Table of Contents
Promise Her
Prologue
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other books by Andrea Johnston
Promise Her
Copyright © 2019 by Andrea Johnston
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Editing by Karen L. of The Proof Is in the Reading, LLC
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Back cover photo by Depositphotos
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For everyone that suffers in silence.
Find the light in each day and keep fighting.
Prologue
Taylor, 18 years old
When I was a kid my grandpa would tell me one day I would stand at a crossroads in life. The path I chose would determine the type of man I would become. As a ten-year-old, I didn’t have a damn clue what he meant. A crossroads? Like a fork in the road? A four-way stop that always made my dad cuss up a storm at the “damn fools who won’t move their ass”? I was never really sure, but Grandpa seemed confident the day would come, and I idolized my Grandpa, so I waited. And waited. For years.
As I stand before the white brick building with posters hanging in the windows, a different branch of the military depicted in each one, I’m at that crossroads Grandpa mentioned. This was not my plan in the slightest. I’ve busted my ass on the football field since I was six years old with one goal in mind—play college ball. Not just any college ball but for a D-I school.
I’ve shattered every record in state and my goal is within reach, I just have to choose it. The offer is sitting there, waiting for me to sign on the dotted line, to commit to the program and my future. My dad thinks I’ll go all the way to the pros and doesn’t understand my hesitation. Joining the military was never something I considered. Sure, I have friends who’ve known this was the only answer for them. That on their eighteenth birthday, they’d stand here, in front of this building, the benefits of joining the service more than they could pass up. Stepping through these doors doesn’t mean I’m giving up on my dreams, it only means I’m choosing a different fork in the road. I’m at my crossroads.
“Ya ready to do this, man?”
I stumble forward as my best friend, Henry Gilbert, smacks me on the shoulder. Henry has always known the military was his way out. His way out of this city, out of his family’s downward spiral, and mostly his way to a better life. Education, travel, and a skill set that doesn’t compare to anything else, he’s been talking about enlisting since we were fifteen years old.
When our country was attacked on our own soil, his determination to enlist only grew. What he didn’t think would ever happen is me standing here with him, my hand poised to open the door and change the course of my life. But, that day, watching as our nation mourned tremendous loss, I felt compelled to do something. Playing ball is great, and it’s always been part of who I am. Yet, as I sat staring at the television and watching the news coverage, I knew, in that moment, there was a different path for me. I was at my crossroads.
“I don’t know that we’ll ever be ready for this,” I reply, taking in a deep breath as I ready myself for this next step.
“Don’t be a fucking pussy, Taylor. Speaking of, imagine all the pussy we’re going to get once we wear that uniform. The ladies love a man in uniform.”
“Jesus, Lyle. Do you always have to be so crass?” I ask our buddy. This decision is his only choice unless he wants to end up in prison. His reputation alone has him on a first-name basis with the police, but it’s the crew he runs with when he isn’t hanging with us that will be his demise. Bad news doesn’t begin to cover it.
Henry high fives Lyle after his comment, and I roll my eyes at both of them. Henry tries to play it tough but, the reality is he isn’t that guy. Besides, you’d think by now he would have taken a cue from me—you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. If he did, he wouldn’t still be carrying his “V” card around with him, right next to his driver’s license.
“Look guys, I’ve waited for this day for a long time. You know my only plan for my eighteenth birthday was to enlist and then go find some whiskey and a hot little number to celebrate with,” Henry reminds us.
I look to Lyle who only shrugs. I want to point out that none of us are old enough to buy booze, but Henry cuts me off before I can. “Don’t be such a fucking baby about it, Taylor. Man up. Or do you think you can’t handle it, pretty boy? That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You’re scared. That’s fine. I’m not. I’ll fight for my country with pride while you crack the books and live the high life like your mommy and daddy want you to.”
Glaring at Henry, I release the handle of the door and turn to face him fully. I’m taller and bigger than both these guys. I could beat his ass here in front of the recruiters’ office. I won’t. This is how he gets when he’s nervous and feels alone.
I’ve known him my entire life and am used to his bullshit. His outbursts and jabs at me and my family aren’t anything new. He doesn’t complain when my parents embrace him as one of their own, but then he goes home to the squalor and the fighting, and the green-eyed monster appears. If his parents are deep in their boozing, he lashes out with a shove or offer to kick my ass. I take the brunt of his frustration because I know he is hurting and not because he doesn’t care. Our childhoods were polar opposites, but we’ve always been there for each other. Even when he pulls this kind of shit.
“Have no doubt, I am not scared. This is our life, Henry, and I don’t take mine or yours lightly. I can’t wait
for basic and see how much the drill sergeants make you cry when you mouth off to one of them like you just did to me.” Without another word, I open the door to the recruitment office. Ushering in Henry and Lyle, I take another deep breath before slowly exhaling and sending up a little prayer that we aren’t making the biggest mistake of our lives. And that my dad doesn’t kill me for choosing a life in the military over playing football.
Scarlett, 16 years old
Your sixteenth birthday is supposed to be special. It isn’t called a “Sweet Sixteen” for nothing. Except, my parents don’t believe in huge celebrations to mark milestones like a birthday. No, their idea of a special birthday is a new car with a big bow and photographic evidence to include in the family Christmas card. The sole purpose is not to reward their child for hard work and dedication to their education. No, it is simply to show the world how perfect their lives are.
Perfection.
A level I’ve worked my entire sixteen years to reach only to come up short each time. My brother, Maxwell, is my father’s doppelganger in appearance but my mother’s in drive and ambition. At twenty, he’s set himself up to graduate from college a year early and if he follows the perfect plan he’s established, he’ll be sitting for the state bar and taking his place as one of the youngest associates at my mother’s law firm by the time I finish my first year of college. Maxwell, never Max, only ever his full name, is an overachiever to the max. Ha! I love saying things like that because it pisses him off.
Looking at my reflection in the full-length mirror, I assess my appearance, finding every physical flaw and wishing I had it in me to conform to what my parents want. Just for once I wish I didn’t feel an overwhelming need to stand up for myself, to argue what I think is best for me over what my parents tell me I should do. Why can’t I be more like my sister?
Eliza lucked out not only in the looks department but she also won the genetics lottery when it comes to book smarts and a sense of humor. She’s a master at working my parents’ expectations. Fall in line. Don’t argue. Play the game until you are on your own.
While I’m smart enough, it’s not “Hamilton Smart” as my parents like to call it. Living in a home with four intellectuals is exhausting, and the fact that they label everything with our last name is embarrassing. “Hamilton Smart,” “Hamilton Humor,” and the ever popular “Hamilton Way” is beyond pretentious.
Pulling a cardigan from my closet, I take one final look at my appearance in the mirror. My auburn hair is pulled back in a low ponytail and I have on just the right amount of makeup to feel confident, but my mother won’t know there is any on. Because Hamilton women don’t use their looks to get ahead in life. I look like the average teenager ready to spend her Saturday studying in the library, working hard to raise my GPA. What they don’t know is I’ll be spending the day like I do two Saturdays a month. Volunteering at the local senior center. Caring for others is my passion. Being around people and making them smile is what makes me happy and something I have vowed to pursue after high school.
Slinging my purse across my body and picking up my backpack, I quickly close my bedroom door and take the stairs two at a time as I rush out the front door. The best way to avoid the looks of disappointment in my parents’ eyes and the annoyance of my siblings is to not allow an opportunity for engagement.
College can’t get here soon enough and if I’m lucky, not only will it bring me freedom, but I’ll also find my path in life. Friendship, happiness, and love. I don’t want a big career or need professional accolades to feel complete. I only want to find happiness with a man who will love me for who I am. True all-consuming love that makes a person believe happily ever after exists. Some may call me a hopeless romantic and, well, those people would be right.
“It takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, and a day to love them, but it takes an entire lifetime to forget them.” – Author Unknown
Chapter 1
Taylor
“Baby, I don’t know why you’re playin’ hard to get. You know you like what I’m offerin’.” This guy has been throwing lines at every woman who has stepped up to my bar tonight, and I’m about done listening to him. Own a bar they said. It’ll be fun they said. Actually nobody said that and if they had, they’d be sorely mistaken. Being a bar owner is not only hard work but when you continue to schedule yourself for shifts behind the bar, it’s frustrating.
Normally I have a high tolerance for the shit some of these guys say. If there was a category for pick-up lines and come-ons on a game show, I’d win every round. And, it isn’t just the men. The flirtatious women who push the limits with their plunging necklines, come hither smiles, and breathy voices are nearly as bad.
Mr. Hard-to-Get has turned this sweet young woman into a sudden mute. Eyes blinking rapidly and mouth wide open like a fish on a hook, I’m giving her ten seconds before I step in. While I wait for her to put him in his place, I quickly replace a few of the empty beer bottles for the group to my left, barely taking my eyes off the scene before me.
The sounds of the bar are like white noise to me now. It wasn’t always that way. I relished in the excitement and fed off the energy of a bustling bar. Clanking of beer bottles as they’re thrown in the garbage, the laughter and high fives amongst the patrons. Every sound fueled me. Now, I don’t hear it. I’m more focused on the next customer in front of me, needing to anticipate their need, recognize when they need to slow down, and in a case like this, possibly intervene and escort one of them out the door.
Country Road is my baby, and I’m proud of what I’ve done with the place. The traces of the old honky tonk it once was still linger around the edges but the space has morphed into more of a local watering hole with a hint of sports bar that has an occasional live music night. Everyone is welcome, and that’s why we’re the most popular bar in the area.
Six years ago when I left my military life behind me, I found myself on the back of my bike, traveling across the state of Texas toward the Gulf. Exhausted and starving, I stopped in the small town of Lexington. A cold beer and a burger was my plan, but when I stepped into the loud bar with too many pool tables and not enough tables, I found a frazzled bar owner and his side kick getting their asses handed to them. As I waited to order my beer, people were getting rowdy and a few customers started mouthing off. I stepped in and played the role of bouncer to settle things down. It’s something I’d been doing for years with my unit, so it wasn’t a stretch for me. The owner thanked me and, when things calmed down, bought me a beer. We spent the last hours the bar was open talking and when I was still in town three days later, he asked if I was looking for a job.
Even in those early days, I knew being behind the bar wasn’t going to be forever. Tonight, as I stand here counting down from ten, waiting for the petite blonde to put this guy in his place, I know my nights slinging beers are coming to an end. I’ll stick to paperwork and lunch crowds to avoid this shit.
“Can I get you another cranberry juice, sweetheart?” I ask the girl, breaking up their conversation. She visibly relaxes at my interruption and nods her head. As I pick up her empty glass and replace it with a fresh drink, I turn to the guy.
“Looking to close out?”
Scowling, he barely glances. “Nah man, we’re good.”
I wait a beat to see if he gives me his full attention. When he doesn’t, I turn around and pull his card from the counter. “I meant I’m closing you out. Tonight’s on me. Do you need a rideshare or cab?”
Glaring, he looks down at my hand where his card sits between my fingers. Looking from the card and up to me and then the girl, he growls and snaps the card from my hand. Stomping away, I watch his group of friends follow him. Once they’re out the door, I turn my attention back to the young girl in front of me.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, thanks for that.”
“No worries. Where are your friends?”
“At our table. I just needed a break from”—she
waves her hand around behind her— “that. It’s a lot. So loud and so drunk. Being the designated driver is nice when I have an early class tomorrow but sucks when everyone is so annoying.”
Laughing, I nod in understanding and top off her juice as my name is called from the far end of the bar. One of the servers is holding the phone up like I have a call. I sent in an order for liquor earlier, and it’s a little heavier than usual. I’m sure it’s my rep confirming I haven’t lost my mind in the amount of whiskey I ordered. I motion I’ll be right there and turn back to the customer.
“You try to enjoy yourself, and if anyone else gives you trouble, just let someone on staff know. Okay?”
“I will. Thank you again.” Her shoulders have dropped, and her smile is genuine. This is how my customers should be, not feeling blocked in and pressured by some asshat with an attitude.
I knock on the bar twice and walk away. Taking the cordless phone, I hold it to my chest and say, “Thanks. I’ll take this in the office.”
In a few steps, I’m out of the main area of the bar where it’s a little quieter and bring the phone to my ear while pulling my keys from my pocket and unlocking the office door.
“This is Taylor.”
“Sugar.” I don’t recognize the voice but the only people who still call me by my bootcamp nickname are guys I served with. Or, of course, my sister when she’s a pain in my ass.
“Who is this?”
“It’s Connor. Uh, Twig.”
Wow, Connor Hall. Talk about a blast from the past. It’s been at least a year since I’ve seen or heard from him. Only a few years younger than I am, Connor joined the military later in life and discharged early for medical reasons. It’s such a crazy coincidence how many of us former military, men who served together or have met through the years, are living in Texas.
“Hey man, what’s up?”
“It’s Wolf, man. He’s . . . he . . . there was an accident. He’s gone.”
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