by Andria Large
From War to Forever
By Andria Large
Dennis
The love of my life is dead. Is there a reason to live anymore?
I’m a veteran Marine. Terrorists took not only my foot, but also my wife. Recurrent nightmares, a dead-end job, and a painful limp are all I have left. My best friend, Tucker, and my sister, Lizette, keep me afloat. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Tucker… literally. And then, out of nowhere, there are these feelings. The kind I haven’t felt in years. The kind I’m not sure I can handle, or even want to. But they’ve started wrapping around my broken heart, trying to mend it. Only, they are not for a woman, but for the man suddenly sharing my bed. I’m not so sure I’m ready to give love another go.
Tucker
The war took my hearing, but I’m alive. Many of my friends are not. I am building a life with my best friend, Dennis. We have become practically inseparable. And now, we are more than friends. I’ve never had feelings like these for a man. My parents, my brother, my buddy, Duke—will they understand how I feel about Dennis? Can I risk losing my family?
Table of Contents
Blurb
Dedication
Author’s Note
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Epilogue
About the Author
By Andria Large
Visit Dreamspinner Press
Copyright
To the men and women who serve and protect our country.
Author’s Note
POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS disorder (PTSD) can occur after you have been through a traumatic event. A traumatic event is something terrible and scary that you see, hear about, or that happens to you, like:
combat exposure
child sexual or physical abuse
terrorist attack
sexual or physical assault
serious accidents, like a car wreck
natural disasters, like a fire, tornado, hurricane, flood, or earthquake
During a traumatic event, you think that your life or others’ lives are in danger. You may feel afraid or feel that you have no control over what is happening around you. Most people have some stress-related reactions after a traumatic event, but not everyone gets PTSD. If your reactions don’t go away over time and they disrupt your life, you may have PTSD.
If you think you may have PTSD, please talk to your doctor or someone who can help. This is a serious condition that can be treated.
http://www.ptsd.va.gov/public/PTSD-overview/basics/what-is-ptsd.asp
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255
Prologue
DENNIS
THE RESCUE mission takes almost the entire day to plan. I don’t have the official go-ahead, and the guys helping me volunteer to do so, knowing damn well how risky it is. They are my closest friends—my brothers—so I’m not surprised they offer to help. Lucky for me, my friends are a bunch of badass motherfuckers and adrenaline junkies who love to shoot people.
I beg whatever god can hear me that Zara, my wife, is still alive. She was taken yesterday from one of the roughest parts of this horrid town of Idontgiveafuck, Iraq. She was trying to dig up information to complete a report for her London-based news station. Stupid. What she did was just plain stupid. I told her not to go snooping around there. That the people wouldn’t like her being there, but she didn’t listen.
As darkness falls, my men and I suit up with only the essentials. If everything goes according to plan, we should be in and out in half an hour. Luckily figuring out where they are keeping her was fairly easy. We have some great intel resources, plus the town is small with only so many buildings where they can hide. The biggest problem—and the reason I can’t just rush in and get her—is they are heavily armed. There is no way I could go in without backup and expect to get her and myself out alive.
We move out on my command. Six of us climb into the unofficially borrowed Humvee. Thermal scans of the area gave us an idea of the setup of the place and the number of guys. We figure we’re going up against eight to ten men, which six of us can easily handle if we’re smart. This is a shoot-first, fuck-questions kind of mission.
We park the Humvee about a block away to avoid alerting anyone in the dwelling where Zara is. We check our weapons, and I order Velazquez to stay in the driver’s seat because we will most likely have to make a quick departure. The rest exit the vehicle and start for our target.
The five of us come up on the building, and using hand signals, I send two men around to the back. They have orders to kill anyone who tries to run. I refuse to let any of these fuckers survive. They took the wrong man’s wife. Rage brings out the seasoned killer in me. No mercy will be given here tonight—only pain and suffering for the men who ripped the one shining light out of my life.
Hold on, baby. I’m coming.
I signal Fuller to kick open the door. As soon as he does, we start clearing the building room by room. Looking down the sights of my rifle, I make my way through the first room we enter. It seems to be a living room type area. Movement catches my eye from the doorway leading to the hallway and the room where we believe Zara is being held. Finger on the trigger, I let a couple of rounds go, hitting my target in the chest. The noise is sure to rouse others inside and outside the place. We need to move quickly.
After stepping over the man I shot, Fuller, Turner, and I make our way down the hallway. I silently direct Fuller to take the room on the right and Turner the room on the left. I’m heading to the last room at the end of the hallway.
I hear shots fired behind me from both of my men. Knowing they are more than capable of handling themselves, I continue down the hall. The last door opens just as I stop in front of it. A man hastily emerges. He stops short, inches in front of the barrel of my gun. A shocked “oh shit” expression covers his face. I hear something metal clang to the floor at our feet. I risk a glance. I really shouldn’t have. I really, really shouldn’t have. It’s a large serrated knife with fresh blood all over it. My wife’s blood, no doubt.
I swear I hear the snap inside my head. I squat while keeping my gun trained on the fucker in front of me as I pick up the still-warm, bloody knife. Everything inside me dies. She’s dead. I know it with every fiber of my being. This man killed her because he heard us coming. I let my rifle drop and hang from its sling. The look on the man’s face is one of pure terror. Good. He should be fucking scared. I snatch the front of his shirt. I’m only just noticing the blood splattered across it. I yank him into me while driving the knife into his gut.
His face contorts in pain,
and he grunts. He grips the forearm of my hand that’s still holding the knife. With my eyes locked on his face, I slowly drag the knife across his stomach. I want to see every ounce of pain I’m causing him. He gasps and chokes and shakes in my grasp. His eyes bulge, and his mouth works as he tries not to scream. I can hear the disgusting sound of his intestines and possibly some other organs falling from the devastating wound I inflicted on him. Some of the mess even hits my boots. I can see he’s starting to die, the life leaving his eyes. The last eyes to see my wife alive. I take the knife from his stomach and easily pluck his left eye out with the tip. He jerks but doesn’t make a sound. I’m basically holding him up by his shirt now. He’s almost gone. I finish by stabbing the big knife into his right eye before throwing him to the floor.
“Sarge?” comes Turner’s concerned voice from behind me.
I ignore him and step over the guy I just killed. Against the far wall is a metal cot. The room is illuminated only by a few candles. The body on the cot is deathly still. She’s naked. As I get closer, I can see the puddle of blood under the cot. Too much blood lost for anyone to survive. Her skin is so pale… too pale. Her blonde hair is dirty and matted with dried blood. Her once-beautiful face is bruised and swollen beyond recognition. She’s tied down to the bed, spread-eagle. No doubt she was raped repeatedly, going by the bruising on her thighs and hips.
“Sarge, we gotta get moving,” Fuller murmurs regretfully.
I just nod, unable to digest the scene in front of me. I take my knife from its sheath and cut the rope binding her down. He slit her throat. It took but a moment for her to bleed out. She was still alive when I entered the front door.
“Parrish,” Fuller urges.
As gently as I can, I scoop up my wife and cradle her in my arms. Her body is still warm, but I know in my heart that she’s gone. I turn with her, and Fuller and Turner bite out vicious curses before falling out in front of me, guns up.
As we exit the way we came, my other two guys, Stewart and Marsh, are there waiting to cover us. Their faces fall when they see me and the load I’m carrying. Without a word, they circle me, protecting me from all sides. We quickly make our way back to the Humvee where Velazquez is waiting.
Fuller opens the back door for me, and I slip inside, keeping Zara in my lap. I can feel the breakdown coming, but we need to get out of danger first before I lose it. The guys pile in, and Velazquez hits it.
As the town grows smaller behind us, the weight of what just happened hits me. I lost her by seconds. Seconds! A blanket comes from somewhere and is wrapped around Zara’s bloody and broken body. I clutch her to my chest as the first sob rips up my throat. Agony tears open my chest and shatters my heart. I feel hands come down on my shoulders in support and comfort from my friends, but nothing will ever be able to take away the hole in my chest where my heart used to be. The ride back is silent except for the sounds of my excruciating pain.
I GASP as I shoot straight up in bed, my eyes wide and searching. I’m panting hard, and my body is drenched in sweat. Tears continue to pour from my eyes. I can’t keep reliving this night after night. I just can’t take it.
I throw off my sheets and slide my ass to the edge of the bed, running my hand through my damp hair. I take a few deep breaths to try to calm myself. My whole body is shaking.
Two weeks after Zara’s death, my convoy was attacked. I lost the lower half of my right leg. After about two years of physical therapy, I learned to cope fairly well with my prosthetic. I can still feel the missing part sometimes; it’s what’s called phantom limb syndrome. The limb will hurt or itch, and there’s no relief because there isn’t anything there. So not only did Iraq take away my wife, it took part of my leg too.
The dreams are always so vivid, as if I’m there, living it all over again. But that was almost four years ago now. Even after all this time, I can still hear, feel, see, and smell everything from that night as if it just happened. And every time I have that dream, my heart shatters all over again.
Chapter One
DENNIS
THIS IS my second date with the lovely Arianna Bennett. We had a nice first date, so I wanted to see how another one would go. Arianna is a beautiful woman. She’s also kind, down-to-earth, cute, and funny. She’s everything a man could ask for in a woman. So why can I not feel something for her? I want to, that’s why I asked her out again, but something is not clicking into place for me. I should be dying to kiss her pouty lips, yet I have no desire to kiss her at all. I haven’t had sex in about four years. I’m considering myself a born-again virgin. It’s not that I’m intentionally trying to be celibate. I haven’t been ready to take that step with someone new.
Arianna gives my thigh a squeeze, bringing me back to the present. We are sitting next to each other in a booth at a diner—the only thing I can afford on a bouncer’s paycheck—as we drink coffee after dinner.
“You okay? You spaced out a little bit there,” she says sweetly.
I glance at her and give her a sheepish smile. “Yeah, sorry. I’m fine.”
She smiles gently, showing off her pretty, straight, white teeth. Her eyes are a deep, warm brown, and her hair is auburn with golden highlights. She is quite a stunning woman and the complete opposite of Zara, who was fair-haired with gray-blue eyes.
Tucker set us up. Tucker. I can’t help but smile when I think about him. He’s fucking awesome. Over the past year, we’ve become inseparable, two peas in a pod. We met in the VA hospital, both of us suffering from PTSD. We were roommates and still are. Once we got out of the hospital and on our feet, he moved into my Brooklyn Heights condo with me. My sister, Lizette, and her husband, who is a famous singer in the boy band Renegade, paid off the mortgage because he didn’t want me living in some shit apartment. Now Tucker and I only have to pay the condo fee and utilities, which we can definitely handle with our combined salaries.
Arianna is the sister of one of Tucker’s friends. He told her about me, and she insisted on meeting me. So here we are, second date, engaging in small talk over coffee in a booth at a diner. Wow, I’m such a catch…. Not! I don’t know what she sees in me, because not many women would be okay with going to a diner for a date. But she is perfectly fine with it, which makes her awesome. I just wish I could feel something—anything—for her.
“So do you want to come back to my place for a little bit?” Arianna asks quietly, inching her hand up my thigh, making her reason for asking painfully obvious.
Do I? I should, but I don’t, not really. Her hand traveling up my thigh should also turn me on… but it doesn’t. I nod. I’m going to try. I promised myself that I would try. I need to move on. I need to live my life. Zara is not coming back, and I’m tired of being alone.
“Yeah, okay,” I hear myself say.
She gives me a saucy smile and leans in to place a lingering kiss on my lips. It’s… nice. Definitely not Zara. She pulls back and licks her bottom lip, something that would normally have my dick tenting my pants—not anymore.
“Mmm, you taste good,” she whispers.
I smirk, trying to hide the iciness inside me. Hopefully she can’t tell how utterly lifeless I am inside. The only person who knows the real me, how I truly feel, and can understand the deadness is Tucker. He knows because he’s been there. He’s seen horrific things; he too has been blown up, losing his hearing, and he is the only one I feel completely comfortable around anymore. Even Beau, Lizette’s husband, who I am fairly close with, doesn’t know the depth of my despair.
I’m currently on medication and going to therapy a couple of times a week, which has helped greatly to diminish the flashbacks I was having. I haven’t had any in the past few months, which is fantastic. Flashbacks are scary as shit, not only for me but also for the people I am around when they happen.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Arianna says, tugging me out of the booth.
I grab the receipt and pay up front before we head out the door to my car. Arianna directs me back to her house,
and it only takes fifteen minutes to get there from the diner. I pull into her driveway and kill the engine. I turn my head to look over at her.
“You sure you want me to come in?” I ask.
She gives me a sultry smile. “Yes.”
Okay, then. We get out of the car and walk up to her front door. She unlocks it, and I follow her into the dark house. As soon as I shut the door behind me, she’s on me, kissing me while yanking at the buttons on my shirt.
“God, you are so fucking sexy. I just can’t stand it anymore,” Arianna whispers against my lips.
Wow. I had no idea. No, really, I never thought of myself as sexy. I mean, I’m in shape—I have a six-pack and the V all the ladies seem to drool over—but I don’t see myself like that, I guess.
I know my shirt is open when I feel her soft hands running up and down my chest and stomach. I do my best to keep up with her, but she’s gone wild. Her mouth has moved down to my neck, and she is nipping at my skin while her hands wander all over me. I’m backed up against the door, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself it feels good. All I can think of, though, is that this is not Zara. Zara was never this forceful with me. She liked when I took control. Dammit!
Arianna drops to her knees and yanks my belt open, then hastily unzips the fly of my jeans. Before she can reach inside and find I’m not even close to being turned on, I grab her wrists, stopping her in her tracks. I’m completely mortified, and I can’t stand for her to find me without so much as a semi.
“Arianna, wait,” I pant into the darkness. “I… I don’t think I can do this.”
A moment of silence follows before she responds with a soft and sympathetic “Okay…. It’s okay.”
I help her back to her feet, then close up my jeans. “I’m sorry,” I mutter in humiliation.