I was about to Google Clayton County and his license plate number when he opened my car door and leaned down, totally dominating the space, or lack of, between us. I leaned away from him; it almost felt like I had to.

“You can go,” he told me.

I didn’t know him well enough to decipher what he was really thinking. It almost felt rude. I wanted to challenge him, to taunt him for being locked out of his car, but I was about to piss myself; I was already late and had no room to be snarky. But I was curious about this soldier.

I looked at his truck and back to him. “Can you not get in?”

He sighed heavily and shook his head. I could see the frustration emanating from his body. He seemed like someone on the brink of losing a very carefully crafted control. So different from the man standing in my hallway minutes ago and sitting calmly in my car on the drive over. His breathing was dancing the line of composure and chaos. In my twenty years on this earth, I’d come across many a frustrated man. Why did this one spark my curiosity so uniquely?

“My keys are supposed to be here on my tire. But I’ll find my way back, it’s cool.”

“I’m so late to this thing I have to do, but honestly—”

“The dinner? I don’t think you should be any later than you already are,” he cautioned.

So he was paying attention.

“Yeah, the dinner. I can’t take you back before . . . but maybe I can call my dad and cancel. It’s not like—”

Kael interrupted me. “It’s cool, for real.”

I couldn’t just leave him here. There were barely any cars parked in the lot, and I couldn’t see other soldiers walking or standing guard anywhere. I really didn’t want to leave him stranded.

“Why haven’t you left yet?”

I opened my door and got out of the car. “I don’t know. I feel bad,” I replied. “It’s a long walk back. Do you have another set of keys somewhere? Or a friend who can come help you?”

“All my friends are in Afghanistan,” he said.

My chest burned.

“Sorry,” I said, leaning my back against my car.

“For what?”

We kept eye contact until he blinked. I quickly looked away.

“I don’t know. The war?” It sounded so stupid coming from my mouth. An Army brat apologizing to a soldier for a war that had started when they were in kindergarten. “Most people wouldn’t have asked me, ‘For what?’”

Kael’s tongue grazed his bottom lip; he tucked it between his teeth. The parking lot lights above us clacked on, buzzing, breaking our silence.

“I’m not most people.”

“I can tell.”