Military Romance Collection

by E Cleveland

  30

  Elsie

  My mouth feels like when I got my wisdom teeth yanked out and they had it all packed with cotton balls around my gums. Except this time, I can’t blame my impacted teeth. Only my low tolerance for the hard stuff.

  Still, last night was fun, though. More than fun. I go over the moments Sawyer and I shared as I try to convince my eyelids to be brave enough to flutter open and face the daylight.

  Who knew I could have so much in common with someone like him? It’s not like we agree on everything. Far from it. But it’s refreshing to have someone who isn’t afraid to have different opinions. My thoughts flicker back to what feels like my old life. After only a few days here, my time with my cheating ex, Ben, feels like a distant memory. The kind that the color and details only bleed back into when you stumble across an old picture that documented a day you would’ve otherwise forgotten.

  When I was with Ben and his crowd, we never did anything as brash as disagree or debate. When you’re part of a crowd like that, you keep the peace and bite your tongue. Crass arguments have no place at parties. That’s what Twitter is for.

  I pry open my heavy eyelids and look into the face of a man who, in only a few days, has made me question everything I thought I wanted in this life. After growing up as an outsider in my own family, I was desperate to be accepted. Not just by my Instagram followers, but by Ben, by anyone who was living a life I had only dreamed of as an unloved foster kid orphaned by her parents’ drug addiction.

  However, acceptance came at a high price. I could never really be myself. I could never have real conversations. I was a prop. A round ass contorted in a million online pictures and a pretty face on a famous poker billionaire’s arm. I was accepted but judged for everything I said and did.

  How did I ever let myself get so buried in that life?

  I run my hand over Sawyer’s thick but soft beard and smile. He looks so peaceful when he’s sleeping. His gruff exterior melts away and exposes his softer side. His lips twitch into a half smile, but he’s still sleeping heavily.

  Sawyer hasn’t given a shit about how I’ve been dressed. How my hair looks. How many ways I can pop my ass out for another “belfie.” He’s been the exact opposite. Only caring about my thoughts, my history, about… me.

  He’s not like anyone I’ve ever met. His question from last night pops into my brain. He wants me to live with him, just us, at his cabin. I told him I needed to sleep on it, but in the light of day, I know it’s the only life I want. I could never go back to the vast void I called living. Once a bird has swooped and dove through the pale blue sky, can it ever return to a cage?

  I know what I need to do. But first I need water. If I’m going to live off grid with Sawyer, I should probably get used to doing the work that goes with it. I sit up and my head spins. The fresh air will help me feel better. I’m going to surprise him and go get the snow we need to wash away our hangovers and get some coffee started.

  I scramble to my feet and the cold air clings to my naked body, draining me of heat and leaving me a shivering, teeth chattering mess.

  I quickly grab Sawyer’s jacket and put it on, zipping it all the way up. From the floor, I put on my pants and then slip my feet into my big boots. My violent shaking settles down into an occasional tremble down my spine as I warm back up.

  Over on the window ledge, a flashing catches my eye. My heart beats quickly as I realize my phone is lighting up with messages. I must have a signal!

  I don’t move for a second. I’m not sure I want to read any of them. I’m not sure I want to still be attached to the life I’m ready to walk away from. Maybe I should tell Kate that I’m okay and to call off the search that is supposed to be coming. I don’t want to send them on a wild goose hunt for someone who doesn’t want to be found.

  I slowly close the gap between me and my phone. The device that was once an extension of my hand now feels like an intrusion on my space. On my freedom. I gingerly lift it from the window ledge and glance down at the screen.

  473 unread text messages.

  Wow, I don’t even want to think about that. Only a few days ago, it would’ve felt amazing to see so many attempts to get a hold of me. So many people desperate to find me. Now, I resent it.

  As I swipe my thumb over my phone and bring my screen to life, I reach into Sawyer’s jacket pocket to warm my other hand. I’m going to need to get him to teach me how to get a fire going like he does. It’s amazing how quickly he can have a roaring blaze going from nothing.

  My fingers graze across something crinkly and rough, distracting me from the scrolling list of bolded, unanswered texts. I grasp the paper in his pocket and pull it out, freezing in place as I realize what I’m holding.

  It’s a newspaper clipping. The edges are worn, and the paper is yellowed, but the words are still crisp on the page. The headline makes me cringe almost as much as the viral photo I remember circulating on the Internet a few years back. “A Soldier’s Humiliating Home Coming.”

  My gut sinks as the pieces of Sawyer’s puzzle come together for me. I didn’t recognize him with the beard, but now, looking at the picture that became a cruel meme, it’s impossible not to see. That’s him all right, on his knees, hunched in what looks like physical pain while the woman who cheated on him stands in front of him. Falling from his hand is an engagement ring she never deserved.

  It all makes so much sense now. Why he left the military. Why he left society.

  I run my thumb over the wrinkled, worn photo. Sawyer looks younger and strange without a beard. I can’t imagine that pain. I’ve dealt with my share of online trolls, it comes with the territory, but I’ve never become a walking, breathing joke. Reducing someone to a picture on the Internet to laugh at, it’s like stealing their humanity.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  I swirl around on my heel in surprise as Sawyer stands behind me with rage twisting his features down.

  “What? Uh, what do you mean?” My hands are frozen in the air, one clutching my phone and one holding the newspaper clipping.

  Sawyer stomps across the room and yanks it from my grasp. “You’re taking a picture of this?” He glares at me. “I thought you changed. That you didn’t care about all this social media shit anymore. And you’re trying to get some kind of Instagram shot? Wouldn’t your fucking followers love that, huh? Congratu-fucking-lations, you found the lame cuck. Wanna snap a selfie with me, you don’t want to miss out on the likes!” His eyes flash with an anger I’ve never seen in any person before. I don’t know what to say. I open my mouth, but words don’t form.

  “I can’t believe you. I understand that you don’t want to come back with me, that’s fine. It was obviously a mistake to ask you anyway.” He seems impervious to the cold, despite being completely naked. Normally, that would distract me, but all I can focus on is his rage. It’s seething from him. Radiating around the room like a dark cloud of atomic dust.

  “I wasn’t. I didn’t take a picture! Check my phone,” I protest, holding it out to him.

  “I saw you holding your phone over the picture, Elsie! Do you think I’m stupid? I know how much you need to document this shit. How much attention did you think this will get for you? Huh? Pretty good score, right? The crazy woodsman you shacked up with was a viral fucking sensation. That’s gotta be at least fifty thousand thumbs-up, right?” He roars, his face burning crimson.

  “I know it looked like that, but I wasn’t. Check, you can see for yourself.” My hand trembles as I hold out my phone, but he turns away in disgust.

  “It’s time to get you back where you belong. Take my coat off. I’m bringing you back to the resort. I’ll get my supplies that I need to survive and you’ll get the Internet love that you need to survive.” His voice is colder than the ice-covered snow that waits for us outside this cabin.

  What happened to him? How could he turn on me so quickly? I blink back my tears and pull the zipper down on his parka, letting it fall to the floor.
Quickly, I pull on the shirt I’ve been wearing and get dressed.

  As I button up my fur coat, I feel my engagement ring from Ben dig into my hand. I pull it out with disgust. Now the huge diamond looks too clunky, too gaudy, too fake. I place the ring on the counter. Maybe the owners of this cabin can hock it. It’s the best reward I can think of for us using their place like this. Across the room, Sawyer angrily shoves his feet into his boots.

  It looks as though in my pathetic need to be loved, I made another mistake. I fell into the arms of another man who I’d hoped was different. Who I wished would love me.

  How could he? He doesn’t even know you. And you don’t know him. I feel like I’m lying to myself. I thought I did know Sawyer. But how could I? If I knew him, really knew him, this wouldn’t be happening. He wouldn’t be ready to drop me on the side of the highway like a sack of garbage ready for collection.

  My parents, my followers, my ex-fiancé, my foster family… none of them loved me.

  Why would he?

  31

  Elsie

  My boots crunch in the crisp snow as I follow Sawyer toward civilization. I know I should feel happy or at least relieved to be going back to the life I built for myself. To my career. To my friends. To the fake smiles. To the lies.

  I can’t help but feel like I’m marching to my execution chamber, that at the edge of the forest I’ll have to leave the stronger, happier person I’ve just started to become, in a shallow grave under the snow. I’ll have to shed any revelations I’ve had, any knowledge I’ve gained, and return to a life where my greatest achievement is how I can accentuate the curve of my ass and choose the perfect filter.

  Maybe I can do something with this fire that Sawyer has lit in my soul. I could go to school or choose a different path. One thing is certain—I don’t give a fuck what Ben has been saying on social media. I’ve grown too strong and learned too much about myself to ever go back to that piece of shit.

  I deserve better.

  The thought is only a shadow of a whisper, but I heard it. And, what’s more, I believe it. Who knows, maybe I can turn this experience into something meaningful. I have a decent following. I have some influence, right? I could slowly move away from the shallow roots of my Instagram account and talk about books sometimes or being independent. Maybe it can be like the social media equivalent of watching a caterpillar transform into a butterfly.

  Except no one cares.

  Even the one guy who you thought could really love you for your true self is leading you on a Siberian death march back to a life that left you hollow.

  Sawyer’s silence weighs me down, making each step a struggle. It’s heavier on my shoulders than the ice anchoring the tree branches down like peasants bowing before royalty.

  Kneeling before the queen of social media. That’s a title that would’ve made me swell with pride only a few days ago. It still feels like a massage for my ego, if I had the luxury of being massaged with hot sauce and shards of glass.

  Tears line my eyes and I sniff louder than I want to. Not that he cares if I’m crying.

  That’s it. I’m not doing this. I’ve legitimately been a victim in this life more times than I’d like to admit. I won’t let some hot-headed, mood swing of a man turn me into one again.

  Not today.

  I stop dead in my tracks and wait for Sawyer to realize I’m not moving. He turns around and levels me with his stormy eyes.

  “What are you doing?” he demands.

  “I’m not going.” I align my teeth, gritting them together in a determined line, like soldiers on an old battlefield.

  “Elsie.” He sighs as exhaustion begins to creep in over his features.

  “No, I’m not moving from this spot until you tell me what’s going on. Last night, you told me you loved me, Sawyer.” My voice cracks and betrays my brave face. “How can you go from loving me to sending me away without an explanation? I deserve better,” I repeat my quiet thought loudly.

  Sawyer rubs his hand over his dark beard and looks at me like he’s debating whether or not to call my bluff. “You’re right,” he finally speaks, and a jolt runs through me.

  I wasn’t expecting him to cave so easily. I try not to look surprised.

  “Of course, I’m right.” I nod stiffly. “Now, how about you tell me what the fuck is going on.” I try to sound stern, but I feel like a little girl dressing up in her mom’s shoes. They’re too big and I’m too wobbly to wear them right.

  Sawyer reaches into his pocket and pulls the tattered news article that started this whole thing out.

  “Fine,” he agrees, “you’re right.”

  32

  Sawyer

  I stare at the picture that will haunt the Internet forever. It’s faded and crinkled from years of exposure to the elements. However, I remember it all so vividly. This photo hasn’t left my side for over two years. Not because I want to remember any of it, but because I can’t let myself forget.

  I look at Elsie. Her red-rimmed eyes betray her posturing. Even though I can tell she’s unsure of herself, she’s not wrong. I’ve been acting like an asshole. Something I told her not to put up with from anyone, not even me. I’m proud of her for standing her ground.

  The flash of waking up to her hovering her cell phone over the clipping in my mind and anger swells back up inside me like a tsunami. “Why were you trying to take a picture of this?” I hold up the moment that broke me, forever frozen in time.

  “I wasn’t.” Her full lips twist down and her eyebrows clash together. “I picked up my phone because I saw there were a bunch of messages coming in and I happened to notice there was something in your pocket. That’s it. I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know you were…” She doesn’t say it. She won’t call me the names found in the YouTube comments, but her words rub salt in a wound that’s still never healed.

  “That loser? That guy that everyone laughed at?” My breath hangs in the air. Like evidence of my anger. My pain. “Don’t try to act all innocent, like you don’t spend your time trying to record your life for your fans. You know, instead of living it,” I fire back at her. I can see from the twisting emotions on her face that my shot has landed.

  “Why are you yelling at me? What is this about? I didn’t take a picture of it, Sawyer. Please, stop pushing me away.” She keeps her voice soft and level. I can’t help but let the anger I’m carrying deflate from my lungs.

  This isn’t about her.

  “I’m sorry.” I finally force the words to fall from my tongue. “I’ve been angry so long, about the Internet and social media and the lies and the phonies.” I wave my hand at her. “I’ve been taking it out on you, but it’s not your fault. You had nothing to do with it,” I explain as much to myself as to her.

  “I’m so sorry that happened to you.” Elsie presses into me and I hold her close.

  “I’m sorry I took it out on you,” I admit. “When we first started talking, all that stuff about your Instagram followers and your job, it brought it all back. Not that it’s ever that far from my thoughts. And, when I saw you with your phone today.” I pull her tight. “I assumed the worst.”

  “I know. I understand why you’d do that. I would never betray you, Sawyer. Never.”

  I tuck my finger under her chin and pull her face up to mine, hovering over her lips as I look into her shimmering eyes. “I know. I was wrong. I hope you can forgive me.” I kiss her. Our lips softly part as our tongues frantically search for each other. Intertwined, they explain what our simple words can’t. They tell the story of our love.

  “I love you.” I give her a quick kiss, then another, and another.

  “I love you too,” she breathes.

  33

  Elsie

  “I think I see something! Up there!” I can hear a distant stranger intrude on our moment. Sawyer pulls away from me, scanning the snow drifts and trees for the owner of the voice.

  I step back and twist around like an owl, my eyes wide and my senses
on high alert that, for the first time in days, I’m going to see other people again.

  Why does it feel like an invasion? Like these peaceful woods are a fortress for only Sawyer and me. The excited cries grow louder and more unsettling as I spot a flash of bright orange a couple hundred feet away.

  Sawyer grabs my arm. “Come with me. Let’s get out of here!” he hisses.

  “I can’t. It’s the search and rescue. I can’t just give them the slip. Come with me and we’ll figure this out together,” I plead, but I can see it’s falling on deaf ears. His big brown eyes are locked on the search team and he takes another step back from me.

  “Elsie, there’s nothing to figure out. We can go now. Fuck these guys. You don’t need to be rescued. Come with me.” I can hear the irritation grating across his vocal cords.

  “I can’t.” I stand my ground. How ridiculous would it be if I hightailed it off into the forest with him right now? They would worry about my sanity and send more people. Or assume he was keeping me against my will. This isn’t a Tiffany song from the eighties. We’re not going to stumble to the ground in each other’s arms and whisper that we’re alone now.

  This is real life. No matter how disappointing and empty it feels.

  “It’s her!” One of the crew members announces and begins to run toward me. I can see his partner radio in the information as others come up from behind carrying a first aid kit and supplies.

  Everything is a blur of orange and white. I twist around and see Sawyer slowly walking backward. The feet he’s putting between us feel like miles as the crowd of search and rescue members surrounds me.