunnery Sergeant. Retired. Twenty-nine years in the Corps."
"I know."
"He doesn't do small talk. He doesn't do bullshit. He looks at you like he's reading a field manual and you're the equipment."
Kenzie's lips curved. "Sounds like someone I know."
Riley shot her a look. Kenzie's smile widened.
"I'm just saying."
"Just—" Riley stopped. Started again. "Just be yourself. He'll either like you or he won't. And if he doesn't, we'll leave and I'll never bring it up again."
"And if he does?"
Riley looked at her. Really looked. Kenzie's eyes were steady. Her hands were steady. Everything about her was steady, and Riley felt like a hurricane.
"If he does," Riley said, "then you're in. For life. No take-backs."
Kenzie reached over. Squeezed her thigh.
"Okay," she said. "Let's go."
The house was a single-story ranch, paint peeling on the north side, gutters that needed cleaning. The porch sagged slightly. But the lawn was mowed, the toolshed was organized, and the American flag on the pole by the driveway snapped in the wind like it had something to prove.
Her father stood on the porch.
Arms crossed. Boots planted. A t-shirt that had seen better decades and jeans that had seen worse. His hair was silver now, cropped close, and his face was a map of every mile he'd ever walked.
He didn't wave. Didn't smile. Just watched them climb out of the truck.
Riley felt twelve years old again. Sixteen. Eighteen. Every age she'd ever been, standing in front of him, waiting to be measured.
"Dad," she said.
"Riley."
She walked up the steps. Kenzie followed half a pace behind. Riley stopped at the top, and for a moment, neither of them moved.
Then her father opened his arms.
Riley stepped into them. He hugged her hard—the kind of hug that compressed your ribs, that reminded you what bones were for. He smelled like sawdust and coffee and the same aftershave he'd worn since before she was born.
"You look good," he said.
"You look old."
He snorted. "Still a smartass."
"Learned from the best."
He released her. Turned to Kenzie.
For a long moment, he just looked at her. Kenzie didn't flinch. Didn't look away. Just stood there in her sundress, chin up, hands at her sides.
"Sir," she said.
"Kenzie."
Her eyes widened. "You know my name?"
"I know a lot of things." He glanced at Riley. "She's prettier than you described."
Riley felt her face go hot. "I didn't—"
"You said 'blonde, cop, nice smile.' That's not a description. That's a police report."
Kenzie laughed. It was a real laugh, surprised and bright, and something in her father's face shifted.
"Come inside," he said. "I've got brisket and sweet tea. And I've got questions."
The kitchen was small and clean. A table with three chairs. A window over the sink that looked out on a vegetable garden. Tomatoes. Peppers. A few rows of something Riley couldn't identify.
Her father poured three glasses of tea. Set them on the table. Then he sat down, and Riley and Kenzie sat across from him.
The brisket was on a platter in the center. Cornbread. Pickles. A bottle of hot sauce.
"Eat," he said.
They ate.
For a while, no one talked. Just the clink of forks, the sound of chewing, the hum of the refrigerator. Riley watched her father watch Kenzie. He wasn't subtle about it. Never had been.
"So," he said finally. "You're a cop."
"Yes, sir."
"County or city?"
"City. Sixth precinct."
"How long?"
"Four years. Before that, I was a dispatcher. Before that, I worked at my uncle's auto shop."
He nodded. Took a bite of brisket. Chewed. Swallowed.
"Your family still in town?"
"My mom is. My dad passed when I was twelve."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Thank you."
Another silence. Riley's leg bounced under the table. Kenzie's hand found her knee. Squeezed.
"You go to church?" her father asked.
Kenzie didn't hesitate. "Every Sunday. Sometimes Wednesday, if I can make it."
"What denomination?"
"Baptist. First Baptist on Main."
He nodded again. Something flickered in his eyes—not approval, exactly. Something more complicated.
"Your mother," he said. "She still call you every Sunday night?"
Kenzie's fork stopped halfway to her mouth. "How did you—"
"I know your mother."
The room went still.
Riley looked at her father. Then at Kenzie. Kenzie's face had gone pale, the color draining from her cheeks like water from a sink.
"I don't understand," Kenzie said.
Her father set down his fork. Folded his hands on the table. For a moment, he just looked at her—the same steady, measuring look he'd given her on the porch.
"Nine years ago," he said, "your mother called me. Middle of the night. She was crying so hard I could barely understand her."
Kenzie's breath caught.
"She said her daughter had just told her something. Something she didn't know how to handle. She said you'd been at a sleepover, and something had happened, and she didn't know who else to call."
Riley's chest tightened. She reached for Kenzie's hand under the table. Found it. Held it.
"She asked me what to do," her father continued. "She said she loved you, but she was scared. She said she didn't know how to be a good mother to a daughter like you."
A tear slid down Kenzie's cheek. She didn't wipe it away.
"What did you tell her?" Kenzie whispered.
"I told her the truth." Her father's voice was quiet. Steady. "I told her that I had a daughter who was gay. That I'd known since she was fifteen. That it hadn't changed anything about how much I loved her."
Kenzie's shoulders shook. Riley squeezed her hand harder.
"I told her that the only thing that could hurt you was her. Her fear. Her shame. Her silence." He paused. "I told her that if she couldn't accept you, she'd lose you. And that would be her fault, not yours."
Kenzie was crying now. Silent tears. Her makeup hadn't run—she wasn't wearing much—but her eyes were red, her nose was running, and she looked like she wanted to disappear.
"Your mother called me back a week later," her father said. "She said she'd thought about what I told her. She said she was going to try. She said she loved you, and she was sorry, and she was going to do better."
Kenzie made a sound. A sob. A laugh. Something in between.
"She never told me," Kenzie said. "She never told me she called you."
"She probably didn't want you to know she'd been scared. Mothers have pride too."
Riley looked at her father. Really looked. He was sitting there, calm as a lake, like he hadn't just ripped open a wound that had been festering for almost a decade.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Riley asked.
Her father met her eyes. "Because it wasn't my story to tell."
"But—"
"I knew you two were friends. I knew something had happened. But I didn't know if you'd ever see her again. I didn't know if it was my place to—" He stopped. Cleared his throat. "I figured if it was meant to happen, it would happen."
"And if it didn't?"
He shrugged. "Then I'd have been wrong."
Kenzie pulled her hand free. She stood up. Riley's heart lurched—was she leaving?—but Kenzie didn't head for the door. She walked around the table. Stopped in front of Riley's father.
He looked up at her.
"Thank you," Kenzie said. Her voice cracked. "For what you told my mother. For what you did tonight. For—" She stopped. Swallowed. "For being the kind of man my father would have been."
Her father's jaw tightened. His eyes glistened.
"Sit down," he said gruffly. "You're making the room emotional."
Kenzie laughed. Cried. Sat back down.
Riley stared at her father. She'd never seen him like this. Never seen him crack open like an egg, soft and raw and human.
"You knew," Riley said. "About the sleepover. About what happened."
"I knew."
"For nine years."
"For nine years."
"And you never said anything."
"I was waiting."
"For what?"
"For you to find each other again." He picked up his fork. Took a bite of brisket. Chewed. Swallowed. "I'm a patient man. Twenty-nine years in the Corps'll teach you that."
Riley didn't know what to say. She felt like someone had punched her in the chest—not hard, just enough to knock the wind out of her.
"I loved her," Kenzie said quietly. "Back then. I loved her, and I was so scared. I didn't know how to—"
"I know," her father said. "That's why I never blamed you. Fear makes people do stupid things. I've seen it. I've done it." He looked at Riley. "You know what I told you when you were fifteen?"
Riley did.
"You said, 'Dad, I'm gay.' And I said, 'Okay. Pass the salt.'"
Kenzie blinked. "He said that?"
"He's always been an asshole about big moments," Riley said.
Her father smirked. "I figured if I made it normal, you'd feel normal. But before that—after your mother left and you came home crying because some girl at school called you a dyke—"
Riley flinched. The memory was old. Not healed, exactly. Just buried.
"I told you that anyone who had a problem with you could take it up with me. And the next day, I went to that girl's father and had a conversation with him."
"What kind of conversation?" Kenzie asked.
"I told him that his daughter could either apologize or transfer schools. His choice."
Kenzie's mouth opened. Closed.
"I still got suspended," Riley said.
"Worth it."
"So I learned."
Her father turned back to Kenzie. His face was hard again. The softness was gone. What was left was the Master Gunnery Sergeant—the man who'd spent three decades shaping Marines into weapons.
"I've got one more thing to say," he said. "And then I'll drop it."
Kenzie nodded.
"You broke her heart once. Whether you meant to or not. Whether you were scared or not. She came home that summer and she didn't cry. Not once. Not in front of me. But I heard her at night, through the wall. I heard her."
Kenzie's lip trembled.
"She's the best thing I ever made. Better than any Marine. Better than any mission. Best thing." He leaned forward. His eyes were flint. "If you break her heart again, there's a shotgun in the closet, and I still know how to use it."
The threat hung in the air. Cold. Real.
Then Kenzie did something unexpected. She laughed.
Not a nervous laugh. A real one. Tears still running down her face, eyes puffy, nose red—and she laughed like he'd just told her a joke.
"You sound just like her," Kenzie said. "You sound exactly like her. She told me the same thing. Not about the shotgun. About the other part. About being the best thing."
Riley's father leaned back. A flicker of surprise crossed his face.
"Did she?"
"She asked me if I was going to hurt her." Kenzie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "And I said no. And she believed me."
"And should I believe you?"
Kenzie met his eyes. Didn't flinch. Didn't look away.
"Yes."
The room was silent.
Her father reached for his tea. Took a long drink. Set the glass down.
"Alright," he said. "Pass the cornbread."
They ate. They talked. About Kenzie's job. About the weirdest calls she'd ever been on. About Riley's deployments, which her father had already heard about but wanted to hear again.
By the time the sun set and the kitchen light flickered on, the tension had dissolved. Riley watched her father laugh at one of Kenzie's stories—a domestic disturbance call involving a chicken and a baseball bat—and felt something loosen in her chest.
She'd been so afraid.
She'd been so stupid.
After dinner, her father walked them to the truck. The night was cool. Crickets sang. The porch light cast long shadows across the yard.
"You're good for her," he said to Kenzie. "I can see it."
Kenzie smiled. "She's good for me too."
"Don't make me regret saying that."
"I won't."
He turned to Riley. Pulled her into another hug. This one was softer. Longer.
"You did good," he said. "Bringing her here."
"I love her, Dad."
"I know."
"I never thought—I never thought I'd feel this way."
"I know." He pulled back. Looked at her. "Your mother would be proud of you."
Riley's throat tightened. "You think?"
"I know." He clapped her on the shoulder. "Now get out of here. I've got a garden to water and a cigar to smoke, and I don't need you two making out on my driveway."
Riley laughed. "We're not—"
"You're about to."
Kenzie was already opening the passenger door. She looked at Riley over the roof of the truck. Her eyes were bright. Her smile was wide. The sundress had a grass stain on the hem.
"I like your dad," she said.
"He's something."
"He's everything."
Riley climbed into the truck. Started the engine. Her father waved once, then disappeared into the house.
They drove in silence for a while. The road stretched ahead of them, dark and empty. The radio played something low. The windows were down. The night air smelled like hay and honeysuckle.
"That was intense," Kenzie said.
"Yeah."
"I can't believe he knew. All this time."
"He's like that. Keeps things close."
"He threatened to shoot me."
"He does that to everyone. It's his love language."
Kenzie laughed. Then she reached over. Found Riley's hand. Threaded their fingers together.
"Was he serious?"
"About the shotgun?"
"Yeah."
"He's always serious. But he wouldn't actually shoot you."
"How do you know?"
"Because he'd have to clean up the mess, and he hates that."
Kenzie laughed again. This time it was softer. Sweeter.
They stopped at a red light. The intersection was empty. Riley looked over at Kenzie—her hair blown by the wind, her lips slightly parted, her eyes reflecting the dashboard lights.
"Come here, Riley said.
Kenzie leaned across the console. Kissed her. Slow. Deep.
The light turned green. Neither of them moved.
"Riley," Kenzie whispered against her mouth. "The light."
"Fuck the light."
Kenzie smiled. Kissed her again. Then pulled back.
"Drive," she said. "Before we cause an accident."
Riley laughed. Put the truck in gear. They rolled through the intersection.
The road home was dark, but Riley didn't feel lost.
Kenzie's apartment was quiet when they got back. Riley locked the door. Kicked off her boots. Dropped her keys on the counter.
Kenzie stood in the living room. The sundress. The dim light. The way she looked at Riley like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.
"I want you," Riley said.
It wasn't a question.
Kenzie didn't answer. She just reached for the straps of her dress. Pulled them down. Stepped out of the fabric. Stood there in a pale blue bra and matching panties.
Riley crossed the room. Wrapped her arms around Kenzie's waist. Kissed her collarbone. Her throat. The hollow behind her ear.
"You're so beautiful," Riley murmured.
"Show me."
Riley picked her up. Kenzie's legs wrapped around her waist. Her arms around her neck. They kissed all the way to the bedroom.
The bed was still unmade from that morning. The cuffs were still on the nightstand.
Riley laid Kenzie down. Crawled over her. Unhooked her bra. Pulled it away.
Kenzie's breasts were perfect. Small and round, nipples already hard. Riley bent her head. Took one in her mouth.
"Fuck," Kenzie whispered.
Riley sucked. Licked. Grazed her teeth. Kenzie arched her back. Moaned.
"More," she breathed.
Riley slid her hand down. Over Kenzie's stomach. Into her panties. She was wet—soaking through the fabric—and Riley's fingers slid in easily.
"Oh God," Kenzie gasped.
Riley circled her clit. Slow. Gentle. Then faster. Harder.
"Don't stop," Kenzie said. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't—"
She came with a cry.
Riley didn't give her time to recover. She pulled the panties off. Spread Kenzie's legs. Lowered her head between them.
Kenzie's hands fisted in the sheets.
"Riley—"
Riley licked. Slow and deep, from her entrance to her clit, then back. Kenzie's hips bucked.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck—"
Riley ate her out like she was starving. Tongue circling. Fingers pushing inside. Curling. Finding the spot.
Kenzie came again. Faster this time. Harder.
Riley pulled back. Wiped her mouth. Grinned.
"You're going to kill me," Kenzie said.
"Not yet."
Riley flipped her over. Pulled her up on her hands and knees. Slid her own boxers down.
"Wait," Kenzie said. "What are you—"
"I want to try something."
Riley reached for the nightstand. Pulled open the drawer. Found the strap-on Kenzie had used that morning.
"I want you to fuck me," Riley said.
Kenzie's eyes went wide. Then dark.
"You're serious."
"I'm always serious."
"That's a lie."
"Shut up and put it on."
Kenzie's hands trembled as she buckled the harness. Riley watched—already wet, already aching. The strap-on jutted from Kenzie's hips. Long. Thick. Ready.
"Now what?" Kenzie asked.
"Now you fuck me."
Kenzie moved behind her. Pressed the tip against Riley's entrance. Pushed.
Riley gasped. The stretch was immediate. Perfect. She felt every inch as Kenzie buried herself to the hilt.
"Fuck—"
"You okay?"
"Move."
Kenzie moved. Slow at first. Steady. Then faster.
Riley dropped her head. Gripped the sheets. The strap-on hit deep with every thrust. The angle was brutal. The pace was relentless.
Kenzie grabbed her hips. Pulled her back. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room.
"You like that?" Kenzie asked.
"Yes—"
"You like being fucked by me?"
"Yes—"
"Say it."
"I love being fucked by you—"
Kenzie reached around. Found Riley's clit. Rubbed hard circles.
Riley screamed.
She came with her face in the pillow. Her whole body shook. Her cunt clenched around the strap-on over and over, milking it, holding it.
Kenzie didn't stop. She kept moving. Kept fucking. Kept rubbing.
"One more," Kenzie said. "Give me one more."
"I can't—"
"You can. I know you can."
Riley came again. The second orgasm rolled through her like a wave—deeper, longer, pulling a sound from her throat she didn't recognize.
She collapsed.
Kenzie pulled out. Unbuckled the harness. Lay down beside her. Pulled Riley into her arms.
They lay there, breathing hard, tangled in sheets and sweat.
"I love you," Riley said.
The words hung in the air. Not planned. Not rehearsed. Just true.
Kenzie went still.
"Riley—"
"You don't have to say it back. I just—I need you to know."
Kenzie turned. Looked at her. Her eyes were wet.
"I love you too," she whispered. "I've always loved you. Since I was fourteen years old."
Riley kissed her. Soft. Gentle. The kind of kiss that said everything words couldn't.
"Your dad's going to love this," Kenzie said.
"What?"
"He's going to take credit. For bringing us together."
"He will."
"And I'm going to let him."
Riley laughed. Pulled her closer.
"We should go camping," she said.
"What?"
"Next weekend. Just us. Get a tent. Bring the cuffs."
Kenzie snorted. "You're going to get us arrested."
"Probably."
"Worth it."
Riley kissed her forehead. Her eyelids. Her nose.
"I'm going to marry you someday," she said.
The words surprised her. Surprised Kenzie too—she felt her stiffen, then relax.
"Promise?" Kenzie whispered.
"Promise."
The night deepened. The city hushed.
They slept.
Riley dreamed of something she couldn't name. Kenzie. A porch. A gold ring. A life.
She woke once, in the dark. Kenzie was still there. Still hers.
She smiled. Closed her eyes.
Tomorrow there would be breakfast. Work. The complexities of duty and love and two worlds that didn't always fit together.
But tonight there was this. Warmth. Skin. The steady sound of Kenzie breathing.
Riley slept.