Not A Hero: A Bad Boy Marine Romance

by Sarah Robinson

  Miles stiffened at her touch and sat, but quickly returned his focus to her.

  “Thank you, my dear,” Walter said, handing the empty glass back to her after swallowing his pills.

  She took it from him and smiled, avoiding eye contact with Miles. Being the center of his attention was becoming unsettling. She didn’t want to let him know he was getting to her, but short of telling him to look elsewhere, ignoring him appeared to be her best option. At least it seemed like a good plan, for now.

  “I’ll be right back to check your blood pressure,” she told Walter, spinning on her heels, and heading inside.

  Miles watched Zoe walk back into the house, a sway to her steps that sang to him, like a melody from the tap of her shoes on the deck and the gentle, back-and-forth movement of her hips.

  He had been around plenty of beautiful women in his life, yet he was unusually drawn to her, noticing every one of her curves that somehow worked on her tiny frame, filling her in all the right places. That nanosecond of contact with her smooth skin, when she’d stumbled against him, had nearly caused his knees to buckle—thank goodness for the chair nearby.

  “Put your tongue back in your mouth, Kydd,” Walter’s firm voice interrupted Miles’s musings as he picked up the deck of cards again. “You’re drooling.”

  Miles’s attention snapped back to the man across the table, and he quickly reached to feel his mouth, then realized his father was joking.

  Miles rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”

  “What happened back there?” Walter placed the cards down and regarded Miles with a thoughtful expression.

  “What are you talking about?” Miles ignored his father and sat forward in his chair, propping his elbows on the table and staring off into the trees. “Nothing happened.”

  “Miles, I’ve been to war. I know there is a reason you damn near killed Zoe just then. You either need to talk about it with somebody, or think very hard about how you’re going to handle civilian life.” Walter pushed the deck of cards away from him, adopting a sterner voice than Miles’s had ever heard from him before. “Something happened, and a little tip from me—nothing good comes from waiting to deal with it.”

  “Well it’s exactly like you said, you’ve been to war. Shit happens. You see things you don’t forget. You do things you...” Miles trailed off for a second, lost in his thoughts as he continued to stare at the trees.

  He could see a flicker of light in the distance from the neighboring house farther down the lake, and Slipwick began melting away.

  Their mouths were moving, but Miles couldn’t hear anything except the ringing in his head. Explosions, dozens of them. His feet hit the ground hard as he ran toward robed figures, and he could see from their expressions—they were screaming.

  Fire was everywhere. He couldn’t stop the flames.

  He couldn’t stop their silent screaming.

  “Miles?” Walter touched him gently on the top of his hand.

  “Sorry. I was just going to say, you do things you regret,” Miles said, not wanting to explain further. There was no way he could tell Walter what he’d done in Afghanistan. Miles knew his father was proud of him and sang his praises to everyone who would listen. He couldn’t be the one to break his father’s heart and reveal who he truly was.

  “Don’t regret the past, Miles,” Walter told him. “War isn’t black and white, good and bad—only a ton of gray. You have a split second to decide between a shitty choice or a crappy one. Either way, it’s going to be pretty damn awful.”

  Miles inhaled deeply, plastering a smile to his face in an attempt to move on to easier topics. “Come on, old man. Let’s start this game so I can kick your ass.”

  Walter belted out a raucous laugh at the thought. “Son, I’ve been playing this game before your mother was even born. Don’t heckle the master.”

  “How about you put your money where your mouth is?” Miles goaded his father, the thrill of a challenge sending excitement coursing through his veins.

  “You’re on, but I don’t want money. I want the bushes all around the house trimmed and pruned if I win,” Walter countered.

  Miles groaned, narrowing his eyes at his father as he contemplated the terms. “And if I win?”

  “You can have Sabrina.”

  Shock coursed through Miles, then excitement, then disbelief. “If I win, you’ll let me have her? You love that damn car!” It was inconceivable his father would ever part with his mint condition 1969 Chevrolet Camaro. It ran better than most new cars thanks to his father’s constant doting on it, and was absolutely gorgeous with its sleek black paint job and white stripes down the hood and trunk.

  “Well, I can’t drive her anymore, so someone needs to take care of her. Sabrina hasn’t been out for a good ride in a while.” Walter grinned, but his voice held a serious undertone. “No sense in it rusting out there in the garage.”

  “Lay down your first card, old man.” Miles picked up his deck and smacked the edge firmly against the top of the table. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  Both men became very serious and started laying down cards one at a time. As the men focused on their cards, Zoe walked out onto the porch, pausing in the doorway and watching.

  Miles caught her out of the corner of his eye but said nothing, concentrating instead on the game. He flipped over his top card, the nine of clubs and tossed it down. His father laid the queen of diamonds on top of it with a triumphant grin. Miles cursed under his breath.

  “Can I interrupt your game for a minute to take Walter’s blood pressure?” Zoe asked, pulling the stethoscope from around her neck and sliding the buds into her ears.

  Both men laid their cards down and Walter pushed up his sleeve. Miles watched Zoe as she gently strapped on the blood pressure cuff, pressing the end of the stethoscope against his father’s arm, inside his elbow. She grabbed the pump with one hand and began rhythmically squeezing, causing it to tighten around his upper arm.

  Miles had seen nurses do this a million times, but there was something about her expert maneuvers and careful attention to his father’s comfort that made his heart warm. It wasn’t the fire he had felt earlier when he first caught sight of the golden curls she was constantly pushing off her face. Rather, it was a softness eight years of being a Marine had taught him to suppress.

  The last time he’d felt that same softness was the incident, and the consequences had been astronomical.

  Miles sat straighter and forced the walls around his heart to move in tighter. He wasn’t going to make such a heavy mistake again.

  “Your blood pressure is a bit high, Walter,” Zoe advised, unraveling the cuff from his arm.

  “Yours would be too if your son was about to steal your car.” Walter chuckled, and Zoe raised a brow at Miles.

  Miles switched his gaze quickly to Walter because her emerald eyes were too dangerous, too enthralling. “Fair and square, old man—you made the bet.”

  Walter placed his next card down, the four of diamonds. Miles laid down his card, the four of spades. Both men’s breath caught.

  “War! Put down three, Kydd!” Walter exclaimed.

  Zoe crossed her arms and watched them. “So, whoever wins this battle gets Sabrina?”

  “Yep, and old Walter here is almost all out of cards,” Miles said, glancing at Zoe as he spoke. “She is as good as mine.”

  She blushed and looked away, and he wondered if she saw a double meaning in what he’d said. He turned back to the game, his mind still on the flush in her cheeks and the flutter of her lashes. He briefly mulled over the thought that maybe Zoe was thinking the same things about him as he had been about her, but dismissed it just as quickly.

  “Shit!” Walter exclaimed.

  Miles snapped back to attention and stared down at their cards. He had pulled the higher card and won the game. “And that’s how you do it.” He tossed the remainder of his cards on the table, pumping his fists in the air in victory. “Keys, please!”

 
His father burst out laughing, then put his hands up. “They’re in the front room bureau.” His father stuck his hand out and the men shook amicably. “I concede, Miles!”

  “It’s probably time we head inside; don’t you think?” Zoe said, showing her nurse persona. “It’s getting a little chilly out here, Walter.”

  Walter pulled the blanket tighter around his legs and picked up the small oxygen tank, placing it in his lap. “I am pretty tired. Ready?”

  Zoe grabbed the handles on the back of the wheelchair and maneuvered him away from the table.

  “Let me do that, Zoe. Why don’t you take the night off?” The softness crept back into Miles’s heart as he watched his father coughing. “I’ll get my father to bed. It’s been so long since I’ve been home.”

  A flicker of relief crossed Zoe’s face, an exhaustion beneath her green eyes. She smiled and let him take the wheelchair’s handles from her, following them into the house before veering off in the direction of the guest bedroom.

  Directly adjacent to his room. Interesting.

  4

  His feet slammed against the ground, digging farther into the dirt with each step, chasing the hooded figures in front of him. He heard Tobin’s radio scratching and screaming as he ran alongside him—shadowy figures in the dark, guns raised.

  Ready. He was ready. They had to stop them, and there was no time left.

  The bullet exploded from the end of his gun.

  BANG!

  Miles jolted up in his king-sized bed, his limbs twisted in the sheets, his hands clutching at his throat. He gasped for breath, attempting to suck in as much oxygen as he could, but his lungs felt as if they were closed.

  Untangling himself from the sheets, Miles swung his legs over the side of the bed and dropped his head into his hands. His eyes closed, he tried to steady his pulse, the images in his mind slowly fading away with every waking moment, allowing him his first gulps of air.

  It took a few moments, but Miles finally lifted his head and opened his eyes, looking around his bedroom, the moon shining through his window. He pushed himself off the mattress, dropping his bare feet onto the cold wooden floor. A chill shuddered through his body, assuring him he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep.

  Miles grabbed a pair of dark gray sweatpants that were casually tossed over a nearby chair and slipped them on over his plaid boxers, leaving the band visible over the sweatpants. He opted out of wearing a shirt, heading for the bedroom door instead.

  The hallway floor was just as cold, and he made a mental note to unpack his suitcases later today as he padded his way down the stairs and to the kitchen. No one was awake, silence filling the house. Miles ate up the silence with a hunger eight years of sleeping to the soundtrack of snoring men, gunshots piercing the air, or distant shouts of unknown threats couldn’t satiate.

  Miles yawned and stretched his arms as he entered the kitchen, but his nerves still kept his muscles tense, like the memories he refused to let go. He raked his fingers through his hair and debated what he wanted.

  Originally, his plan was to get a glass of water, but he spotted a full bottle of whiskey nestled between bottles of scotch and vodka on a smaller counter off to the side of the kitchen, and it was calling out to him.

  He licked his lips. It had been years since he had enjoyed a good glass of his favorite drink. Well, why not?

  Miles aimed straight for the amber liquid and picked it up. As he opened the top, the pungent aroma of good whiskey rose to greet him. He took a swig straight from the bottle and headed out onto the back porch, flipping the light switch as he went and leaving the door open behind him.

  A golden glow bathed the porch and a few moths fluttered around the bulb. He placed the bottle on the railing next to him as he leaned his elbows on the edge and looked out at the ground below, then farther down to the lake, shimmering under the moonlight.

  He took a few more gulps and coughed slightly as the liquid burned its way down. Miles took a deep breath welcoming the distraction of the booze, warmth flooded his stomach as the alcohol began to do its job.

  “I thought I was the only one who had trouble sleeping,” a soft voice behind Miles gently slipped through the blanket of silence around him.

  He turned his head, finding Zoe sitting at the patio table, her feet tucked underneath her in the chair, a glass of wine in her hand. She leaned back for a moment, and he guessed she was probably expecting him to act similarly to their first encounter.

  The whiskey had calmed him, preventing a startled response like before. His eyes trailed the length of her body, taking in the tight black tank top sharply contrasting her pale skin, over the hot pink shorts which made her legs look a lot longer than they actually were, even when they were crossed and tucked underneath her. A towel draped over the table, and he wasn’t about to ask, but she looked damp. Had she been swimming this late at night?

  Zoe blushed and looked at her feet.

  “Looks like there are two insomniacs,” he replied, tearing his eyes away from her and back to the lake.

  She stood from her chair, crossing the porch and perching herself against the railing next to him, glancing down at the whiskey bottle. “That bottle isn’t going to solve whatever you have going on in your head, you know.”

  Her voice had a hint of concern, but he found himself admiring the moonlight sparkling against her emerald eyes.

  “It will for tonight.”

  Zoe blushed and averted her gaze toward the lake, but she didn’t respond.

  Miles picked up the bottle and took another swig, his eyes on her the entire time. The curve of her neck as her hair was swept to one side, her fingers toying with a small silver necklace resting against her collarbone, the long stretch of her legs leaning into the railing, she was stunning, yet casual all at once. “What’s keeping you awake?”

  Zoe’s tongue slid across her lower lip as she nodded toward the bottle in his hand. “Are we having a therapy session, or are you going to share?”

  A grin pulled his lips upward as he handed it to her and watched her sniff the opening, then confidently take a large swig. She swallowed hard and coughed, her cheeks reddening as she handed him back the bottle. She swept her thumb over her lips, wiping away the residual moisture, as her coughing fit finally slowed. When she looked back at him, she met his stare, her chin tilting up in faux confidence as if she wasn’t still coughing from the burning liquid.

  Miles lifted one brow, chuckling lightly. “Not much of a drinker, I’m guessing?”

  “I have my moments.”

  He shot her a sidelong glance, certain this innocent girl-next-door type had probably never been drunk in her life.

  Her lips twitched but never quite made it into a smile. Then she chuckled and threw up her hands. “All right, I guess I’m not, but I have my reasons.” Zoe stroked her necklace again.

  “You are at least old enough to drink, right?” Miles realized he wasn’t actually sure, and she certainly looked young.

  “Seriously?” Zoe scrunched her nose, looking at him like he had lost his mind. “We went to high school together.”

  She looked so adorable when she was mad, he couldn’t help but start laughing. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and pull her against him, but she looked even more insulted now at his laughter. He didn’t attempt to stifle it.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally managed. He knew she went to high school with him, but she’d definitely been in a younger grade than his.

  Zoe chewed on the inside of her cheek, crossing her arms over her chest as she walked to the door. “You are an ass; you know that?”

  “And you’re cute when you’re mad,” he replied, his blatant flirting surprising even himself.

  Zoe came to a stop and glanced back over her shoulder at him. “You can’t say things like that. It ruins a perfectly good dramatic exit.” She turned to face him, no sign of animosity on her face.

  A few feet between them, and his back against the railing, Miles tilted
his head slightly. “Why didn’t we talk back then? I was a dumb teenager, but even I couldn’t have been so dumb to have ignored someone like you.”

  “Well, believe it.” Zoe blushed, but quickly looked away as if to hide it. She walked over to the lounge chair and plopped down, resting her arms on top of her bent knees. “I was two years behind you, so it’s not like we had any classes together, or ran in the same circles, Prom King.”

  He ignored her teasing and took another swig from the bottle. “You still see anyone from back then?”

  “Hard not to in a small town like this,” Zoe said. “I still hang out with my best friends from high school all the time—Mollie Mathers and Arienne Crawford.”

  “Mathers? Like Mark Mathers?” he asked, recognizing the last name.

  “Her husband,” Zoe confirmed. “You guys used to be on the football team together, and he and Mollie were high school sweethearts. Been married a while now, the cutest kids you’ve ever seen—Max is almost four, and Mikey just turned one.”

  Miles nodded. “I remember him. Good guy.”

  “What about you? Is there anyone from high school you’re going to catch up with now that you’re back?”

  “Nah, I don’t think I had many close friends back then.” Miles shrugged. “Except Tobin, but he and I were in the military together and did our last couple tours together.”

  “Tobin Leach?” Zoe’s mouth fell open, surprise in her expression. “The stoner who always wore leather jackets and got caught putting a cherry bomb in a tuba in the band room?”

  “That’s Tobin, all right.” Miles chuckled, remembering their antics.

  “He was the stereotypical ‘bad boy.’ I’m kind of surprised you two were friends.”

  Miles shrugged his shoulders, not minding her prying. In fact, he was a little surprised how at ease he felt around her, talking to her, sharing with her—he hadn’t felt this calm in years. “We weren’t in a lot of the same groups at school, but he pretty much grew up in this house with me. He’s a brother to me, especially since I don’t have any siblings.”