by Lane Hart
“That’s not a good reason to get married!” I exclaim. “And, besides…” I try to figure out a besides but all I come up with is, “Aren’t you supposed to be at bootcamp?”
“Marry me before I leave, not just because I was your first, but because I’m in love with you and have been for so long. When I’m away, I don’t want to have to think about who is taking my place because anyone you meet is better than me. I don’t want to lose my mind wondering who will be the first man to see you each day or who will kiss you goodnight. I want that to be me someday. Only me.”
“You do?” I ask him, my eyes tearing up with an overload of emotions.
“Yeah. I do,” he replies with a smile. “And who knows? Maybe I’ll never come back and you’ll never have to actually live with my crazy ass…”
I slap my palm over his mouth. “Don’t say that! I don’t want to even think about you getting hurt or worse...”
Pulling my hand away, Royal says, “Then we won’t think about that or anything bad. Is it insane to do this, to get married now, today? Hell yes. But I know I’ll always regret it if I didn’t ask you, because you’re one of the few good things I’ve ever had in my life.”
“Okay,” I blurt out.
“Okay what?” he asks.
“Yes, I’ll…I’ll marry you!” I barely finish saying the words when Royal pulls my face to his and kisses me like the world is ending and that we’re not standing in an art gallery with a room full of people looking at us like we’re nuts.
When we finally separate, only out of the necessity for air, I tell him, “On…one…condition, though,” between gasping breaths.
“What’s that?” he asks, his lips still stretched in the biggest, stupidest grin of my life.
Fisting two hands of his t-shirt in my hands, I say, “You have to promise me you’ll come back.”
“Baby, I love you. You make me feel like I’m ten feet tall and bulletproof,” he replies. “I’ll come back to you. Nothing and no one can fucking stop me.”
And maybe I’m crazy, but I believe every word out of his amazing mouth.
Epilogue
Hannah Morgan Fitzpatrick
Four years later…
“Today we’re going to do something fun and a little different,” I tell my freshman art class at Mercy. With my husband deployed overseas yet again, I had a lot of free time on my hands and needed to keep myself busy instead of worrying about him between our too infrequent phone calls. So, I took college courses during the summer session and was able to graduate a semester early with my degree in art education. Still, this is my first year teaching; but after two months, I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. The freshman are definitely my favorite year because they’re still sweet and terrified unlike the seniors, who think they’re untouchable gods.
“You may have noticed that the entire room is draped in cloth because things are about to get messy!” I warn them. “Everyone will need to grab some coveralls and put them on over your clothes along with a pair of shoe covers and some goggles. Shower caps are also available but not required. Do I have any volunteers to help me hand out the buckets?”
“Buckets of what?” someone asks.
“You’ll see,” I say with a grin as a few hands shoot up to help while the kids hobble around, getting dressed in their protective wear. I give them time to get ready before choosing two students. “How about Dora and Kyle since you both got dressed so quickly. Make sure everyone gets a bucket of balloons. Don’t touch them until I say so!”
The three of us go around the room until each student has a bucket full of special water balloons.
“Now, here’s what we’re going to do. Each of you should have a canvas set up on your easel. You’re going to take a few steps back, pick a water balloon and then throw it as hard as you can at the canvas to see what color it is. Only throw the balloons at your canvas, not at your classmates or you’ll be spending a month in detention scrubbing toilets!”
“Ew, yuck,” they all say at the gross deterrent meant to keep all hell from breaking loose. I don’t think the Mercy administration would ever allow their rich, uppity students to clean bathrooms, but that doesn’t mean I can’t threaten them with the chore.
“Once you’re all covered up, you can go ahead and get started,” I say, picking up a balloon from my bucket and throwing it at the canvas where it erupts with a big blue splatter.
It takes several minutes for everyone to get started, but once they throw the first balloon, it’s off to the races as they start hurling more faster, harder.
“Art doesn’t always have to be about making something perfect and beautiful. It should be fun and make you feel good or you’re not doing it right. And who doesn’t need a little stress relief once in a while?” I ask as I throw a few more balloons that burst with so much force my coveralls quickly become rainbow colored.
Where is Royal today? Is he okay? Why haven’t I heard from him in over a week? If I never go home, then I don’t have to worry about soldiers showing up on the doorstep of my loft, holding an American flag and offering me their condolences.
Being with someone who is serving in the military is so much more difficult than I expected. It’s not even the loneliness of missing him in between visits that’s the worst. It’s the constant worrying, the fear that each time I see him or talk to him could be the last.
If all goes well, he’ll be finishing his four years in a few months, but so far, he hasn’t received an actual discharge date. He can’t come home soon enough for me.
I throw balloons like darts until I’m sad to see my bucket is empty. With a deep breath, I wipe my hands on the front of my coveralls and then start walking around the room to see how everyone else is doing.
“This is so much fun, Mrs. Fitzpatrick!” Nicholas tells me.
“Thanks. I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” I tell him. “Your parents are going to love your piece.”
“When can we take our canvas home with us?” Devon asks, a student who reminded me a lot of Royal the first few days when he refused to participate in any activity. I spent some time talking to him instead of forcing him to draw the subject of the day to see what he wanted to work on. Turns out he wasn’t opposed to art, he just doesn’t like animals and wanted to draw buildings.
“They should dry over the weekend and be ready to go home with you on Monday,” I tell him. “And yours is turning out great, Devon.”
“I think I’m going to hang it up in my room,” he says, firing away fast balls at the canvas.
“You definitely should!” I agree.
“I’m finished,” Carmen tells me when I make it to her easel. “This morning I was in a shitty mood…I mean crappy mood. But throwing things made me feel better.”
“That’s great,” I tell her. “Our emotions combined with art can help us turn something sad or crappy into something beautiful.”
“Mrs. Fitzpatrick?” Kyle says.
“Yes?” I ask as I head over to his easel.
Leaning toward me, he whispers, “Who’s the G.I. Joe guy watching us from the doorway?”
“What?” I ask when I glance over my shoulder.
All the air in my lungs whooshes out in a gasp when I see the man in a camo uniform. No, not just any man, but Royal.
“Hey, baby,” he says with a grin as he removes his cap, revealing his closely shaved head.
“Oh my god!” I exclaim.
For an instant, my knees feel weak before I break into a sprint, throwing myself at him so hard I’m surprised he keeps us upright. My strong, sexy husband easily catches me though, wrapping his arms around me and squeezing me tight while my legs wrap around his waist.
“You’re here?” I say because I can’t believe it. I haven’t seen him in almost a year when he had two weeks of leave that we spent tangled up in sheets, barely eating or getting out of bed unless it was absolutely necessary.
“I’m here,” he says with a kiss on my cheek. “I saved up my l
eave so I could surprise you.”
“You’re really here and in one piece.” I grab his face, crushing our lips together and then run my palms down his shoulders and his chest.
Royal pulls away with a laugh; and when my lips land on his neck, he says, “I’m happy to see you too, but we have an audience.”
“Oh. Right!” I mutter with a wince when I remember my class. I have no doubt they’re all staring at us, so I reluctantly slide down Royal’s hard body. “Oh no! I got paint on your uniform!” I exclaim when I notice the colorful blotches.
“It’s okay, baby,” Royal says as he glances down at the marks. “I’m hoping this is the last time I ever have to wear it.”
“Seriously?” I ask with a hopeful smile. “You’re done? You’re home for good?”
“I’m home,” he agrees. “And I heard from Maddie and Aric that you have an art exhibit opening tonight. Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
“Because I didn’t think you would get to see it and I didn’t want you to feel bad about missing it.”
“Yeah, well, I won’t be missing anything else. And it’ll be nice to finally get to spend more than a few weeks at a time with my wife. That is, if you’ll still have me?”
“For better or for worse,” I remind him, holding up my left hand so he can see the wedding band on my ring finger I haven’t taken off in over four years.
“Oh the worst is over, baby,” he tells me, taking my hand in his and kissing my knuckle just above my ring. “It’s time to get started on the better. Now, I’m gonna have and hold you for the rest of our fucking lives.”
The End
Also By Lane Hart
Thank you so much for reading the Mercy Academy series! I had a lot of fun writing these characters and I’m sad to see it end. In the future, I may decide to even come back and write a short book for Sophie and her older man.
Until then, go for a ride with the Savage Kings MC! These outlaws are hot, dirty, and always getting into trouble! Start reading the first six novels in one box set for FREE with your Kindle Unlimited subscription: https://mybook.to/SavageKingsMCboxset
About the Author
L.A. Hart is the alter ego of New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lane Hart. Under this pen name she writes young/new adult and paranormal romance that is full of teen angst and troubled bullies.
Lane's new steamy academy series take place in her home state of North Carolina where she lives with her husband, fellow author D.B. West, and their two beautiful daughters.
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