Steel Rain: A Military Romance Collection

by A. Gorman

  Shifting my eyes to my right I try to look without drawing attention. I notice out of my peripheral vision that the woman beside me is in fact looking at me. She’s not just giving me a quick glance either, she’s really looking at me. She makes me feel like I’m sitting here on this fucking bar stool bare ass naked as she takes in every single inch of me.

  Highly Suspect’s My Name Is Human comes on and I begin drumming my fingers to the beat and try to ignore the woman beside me. I’m not up for small talk or fending off flirtatious advances tonight. No matter how pretty she may be.

  My mind is too preoccupied with the stress of starting a new job on Monday. I moved all this way for a fresh start, and I don’t want to repeat past mistakes my first week in this town. I’ve come to realize that at thirty I have a lot less tolerance for bullshit. One thing I know for a fucking fact is casual hook-ups always lead to fucking drama.

  I don’t have time for drama.

  Between my new job and trying to get my charity up and running, I’m not going to have time for much else. No matter how badly my cock is aching to be buried in some nice, tight pussy right now; it’s too risky.

  My need to always be in control and dominate can be intimidating for most women. Judging from a few days’ observation of this small conservative town, it’s safe to assume the majority of the women here are 110 percent vanilla.

  After all the shit I’ve been through, vanilla simply isn’t an option for me anymore.

  She had her back to me when I first took a seat at the bar so I didn’t get a good look at her. I need to ignore the tiny voice in the back of my mind that’s telling me to swivel my body toward her and strike up a conversation. Sweet-looking women like her tend to like guys like me; the dark, brooding, damaged type. That is until they have me and realize that they had no idea what they were getting themselves into.

  I’m as fucked up and damaged as they come.

  So darlin’, I’m doing you a favor by keeping my eyes on the game, and choosing to only fill the hunger I’m craving for food.

  My phone vibrates on the table as a text pops up on the screen from my ex.

  Not in the mood for that shit tonight.

  I power my phone off and slide it into the pocket of my jeans as I hear the mystery girl speak.

  Fuck me.

  Her voice is like fucking angels singing.

  “Cohen!” I hear her shout across the bar and it causes the green-haired dude to stop in his tracks. His attention is fully on her now as he approaches the bar and stops right beside me.

  My stomach rumbles again as I watch the guy beside me dig into his plate of hot wings as the scent of the buffalo-flavored chicken fills my nose. I swear to God, I’m practically salivating onto the fucking bar top.

  “What can I get ya, darlin’?” he drawls, leaning onto the barrier separating them and flashing her a cocky grin.

  She lets out a strangled laugh underlined with nervousness. Her hand touching my arm startles me because it was the last thing I expected. The warmth and electricity that seeps through the cotton of my t-shirt and into my skin causes my heart to kick up a notch as it begins to quicken in my chest. “Can you get this guy here a beer, on me….”

  Snapping my head in her direction, I finally take in the face I’ve been fighting the urge to take in.

  Fuck. She’s stunning. She has the biggest, almond shaped, brown eyes with long, dark, sweeping lashes, the cutest button nose, and the fullest lips. The kind of lips women pay crazy amounts of money to try and replicate. Nothing could duplicate this woman’s beauty. She’s the type of girl men do stupid things over to try to impress her and make her proclaim her love. The kind of woman a man wants to marry and keep safe from all the douchebags of the world, including this fucking tool, Cohen.

  He reaches out, caresses her cheek affectionately before turning his attention to me and asking, “What kinda beer can I get ya?”

  I answer him gruffly, “Whatever’s on tap.” I hold my hand up to stop him before he turns to leave to get my beer. If I don’t order my food now who the fuck knows when I’ll be able to. This place is a goddamn mad house tonight. “And can I get an order of fries and a medium-rare burger with lettuce and bacon?”

  “Sure. I’ll go put that order in as soon as I bring you your beer.” With that he moves down the bar, grabbing a glass off the shelf behind him and begins filling it with beer.

  Shifting on my seat, I force myself to face her. “You didn’t have to do that, but thank you. I guess it’s easy to spot out of towners in this place, huh?” I chuckle nervously. I want to throat punch myself right there and then, because I’m acting like a damn pussy. I can also feel my dick start to harden behind my zipper as I keep looking at her.

  “Yeah, y’all stick out like a sore thumb in this place. Anyone from here knows if ya want somethin’, the only way you’ll get it is by screaming out one of the bartenders’ name and demanding they get you want ya want. So at least now you’ll know the trick for the next time you want to grab a drink or a bite to eat.”

  “Duly noted.” Holding my beer up between us I give her a small smirk. “Well, the next round of drinks is on me.” I fight the urge to keep talking to her.

  She glances at her friend who’s so enthralled with a conversation she’s having with another girl beside them she’s completely oblivious as to what is transpiring between us, and I find myself being grateful for that because I want to have her full attention on me.

  “Sounds good to me. My friend here is drinking Malibu and Pineapple, but I’m set.” She holds up her glass of water, saying, “I’m drinking water the rest of the night because this is actually my first night out in far too long. I had a glass of wine when we first got here but I have to drive home so….” Her words taper off as she shrugs, and takes a sip from the tiny straw. My cock twitches as I picture those ruby red lips wrapped around my cock as her little hand, the one gripping her glass, strokes up and down my cock as she sucks me off, taking every inch of me before I blow my load down her throat.

  I let out a low growl, and try to adjust myself in my pants to stop the throbbing ache as my dick threatens to bust straight of out of my jeans.

  This girl looks like she’s dying to ask me my favorite color, my damn sign, and any other cliché conversation starter. She looks nervous and a little unsure about herself, which makes me want to get to know her even more. Which is exactly why I need to do the opposite.

  I’m putting the brakes on this before she can even get a chance to try to turn this exchange between us into anything more. I give Cohen a polite nod and pick up my glass of beer, bringing it to my lips and draining half the glass with two big gulps, before turning my attention back to the game.

  The need to stay as far away as possible from this woman is very apparent to me, because she’s making me want things I know I can’t have.

  Stay focused. I keep repeating this to myself, trying to remember the reasons why I can’t take this girl home tonight for a quick, hard fuck.

  With each passing second I’m finding it harder and harder to keep my eyes on the game and off her.

  I need to get out of here the second I finish my dinner and as far away from this doe-eyed beauty as I can get. My dick can’t take the temptation sitting so close to me for too much longer before it shatters what little willpower I have left and I find myself waking up with a happy dick but a mind full of regrets I don’t need weighing me down right now.

  Chapter Four

  Taylor

  Six Years Earlier, Landstuhl, Germany

  The last several days blend together into one big blur with moments of consciousness. My memory of what happened spotty at best. I’ve been flown to three different countries and admitted into four different hospitals. I know that much from what the nurse, who was just here checking my vitals, told me.

  I feel completely lost and alone right now, wishing I was home with my parents. I’d give anything to go to sleep, wake back up, and have this all be one r
eally fucked up nightmare.

  But that isn’t going to happen and because of that I’m angry as fucking hell. Not for the fact that I’m laying here in this hospital bed, recovering from my third surgery over the span of five days.

  I’m livid at the goddamn terrorists who kill innocent people who haven’t done a single thing to them. I’m pissed off that because of this war I’ve lost so many brothers who deserve to be on this Godforsaken earth a hell of a lot more than I do. Men and women with families and children, ripped from their worlds because of these piece of shit terrorists we’ve been sent over to fight.

  I’ve witnessed so much bloodshed that I’m surprise I don’t live in a constant state of fear.

  This world is so fucked up. Thousands of soldiers from around the world are dying, making the ultimate sacrifice for the country they love so much that they’ve put it before themselves, before their families and loved ones. Yet, when they die or get their asses blown up, it’s their lives that change forever. It’s why over the course of history all this time is spent raging wars and fighting battles.

  It’s a never-ending cycle done in the name of greed, money, and power.

  Fuck the little people.

  Soldiers are shipped to a desert filled with crazy ass terrorist, who have a zeal to kill for their religious beliefs.

  Letting out a frustrated sigh, I try to ignore how my head spins due to the insane amount of drugs flowing through my system, and reach over to my bedside table I snatch up the cold metal and soft ribbon which make up the medals brought to me early today, and hold them up in front of my face. The stark, white walls are empty and cold in contrast to the warm purple color of my Purple Heart medal. I’m honored to be its recipient, but heartbroken at the same time because Granger should be lying here, not me.

  Tears sting my eyes threatening to escape as I squeeze my eyes shut, willing them away. When I close my eyes, images from the other night flash through my mind like a movie stuck on fast forward.

  Granger leaning over me, smacking my face, begging me to stay with him as shrapnel littered my body. The funny thing is, the worst pain was in my stomach. I kept clenching my stomach crying out in pain as I slipped in and out of consciousness. Granger kept trying to staunch the flow of blood gushing from a large piece of shrapnel sticking out of the lower left side of my abdomen. Little did I know thanks to my body being in shock from the trauma I just experienced, that the bomb that exploded at the end of my bed, had severed my foot. It was hanging on by only a few tendons and I never felt a thing because my body had gone into shock.

  Because my body was shutting down, I never realized that Granger was hurt too. I had no idea just had badly until yesterday when I landed in Germany. I asked one of the commanders who came to visit me from the U.S. Army base how he was and if he knew how I was doing. That’s when he broke the news to me.

  Granger was dead.

  A piece of shrapnel pierced his thigh, perforating his femoral artery. They tried to keep him stable until he could be life-flighted to a nearby hospital, but he passed away while en route to the hospital.

  His heart was bigger than this whole fucking planet. He was literally bleeding to death but ignore the pain he was in and focused on helping me instead.

  We were so close to being out of that desert hell. We only had three weeks left in our deployment and we were returning to base for a few months before finally going back to our families in the States.

  That’s the only good that’ll come from the hell I’ve been through during this last deployment and these last five days; I’m finally going home. The thought of back with my family fills me with a weird mixture of emotions. On one hand, I can’t wait see everyone and be home. On the other hand, I’m terrified. My entire life has now been flipped upside down and I have no idea how I’m going to get through this rough road ahead of me.

  I stare down at my now partially amputated leg and feel my lungs seize in my chest and a single tear slip past my lashes and run down my cheek, before dripping onto my hospital gown.

  I’ve been a soldier for six years.

  The Army has been my life since the day I graduated high school. I’ve only envisioned my future being in the Army. In a blink of an eye the future I had planned for myself flew into thin air, leaving me in this weird state of limbo as I wonder where the hell I’m going to go from here.

  Chapter Five

  Emberly

  Present Day, Lucky’s Bar

  I have no idea how the hell I allowed Shelby to convince me to come out tonight. I’m too old for this and way too out of practice be sitting in bars flirting with men. I don’t know the first thing about trying to date in this day and age.

  Overwhelmed by this entire situation, I gulp down my entire glass of wine and I start pouting internally. I planned on savoring that glass; I’m not a big drinker to begin with, only having the occasional glass of wine to help destress, so I was more than willing to play designated driver for Shelby tonight. Her husband, Michael, has the night off and told her to take me out for a girl’s night. He was Brock’s best friends, and both worked at the same police barrack together. They live five houses down from mine and our sons, who are a year apart, are great friends and do sports together.

  My heart breaks on game days when we’re all sitting in the bleachers together cheering them on and I watch as Shelby and Michael stand there together cheering on their son. I stand alone with Brock’s spot being cold and empty beside me. I hurt more for Andrew than for myself.

  One of my biggest fears about moving on from Brock is that it’ll cause Andrew to act out even more than he is already. He’s struggling so much as he tries to cope with losing his dad and it feels like no matter what I do, it isn’t enough.

  Any time I start to entertain the thought of entering the dating world, a fifty ton weight suddenly drops onto my chest as a panic attack threatens to bring me to my knees.

  Shelby doesn’t get it; doesn’t understand that I’d love nothing more than to be happy again. To experience falling in love and being loved by someone. It’s not so hard when I’m home alone and can hide from the world, but when I go out with friends and watch them with their spouses that’s when it hits me the hardest. I miss that intimacy of standing on metal bleachers on a Friday night, watching the local football game while leaning into Brock’s warm embrace to keep the chill of the fall night air away. I miss long car rides sitting side by side, holding hands and singing along to the radio. It’s the little things I miss the most. Simple things like picking up my favorite bottle of wine on his home from work, or doing the dishes after dinner so I could lay on the couch and squeeze one more chapter in of the book I was reading before bed.

  I’m scared that I’m never going to experience any of that ever again, because I had the perfect love story everyone wishes for, but for some reason beyond my control, that love story was cut short, leaving me in a state of oblivion, wondering where my life goes from here?

  “Cohen!” I shout to Shelby’s little brother who’s bartending tonight. He’s four years younger than us, but it doesn’t stop him from trying to hit on me every chance he gets. There’s no way in hell I’d ever do so with him, if I ever decided to give dating a chance..

  Tossing his hand towel over his shoulder he strolls up to me and with a devilish smirk playing on his lips glances down at my empty wine glass, “Want another?” he asks, reaching for my empty wine glass and making a move to refill it.

  Shaking my head, I yell over the music, “No, no. I’m good. One is more than enough. I’m driving tonight.”

  He gives me a knowing look and automatically fills me a plastic cup with ice and water.

  Setting in down in front of me, he raises a brow and in a flirtatious tone asks, “Is there anything else I can give to you, Ember?”

  Rolling my eyes, I blow off his attempt to try and flirt with me for the hundredth time tonight. We’ve only been here twenty minutes and the place is packed to the door yet he finds an excuse to st
op by every five minutes to ask me how we’re doing and if we need anything.

  “Just my pizza whenever it’s ready.”

  I ordered a Margherita pizza; it’s absolutely the best pie on the planet. Real homemade Italian pizza that’s Lucky’s grandmother’s recipe. I usually order one and have it delivered to my house. Cohen is usually the first to offer up his assistance in making sure it makes it to me safely. The poor kid seriously needs to give up the idea of us ever being a thing. He has every girl in this town fawning over him, but I think he likes the idea of being single. I guess we could put Shelby’s brother in the category of what Urban Dictionary calls a ‘fuck boy.’

  Maybe one of these day’s he’ll grow up and fall in love.

  That day sure as hell ain’t today and that person’s not me.

  “It should be up any minute, along with Shelby’s too. I’ll run them out to y’all the second they’re done.”

  A massive body brushing up against my arm as it slides onto the barstool pulls me from my thoughts. I watch as Cohen gives the guy a quick once-over before looking back at me and disappearing further down the bar to fill more drink orders.

  He most definitely isn’t from around here, because believe me I’d remember a face and body like that if I ran into it at the local grocery store or the gas station. Pulling his phone out, he sets it on the bar beside the menu he was holding, before bringing his full attention up the college football game playing on the television. I try to focus my attention elsewhere, looking up at the game, observing the bartenders mix drinks, and even people watching, which is easy to do tonight since this place is packed, and a lot are three sheets to the wind already and making asses of themselves without even trying.

  Shelby is sitting beside me rambling on and on with Stacy about the upcoming fundraiser for the church. I zoned them out the second they started that conversation. Since the night I lost Brock, I haven’t helped with a single fundraiser. I was the damn queen of fundraising before that night. If a project needed a leader I was the first to volunteer. Now the idea of hosting a fundraiser sends me into full-on panic mode. My therapist has told me I will get back there, to a place of acceptance; it’s just going to take time and patience.