Soldiering On (Soldiering On #0.5)

by Aislinn Kearns

  Soldiering On

  (Soldiering On #0.5)

  By Aislinn Kearns

  Soldiering On: (Soldering On #0.5)

  Distributed by Smashwords

  Copyright © 2016 by Aislinn Kearns

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Fanfiction is encouraged.

  ISBN 9781310615054

  www.aislinnkearns.com

  Cover by Vila Design

  For my wonderful mother.

  Without your love and encouragement, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I hope I’ve made you proud.

  Table of Contents

  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

  Excerpt

  Soldiering On Series

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  A muffled sound came from Duncan’s right, barely audible through the music pounding in his headphones.

  He carefully eased the plate of the leg press back down as he turned his head toward the noise, conscious of the twinge in his leg. Perhaps he’d pushed it too far today. Again.

  His friend Paul sat in his chair beside him; patient, but still with a focused energy. His icy blue eyes always seemed more intense than most people’s, staring out from his pale face. He’d once been quite tanned from months outside in the desert sun, but seven months recovering indoors and avoiding the outside world had dulled the colour. The former marine—and current patient of the VA they were in—had developed a reputation for avoiding social situations, which made Duncan all the more curious as to why his friend was there.

  Duncan tugged out his earbuds. “’Sup, man.”

  “It’s your last day today,” Paul stated.

  “Sure is,” Duncan replied. A grin spread across his face at the thought.

  “Great,” said Paul. He glanced down at his restless hands, clasped together in his lap.

  A swell of sympathy stirred in Duncan. Paul had been there longer than a majority of their friends, ever since he’d become a paraplegic when a bullet had hit his thoracic spine on a mission less than a year ago. It was his turn soon, they both knew it. Still, Duncan was sure that it must suck to see your friends come and go, while you were rooted to a single location.

  “We should grab a coffee before I head out,” he told Paul. Duncan swung his legs over the side of the exercise machine, facing Paul.

  “You mean that tar in the cafeteria?”

  “That’s the stuff,” Duncan said dryly. “I can’t wait for a proper latte. First thing I’ll do when I get out of here.”

  Paul eyed him. “You know, I would have taken you for a straight black kinda guy.”

  “Because I’m straight and black?” Duncan asked, teasing him a little.

  Paul cracked a grin. “No, because you’re a hardass.”

  Duncan rolled his eyes. “Well, some hardasses drink lattes.”

  “Apparently.”

  Duncan slowly eased himself into a standing position. He gripped the edge of the machine as the ache in his thigh intensified. Yup. Definitely pushed it too far.

  “Let’s go,” he told Paul, staunchly ignoring the pain. It would go away. Eventually.

  He limped towards the door, slowing his pace to give Paul time to manoeuvre around the machines. Not at all because of his leg.

  The room was large and empty. Most of the one-on-one rehab sessions happened in private rooms, but they kept a well-stocked gym for when it was required. It suited Duncan just fine. Now that he was at the end of his time at the Portsboro VA Rehab Centre, his most pressing concern was to be able to manage the remainder of his recovery on his own. He needed to know his limits—clearly something that still required some work.

  Duncan caught a flash of movement past the doorway. “Blake!” he called, hoping it really was their friend that had been discharged a few weeks before.

  A head popped around the door frame. “Duncan? What are you still doing here?”

  “Leaving tomorrow.”

  “Ah. And Paul, when will it be your turn?” The big former SEAL practically filled the doorway as he leaned his shoulder against the jamb. He hadn’t lost his tan. But, then, he’d had a shorter recovery time than Paul, even with the serious life adjustments he’d had to make.

  Paul shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’m closer than I was seven months ago, let’s put it that way.”

  Blake’s eyes grew warm with sympathy. He’d been there. They all had.

  “We were about to get some coffee if you want to join us,” Duncan offered.

  Blake made a comically disgusted face. “That sludge?”

  “Yeah, if you’ve got time.”

  “Sure, always for you two. I just finished my check-up. They made some adjustments.” He held up his left hand, twisting it so they could admire the new prosthetic.

  “It’s nice, man,” said Paul. Blake beamed.

  The three of them began to move off down the hall when Blake turned to them. “Zack is around here somewhere, too.”

  Duncan instinctively glanced around, as if Zack was going to pop out of one of the many doorways lining the corridor. Of course, he was nowhere to be seen.

  There were, however, two women behind them, towards the other end of the hall. One was Perlas, the middle-aged Filipina nurse that he saw around a lot. The other he didn’t recognise.

  She was wearing a suit, obviously expensive, even to his ignorant eyes. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a sharp bun. She was listening intently to something Perlas was saying, nodding along to the older woman’s words.

  Duncan was immediately struck by her presence. He didn’t meet many classy women in his line of work—former line of work—but she was something else. There was a quiet confidence to her that drew his attention.

  He turned a little more. A sharp pain in his leg caused him to stumble. The awkward angle had exacerbated his already overworked muscle.

  Blake steadied him with a hand on the shoulder, a curious look on his face. Duncan sent him a tight smile and shrugged off his support.

  “Duncan!” Perlas called from behind him. “Paul, Blake,” she continued in a quieter tone.

  Duncan’s shoulders crept up towards his ears at the thought that the attractive woman with Perlas might have seen him stumble, making a fool of himself. The back of his neck was hot, and he’d never been so glad that his dark skin disguised his blush.

  The three of them stopped and waited while Perlas and the woman caught up.

  “Sirs, this is Mandy. She tours our facility to consider donating.”

  Mandy seemed more like the name of a high school girl in an 80s comedy than the woman in front of him. But the more he looked at her, the more it seemed to suit her.

  “Hi,” she said. “Perlas probably shouldn’t have mentioned that. I usually prefer to be a silent donor.”

  “Madam, I am sorry,” Perlas replied, her eyes wide.

  “It’s all right, I suppose it wouldn’t be a secret for long,” she reassured the nurse. Perlas stayed mute.

  Mandy turned back to the three of them. Duncan didn’t know if it was just his wishful thinking, but he thought that her eyes caught more often on his than on the other two.

  “I wanted to meet some of the patients h
ere, see what they thought of the facility.” She looked expectantly between the three of them.

  Blake shuffled forward. “I’m not a patient anymore—discharged a few weeks ago—but I’d be more than happy to talk to you.” He grinned his usual charming grin, his white teeth gleaming. Duncan narrowed his eyes.

  Paul cleared his throat. “I’ve been here the longest,” he said, far more hesitant than Blake. Duncan stopped himself from rolling his eyes at how obvious the two of them were being.

  “You could join us for coffee?” Duncan suggested. “We were just about to head down to the cafeteria.”

  “Oh, thank you, I have another appointment after this. But thanks for the offer.”

  “You’re welcome,” Duncan murmured.

  “But your care here has been positive?” she persisted.

  Duncan’s gut sank. Care. As if he was an invalid. She didn’t see him—or any of them—as men. Just potential charity cases.

  “It’s been good,” he said shortly. “But we really should be going.”

  Her eyebrows raised slightly in surprise, and Duncan imagined he saw a flash of hurt in her eyes before it quickly disappeared behind a tight, professional smile.

  With barely a goodbye, Duncan led Paul and Blake away down the corridor.

  “Man, what the hell was that?” asked Blake once they were out of earshot.

  “What?” Duncan asked, sourness coating his tongue.

  “You totally just blew her off. She was into you, man.”

  “Nah, we’d just be projects to her. She seems like the type that needs them to deal with her rich-person’s guilt.” His face still felt hot from the encounter—some mixture of embarrassment and anger that he couldn’t quite understand.

  Blake side-eyed him, but wisely said nothing. Duncan wasn’t entirely sure he could be reasonable right now.

  “Do you…do you think that’s all we’ll ever be now?” Paul asked. “Projects and charity cases?”

  They arrived at the cafeteria in all its functionally bland glory. It was empty enough—just a few others scattered around the large room—so, the three of them moved towards their usual table without any discussion.

  Duncan could feel Blake’s glare as they walked toward the coffee station.

  “Of course not,” Blake told Paul. “Duncan’s just being his usual, self-sabotaging self.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Duncan growled.

  Blake rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “I’m going to let you figure that one out for yourself.”

  Duncan huffed as the three of them settled themselves around the table, cups in hand.

  “Whatever,” he muttered.

  “So, you’re leaving tomorrow, huh? Excited to get back out into the real world?” Blake asked Duncan.

  “Sure,” he replied. “I can’t wait to do some useful work again. I hate being idle.”

  Something dark and resentful crossed Blake’s face, so at odds with his usual charm and upbeat outlook.

  “What?” Duncan asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Blake…”

  “Look, I don’t want to ruin your excitement, but from my experience, it might be harder than you think.” Blake’s jaw was tight. He stared down at the black muck in his cup.

  “Working?” Duncan asked.

  “Getting work.”

  The three of them were silent for a few moments.

  “What’s up, man?” Paul asked, sounding both curious and ready to go to bat for Blake if it was needed.

  Blake sighed. “Look, the people at the employment services are trying, but they keep sending me out to, like, desk jobs. There’s no way I could hack that for long.”

  “You’ve always been an outdoor guy,” Duncan agreed.

  “Right. So, I get that they don’t think I can do the same physical stuff with only one hand. But I can. I have to, really. I can’t be trapped in an office all day.”

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been looking on my own. They want to do some vocational rehabilitation on me, but I don’t see how that could help.”

  They lapsed into silence.

  “This doesn’t bode well for me,” Paul said quietly. “If you can’t get a job, then I certainly won’t be able to.”

  “I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m sure it’ll just take time.” Blake was trying for reassuring, but Duncan wasn’t convinced.

  “I wonder what kind of job they’ll send me to,” Duncan mused. “I can’t imagine it would be something physical like construction. No doubt there are a whole heap of able-bodied men that would be first pick over me.”

  Blake sighed. “It’s tough, man. All we need is people that will take a chance on us. We’ll prove to them that we can do it all, no problem.”

  “Right. It sucks that we spent years learning all these skills in the service and now they might go unused with us behind a desk. Seems like a waste.”

  Blake nodded in resigned agreement.

  Paul stirred. “We should check in on Sam. Didn’t she take a desk job? She might like it.”

  Duncan agreed, pulling out his phone and thumbing through his contacts until he found her number. He put it on speakerphone as he waited for her to pick up.

  “Duncan. You out yet?” she asked, as ever to the point.

  “Nope. Early tomorrow is go time.”

  “Good luck with it.”

  “How’s it going for you?” he asked. “Blake and Paul are here to say hi, too.”

  “Hey, guys. I can’t really talk right now, as I’m in the office, but it’s a bit of a Charlie Foxtrot, to be honest. They put me behind a desk.”

  All three of the men tensed, but Duncan kept his voice calm. “Copy that. We’ll see each other soon to debrief more, yeah?”

  “Will do.”

  They disconnected.

  “What do you think she meant by it being a clusterfuck?” asked Paul.

  Blake groaned. “Doesn’t seem like she’s had much more luck than me. I mean, I know one of her lungs isn’t one hundred percent anymore, and her leg isn’t much better. But she was an amazing sailor by all accounts.”

  The quick taps of Duncan’s fingers against the table filled the silence. If Sam—who was actually capable of sitting still for five minutes, unlike Blake—couldn’t hack a desk job for a month or so, Duncan had no idea how the rest of them would handle it.

  “There has to be a way to fix this.”

  “I’m sure you’ll come up with something.” Blake’s usual optimism appeared to have returned somewhat.

  Duncan wasn’t so sure.

  Chapter 2

  Spreadsheets and lists covered the beautiful wood of the oak dining table in front of her. Each sheet of paper was neatly in its place, setting off happy chimes in the organisational part of her brain.

  Mandy liked lists and order and research. She liked people, too, but she preferred to be prepared for any encounter.

  It’s why her brain had seized on the faux pas she had made earlier that day. Thoughts about what went wrong, and how she could have done better, were currently niggling at her, refusing to be ignored.

  Even all the data in front of her couldn’t distract her. She was comparing all the various places she had contacted recently with a view to possibly donating to expand her personal philanthropic portfolio. It was impossible to decide even after seeing each of them in person, as she wanted to give them all more money than she had. The guilt of a decision gnawed at her.

  Her phone rang, and Mandy snatched it up gratefully. She saw her friend’s name flashing across the screen.

  “Sierra,” she answered with a smile.

  “I’m sorry I had to cancel our dinner. I only just got out of the office,” Sierra replied. By her breathing, Mandy could tell she was on the move, probably walking to her car.

  Mandy pulled her phone away from her ear for a second to check the time. Just after 8pm. Not too late for Sierra.

  “That’
s like leaving early in your world.”

  Sierra chuckled, a low, pleased sound. “I know. I almost feel guilty.”

  Mandy snorted. “The company—and your dad—will survive if you have a few hours to yourself every now and again.”

  Sierra sighed. “Maybe.”

  “So, is there any special occasion you are leaving for?”

  “No. I just…don’t like getting home too late. It’s creepy.”

  Not a word that Mandy had ever heard Sierra use. Instinct prickled at the back of her neck. She wondered if Sierra had called her as a deterrent to any potential attackers. She’d read somewhere that having someone at the other end of the phone meant you were less likely to be targeted. Or was it that you shouldn’t talk on the phone because it distracted you and dulled your hearing?

  “Why do you say that? You’ve been going home at all hours for years. What changed?”

  Sierra hummed, thinking. “I’m not sure. Lately I haven’t felt entirely safe.” She paused. “It’s probably just an article I’ve read recently about crime statistics that sunk a little too far into my brain. I’ll get over it eventually.”

  “You should call the police. Or get a bodyguard. You can afford one.”

  “It’s probably nothing. I don’t want to overreact.”

  “I think you should trust your instincts. Better to be safe than sorry.”

  “True,” Sierra allowed. “So what’s going on with you?”

  Mandy permitted her the change of subject. “I visited a VA hospital today.”

  “And?”

  “I think I might donate. Probably will.”

  “Well, that’s cool,” Sierra enthused. If there is anyone that could understand Mandy’s desire to help worthy causes, it was Sierra. Both of them had been born into money and hadn’t quite figured out what to do with it all yet.

  “Yeah.”

  “You don’t sound so sure.”

  Mandy sighed, dragging papers across the table with her index finger. “I was hoping it might make me feel less restless and useless for a bit, but giving away money is too easy.”