Heroes Ever After Boxset: Books 1-3

by Alana Albertson

  At least I had a date for the ball. I just hoped my bargain wouldn’t blow up in my face.

  I reasoned with myself that all the decisions I’d made were good decisions, decisions for my future.

  I did want to tell my story, to honor Rafael. And I would refuse to do any book signings. Give the public the patriotic war story they craved, and then retreat back into my shell.

  And getting to fuck Isa for a week in exchange was the best book bonus I could ever receive.

  Isa

  I drove alongside the ocean to meet Marisol for coffee. I hadn’t told her yet about my deal with Grady because I didn’t want to deal with her negativity. She would no doubt be apprehensive about me heading to some mystery cabin with some dangerous Marine I barely knew. I also couldn’t risk details of my agreement with Grady being leaked to the press. I refused to do anything to jeopardize my dad’s book deal. But I needed to confide in someone, and despite her tendency to gossip, I did trust her.

  I sat at Bird Rock Coffee in La Jolla, people-watching through my dark sunglasses. Young mothers dressed in their Lululemon leggings strolled by pushing their kids in BOB strollers. Businessmen dressed in surf clothes and Reef sandals held meetings on their laptops.

  When I’d left Grady’s place and the fog of lust disappeared, I was livid. How dare he demand sex in exchange for letting my dad write his book? But I’d since calmed down and attempted to see it from his perspective. We’d hooked up, I’d stolen his bullet and left. When I’d finally contacted him, it was to ask for a favor. I secretly hoped his demands would be for more than just sex, that he wanted to get to know me. I guess I would know soon enough.

  Marisol finally showed up, fifteen minutes late as usual. We hugged and took our place in line to order our lattes. Since there was nowhere to sit at the café, we took our drinks down to Calumet Park, a little area that overlooked the ocean and sat on a small cement bench.

  I sipped my drink, the nutty macadamia flavor transporting me back to Hawaii. Last time I’d been on the island was for a Dancing under the Stars tour, only months before my mother died. And now, I’d be attending the ball there with Grady.

  “So, girl, what’s up? What’s so urgent?”

  “Not much, just studying for the GRE. You?”

  She sipped her beverage. “Oh, just spending time with Paloma and working at my dad’s restaurant trying to save up money.”

  Marisol definitely liked to have a good time, but that girl worked harder than anyone I’d ever met. She didn’t even learn English until she was six years old, and she graduated top of her class in high school. In order to pay for college and medical school, she’d joined the Navy ROTC program. A year later, she found out she was pregnant. After she graduated from undergrad and medical school, she would serve in the Navy.

  “Did I ever tell you how cool I think you are to join the Navy?”

  She gave me the side eye. “Is this about Grady again? Are you still thinking about him?”

  She knew me too well. “Yes, actually it is. I saw him again. Well, I wrote him first. And I’m going to visit him in Tahoe next weekend.”

  Her eyes widened and her long lashes blinked. “You’re kidding me. Why did you write him?”

  Marisol knew everything about my mom, my father, and me. I could tell her what was really going on. “The truth is my dad is in debt, going to lose our house.” I paused. “Don’t tell anyone, but he stole my tuition money trying to stop the bank from foreclosing.”

  “He stole from you? Damn, chica. I know he’s your dad, but that’s straight fucked up.”

  “I know. I’m pissed. But it’s in the past—getting mad isn’t going to bring the money back. What could I do? Press charges?”

  “Uh, yeah. He should figure this out, not you. Why do you have to always clean up everyone’s messes?”

  Good question. “That’s not the point. I don’t want to lose the house either.”

  “Fine, but what does this have to do with going to Lake Tahoe with Grady? Oh my God! Did you hook up with him again?”

  “Uh. . .yeah. I can’t help myself when I’m around him. He’s so sexy—like electric. I actually asked Grady to let my dad write his memoir. He said yes—if I went to Lake Tahoe and the ball with him.”

  Marisol grabbed my shoulder. “And you agreed? Are you nuts? Are you forgetting the fact that this dude had a flashback at the party, threw you to the ground, and then you found a loaded gun at his house? I’ve been around some of these PTSD vets at the VA, and some of them are nuts.”

  She had excellent points.

  “I’ve thought this out. I even admitted to him that I stole his bullet. But here’s the thing—I can’t stop thinking about him.”

  A toddler boy played with his dog in the grass. I smiled at him, hoping his nanny hadn’t overheard our conversation. She seemed to be staring at me but maybe I was just being paranoid.

  “I call bullshit, Isa. I don’t care how amazingly he fucked you, and believe me, I’m no saint. And I’m not judging you. But he’s dangerous. He’s unstable. He’s a recluse. So you go away with him, he fucks your brains out, you go to the ball with him, and your dad writes his book. Then what? You pretend you never met him? You’re playing with fire.”

  “It’s more than that. I like him; he’s fascinating. I mean, what kind of guy throws himself on a grenade?”

  “A crazy one. Dude’s got a death wish. If I saw a grenade, I’d run away.”

  “Right. That’s the thing. He was willing to die to save his friends. He has to be a good man, just messed up.”

  Mirasol pursed her lips. “I guess. And let’s be real . . . his scars don’t bother you at all?”

  I gulped. “I mean, yeah, his scars are horrific. But it doesn’t matter. He’s still incredibly sexy.”

  She downed the rest of her latte like it was a shot. “I know you admire him. But—and I don’t mean to be a bitch, honey—he’s not your mom. You can’t save him. After all the crap you’ve been through with your mom, you can’t be in a situation like that again. It wouldn’t be healthy. From what you told me, Grady needs help. Real help. I’m not saying that you guys could never find common ground, but I just don’t want you in danger.”

  I turned my head away from her and stared out to the ocean, fixating on a rock with a bunch of brown pelicans perched on it. Marisol was right. I’d fought so hard to overcome my depression and fear, to stop blaming myself for not realizing my mom was hurting. But my healing came from within. Grady needed to find a way to live with his injuries and his memories. Playing house with him wouldn’t solve anything.

  Grady

  My buddies threw me a “going to fuck a reality star” party. I couldn’t believe Isa had actually agreed to my demands. As a show of good faith, I’d exchanged a few emails with her father and his agent. Her father was incredibly excited and passionate about the project, and I felt confident that he would completely dedicate himself and write an honest, heartfelt memoir. His agent was certain he could sell the memoir at auction for six figures—apparently the American public was hungry for “heroic tales of valor.” I embraced the idea of writing the book once I realized that I would be able to tell my story my way, without embellishing it. But I refused to sign the contract with the agent until after my vacation with Isa, just to make sure she kept her promise to me.

  Some patriotic Silicon Valley multimillionaire I’d met at a fundraising function had offered to let me use his mansion, his vacation home, whenever I needed to get away. He owned a waterfront house in Incline Village that he pretty much never used. I’d initially told him there was no way I could accept his offer, but he’d said it was his honor to lend his home to a hero. I still felt uncomfortable being praised, but I thought some time to detox would do me some good. Better yet, a free house to fuck Isa in wasn’t the worst idea in the world. My favorite type of therapy.

  Beau, Diego, Trace, and Preston all took leave for a few days to party with me in Tahoe before Isa arrived. These men
were my brothers—we’d all fought together, we were the survivors of the attack.

  Beau raised a bottle of Sierra Nevada Celebration Ale. “Here’s to the best Devil Dawg I know. Get some!”

  We all drank, and the other men milled around the cabin. This place was sick. Had its own sandy beach, a hot tub on the deck, nestled in the pines. Maybe I could find some peace out here, besides losing myself in Isa’s pussy.

  Diego smirked, his eyes reflecting on the lake behind him. “Man, I can’t believe you fucked Isa. She’s fucking gorgeous.”

  “Yup. But she’s just another stuck-up celeb. She’s only agreeing to spend time with me if I let her dad write my memoir. I’m not doing the book for her, I’m doing it to tell my story and honor Rafael. And the money is nice. Maybe I can buy a place out here so I have somewhere to go since the Corps finally decided to kick my broke ass out.”

  Trace placed his hand on my shoulder and I brushed it off. I was jealous of this motherfucker. Before my injury, the two of us would hit the clubs, compete to gain the attention of the hottest girl in the bar. There was no competition now—he’d win every time. He had everything going for him. He rocked his boy-band smile, was in perfect shape, had just completed sniper school, and had escaped our attack unscathed. He had a future in the Corps, for as long as he wanted it.

  “Whatever, dude. The Corps medically retiring you is a good thing—groups will pay you to speak, politicians will milk your Medal of Honor for all it’s worth.”

  I sighed. “But I don’t want that—I hate public speaking. I don’t want anyone pitying me. I want to go back overseas. I want to fight. I want some action.”

  Trace again put his hand on my shoulder, and this time I didn’t remove it. “You’re looking at this all wrong. Write your book, rake in the cash, fuck your hottie girl, get out of the Corps, and you can do whatever you want. Hell, go on Dancing under the Stars and every chick in America will want to fuck you.”

  “Fuck that. You go on. You’d look good in the makeup and shit.”

  “Whatever, man. I’m telling you. You’ve got it made.”

  Easy for him to say—he still had his looks, his career. The career that should’ve been mine.

  All my friends were living their dreams. Diego was going to McMap to be a Marine Martial Arts instructor, and Beau was going to become a Marine Security Guard at the Embassy. We were young Devil Dawgs—raised on Eminem and Facebook. Most of us had never even thought about life after the Corps. Do twenty years, retire, get a paycheck for life. If we were lucky, find a beautiful girl who wouldn’t fuck around on us while we were deployed.

  Trace had the balls to look me in the eye. “And, dude, no one pities you—they admire the fuck out of you. You saved my life, bro. I’d be dead without you. And I know you think any of us would’ve done the same thing—but you’re wrong. You’re the man.”

  I shrugged him off of me. The world looked different to me now. I needed to navigate my new reality—find a career or job I could feel as passionate about. I believed everything happened for a reason—my injury, getting offered to write this book, meeting Isa. I had to figure out why God had allowed me to live.

  Isa

  The wait was over; my time alone with Grady would start today.

  I’d flown into Reno this morning and spent the past hour driving my rental car to Lake Tahoe. He’d offered to pick me up at the airport, but I insisted on renting a car. I didn’t want to be completely dependent on him just in case anything went wrong.

  Even so, he would be in control.

  In other words, he would be my master.

  As I approached Incline Village, I marveled at the beauty of the Emerald Bay. I rolled down the window—the scent of freshly fallen pine needles mixed with the mountain air tickled my nostrils. I needed this retreat. A time to relax, read some books, finish that Christmas needlepoint stocking I’d been working on for years—I could definitely think of worse ways to spend the week, especially since I was still unable to enroll for fall quarter. I’d applied for a loan, but because I’d missed the deadline, I wouldn’t be able to attend.

  But there was nothing I could do about that now. All I could hope for was that this week with Grady would go smoothly, that we would have a great time at the ball, and that he would keep his promise and let my dad write his book.

  And maybe, something deeper would develop with Grady.

  I followed the navigation system and pulled in front of a towering log cabin with a view of the lake.

  I took a deep breath, steadied my nerves, and walked to the magnificent door. It was gorgeous—hand-carved mahogany featuring a bear eating honey from a tree.

  I pressed the doorbell, and Grady opened the door. His muscles bulged out of his T-shirt but seeing his scars in the light sent a shock through my core. I gasped, in spite of myself.

  Grady’s fingers pressed deeper into my flesh, and I let out a yelp.

  “You’re mine now, baby. And this time you can’t run away. You’re going to be forced to look at me every day.” His voice was urgent and dripping with sex.

  His eye shot a dagger at me and then he finally released me.

  I gulped.

  I’d hurt him.

  He must’ve thought the only reason I wanted to see him was to ask him to do the memoir.

  But that wasn’t true. As much as Grady scared me, I was drawn to him.

  Before I could speak, he’d turned and disappeared into the cabin, slamming the carved wooden bear door behind him.

  I didn’t know whether I should be flattered or scared or pissed off.

  The only thing I did know was the heat of his body next to mine had made me ache to be with him again.

  Grady

  All I had wanted was to spend some time with her, and I’d promised myself I would try to start fresh. But seeing her outside, looking so damn sexy, triggered rage inside me. Rage that she would never be mine, rage that she was only here because I’d forced her hand, rage that she was only agreeing to be around me so she’d have enough money to finish school. I wanted her to choose to stay with me because she wanted me, not because she felt being fucked by me was the only way to save her father’s ass after he stole her money.

  My solitude was short-lived. Isa cautiously opened the door and headed to the sofa. Her scent filled the room—she smelled like whipped cream and strawberries.

  She was wearing a tight-fitting yellow sweat suit and flip-flops with rhinestones. Despite her incredible body and heart-shaped face, she didn’t look fake or hard like a few of the celebrities and models I had met. Her smile was very genuine, and I had yet to see her in heavy makeup.

  We were alone together. Truly alone.

  I sat on the distressed leather sofa and just stared at the lake. My ears pounded and I cracked my knuckles.

  If she wanted to, she could talk.

  It only took her a few minutes.

  “Can we talk? I really want to start this weekend off in a good place.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Okay. I want you to know that I’m not just here because of the deal with my dad. I want to be here. I want to get to know you.”

  I didn’t believe her. Words were cheap. She would have to show me that she truly wanted to spend time with me. It would probably help if I stopped being such a dick.

  “And the only reason I left after we hooked up that night was because I panicked,” she said.

  “Panicked about what? I thought you left because you thought I was suicidal. Did you think I was going to hurt you?”

  The color drained from her face, but she made strong eye contact. “For a second, yes, I believed it was possible. I mean, you had a loaded gun, were drinking, had a flashback. But not just that. I didn’t really see hope for anything beyond one night with you. I’m attracted to you. You have the best body I’ve ever seen, you’re incredible in bed, and I don’t mind your scars. Honestly, I don’t—they actually make you sexy. But you told me you didn’t believe in therapy. Neither d
id my mom. I’m not a psychologist, and I don’t know you that well, but I really think you need to find some type of therapy that works.”

  So I had actually been wrong about her; she hadn’t wanted to save me; she’d wanted nothing to do with me. And she saw me as someone who couldn’t even take care of myself.

  Though she’d saved my life by taking that bullet, I’d never admit my moment of weakness to her. Once I told her I’d attempted suicide, she’d probably bolt again.

  I tried another approach.

  “Look, I’ve tried every medicine I’ve been given, every talk therapy. Honest to God, nothing has worked. But I’m open. I don’t want to live like this.”

  Her face seemed to shine. “That makes me happy.”

  My promise to attempt more therapy seemed to soften Isa. Her shoulders relaxed and she moved closer to me on the sofa. I put my arm around her and pulled her into me. This was more like it.

  “How did you find out I was on Dancing under the Stars?”

  “I saw your picture in a magazine at my doctor’s office. Well, Bella’s picture, but I’d recognize you anywhere. But I think it’s cool. I’d love to see you dance.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll dance with you at the ball, but I doubt I’ll ever compete again or dance like that.”

  “Why’d you quit?”

  She stared distantly toward the lake. “After my mom died, it was too painful. She was a dancer. Every time I stepped on the floor, I’d remember her teaching me, I’d search for her in the audience. I needed to figure out who I was without dancing, without her, without my partner.”

  She paused on the word “partner.” Had that douche been her boyfriend? The thought of that slimy motherfucker touching Isa made me want to break his skinny legs. At least she wasn’t still dancing. I would never tell a woman to quit her passion, but I was certain I couldn’t handle watching another man grope my woman, wrap his hands around her waist, stroke her thighs. I’d seen that show, the tiny costumes she wore, the seductive dances they did—I’d be too consumed with jealousy to have anyone I was dating be on it.