Military Romance Collection

by E Cleveland

  Instead I stare out the window and try to relax. I should probably be trying to figure out my next move. Where I’m going to live, for instance. Lauren offered that I stay with her. Move in. I want to, but I’m just not sure if that’s too fast for Chris. The last thing I want to do is start our time as a family off on a sour note. I want him to be comfortable with me in his life.

  Will Lauren ever tell Chris that I’m his father? How will he take it? I keep wondering how we’re going to approach that minor detail. And by minor detail, I mean life altering revelation. I suppose I should focus on one thing at a time though. Figure out the living situation first, the rest will follow.

  The sing along comes to an end and the news update comes on. “A tragedy today as we lost another soldier to an improvised explosive device in Afghanistan. With only three months left until our troops are finally withdrawn from the war, the loss of nineteen-year-old Private Beckett is particularly painful …”

  “Turn it off,” Chelsea hisses at Lauren and jerks her head back toward me. Lauren quickly hits the button and the vehicle goes silent.

  “You don’t need to do that, I’m fine.” But my voice won’t lie for me. My tone tells them the truth. They know how hard it is for me to hear about another of my brothers in arms losing his life over there.

  Nineteen. Jesus, I’m almost a decade older than him. He was just a kid.

  My eyes go back to the window and billows of dust waft past us. Chelsea slows the SUV down a bit as an orange sign informs us that we’re getting jammed up by construction. Damned road work, why don’t they just do repairs at night when most people aren’t out driving? I’ve never understood that. Instead, they tie up the roads with inconvenient traffic when everyone is rushing to get somewhere. Makes perfect sense.

  “Is there a detour you can take or something?” I try to disguise the edge in my tone. My palms are beginning to sweat a bit at the thought of being stalled for too long.

  “A detour? No, we’ve just gotta wait,” Chelsea slows down to a crawl as we near the stopped cars ahead of us. The road has been reduced to one lane and they’re letting the on coming traffic take their turn.

  “Great,” I mutter, rubbing my hands together.

  Outside my window, the dust from the gravel and dirt on the dug up road ahead is blowing around. It reminds me of the dust ups we used to deal with everyday in Afghanistan. Man I don’t miss those, the grains of sand whipping against my face like a million tiny razor blades. I instinctively rub my hand over the side of my face and narrow my eyes. Even though the swirling dirt is outside the window, the reaction is automatic.

  “Wow, look at the huge trucks,” Lauren looks out the windshield as the ground beneath our tires begin to rumble and shake. Massive dump trucks travel toward us, carrying broken asphalt and rocks.

  “They’re noisy,” Chelsea complains, raising her voice to be heard over them.

  I close my eyes for a second and fight the panic I can feel rising up the back of my throat. Breathe. This is a construction zone, not a war zone. Just breathe. I look back out my window and feel prickles of sweat tingle my hairline as the oversized yellow trucks fade into battered old busses. The windows are covered with black plastic garbage bags so you can’t see inside them.

  “Move! We’ve got to go! Come on!” I order, but my man at the wheel doesn’t move. “Why aren’t you going? We’re being swarmed!”

  “I can’t move,” the voice is distant, like a bad transmission on a radio. “The guy in front of me isn’t moving!”

  “We don’t have time for this. We’ve gotta get out of here.” I pop the door open on our Humvee and jump out. The sand clouds around my boots as I march over to the driver in our convoy who is deciding to risk everyone’s lives while the enemy is approaching.

  “What are you doing?” I bang on his window. “Drive! Now! You’re gonna get us all killed!” I slam my open palm against the glass and the driver jumps up straight and looks at me. “Don’t just fucking look at me, I said to get in gear and go. We’re going to get swarmed! Don’t you see the busses coming?”

  He doesn’t do anything, the insubordinate bastard. Maybe he’s afraid. They say some guys freeze up at the weirdest times. This guy couldn’t have chosen a worse one. I pop the handle on his door and grab him by his uniform, my face an inch from his. “Listen to me, you need to move or we’re all going to be killed! Do you hear me? Get this truck in gear now!” I yell. His co-navigator starts yelling too, but I can’t make out the words.

  The driver just stares at me; he’s clearly not going to get this vehicle out of the way. I can’t lose my men like this. I’ve got to do something. Fast. I reach over and unclick his seat belt and pull him out of the Humvee. If he won’t move this truck, I will. I climb in and my stomach lurches.

  The woman next to me. Where did she come from? I look around and the Humvee I was sitting in seconds ago has disappeared. Instead, I’m in a minivan. Terror grips my heart and my chest feels like it’s being crushed as the woman’s screams finally penetrate my ears.

  “Oh my God, please, please! Don’t hurt us! Please! Let us go. You can have the van, just let me and the kids go!” she yelps.

  I look in the rear view mirror at the crying children in the back bench seat. What is happening?

  “Get out of the car and put your hands on your head!” A man barks at my side. I look over, and a cop is standing a foot away from me with his gun drawn and pointing at my head.

  Fuck.

  “I said, get out of the car, sir!” he repeats himself and I comply, slowly sliding out of the seat until my feet hit the pavement below me. I put my hands flat on my head and am instantly tackled to the ground. My arms are wrenched behind my back and the cold pinch of metal surrounds my wrists.

  I’m easily lifted by two men back onto my feet and I see the red and blue lights flashing on the police car for the first time. Everything still feels unreal. Like this is a dream. This can’t be real. I just blink and wait for my mind to wake up, but it won’t.

  Looking around, I can see that people are standing outside of their cars with their cellphones held out at the end of their arms. Their faces are contorted with horror and fascination.

  “Mack!” I snap my head toward Lauren’s voice and see her on the side of the road, bawling. Under her arm is Chris, his face is pushed into her ribs. Chelsea is next to them both, glaring at me.

  “Watch your head, sir. One of the officers pushes down on my scalp and I duck into the back seat of the cruiser. He slams the door shut in my face and outside the window I can still see Lauren screaming my name.

  This isn’t a dream. This is a fucking nightmare.

  35

  Lauren

  2014

  How is it that I’m parked at yet another police department to pick up yet another one of my guys? Mack was told that he’s free to go after being detained for a couple of hours. He called and asked me to pick him up. Of course I said yes, but not because I’m happy to do so. Him and I need to have a serious talk. Things have gotten out of control.

  Mack must have spotted me when I pulled in here, because he’s quickly crossing the parking lot toward my car. From his casual strut and easy smile, you’d never know he was the same guy who dragged a poor man out of his car in a terrifying melt down this morning.

  He opens the door and ducks his head down to look over at me. “Hey gorgeous, thanks for springing me from the joint,” he teases, his eyes sparkling.

  “Get in, Mack.” My voice is like a flat line on a heart monitor. My happiness isn’t far behind it.

  Mack’s smile turns down at the corners as he closes his mouth, but he doesn’t push it. He slides into the passenger seat and closes his door with a thud.

  “How about we go out for dinner? I’ll buy us a nice bottle of wine and then I can make this all up to you when we get back home. Your sweet nectar can be my dessert,” his eyes narrow and his voice drops low.

  He’s so sexy. I could lose all of my senses
, my sight, my hearing, my smell, and still know that. It would still radiate from him and permeate my soul. The idea of his face buried between my thighs is certainly enough to distract me for a second.

  But, it’s never going to be enough to fix what happened today.

  “Mack, we have to talk,” his smirk slips off his face and he refuses to look at me. Instead, he pushes his jaw out as he stares straight ahead.

  “Lauren, look, I know things got a bit crazy today, but it’s all going to be fine. The police didn’t think it was a big enough deal to press any charges, so I don’t think we need to rehash it.”

  If this was a foreign film, the subtitle underneath him would be two words long: Drop It.

  Part of me wants to let it go. To believe that this was just a one-off situation. That nothing needs to change.

  That part of me is a fucking liar.

  “No, Mack. We do need to rehash it ‘cause this can’t keep happening. Do you even remember what you did today? Do you remember dragging a father out of his vehicle in front of his wife and kids and trying to drive away? Because that’s a scene I don’t think I’m going to ever forget.”

  Mack’s eyebrows furrow together like storm clouds rolling in across a darkening sky. I watch his face for a flicker of recognition. For some small sign that he does remember, but the vacant, million-mile stare in his eyes tells me he doesn’t.

  “The police filled me in on it,” he finally mumbles.

  His eyelids look heavy; like he hasn’t slept in days. It’s clear that he hasn’t left the war behind. He may have escaped Afghanistan with his life, but his soul is still trapped over there, a POW being slowly tortured to death.

  “Mack, I …” my mind searches. I want to be gentle with him. I want to find the right words to say what I need to. However, I know he’ll just smell the bullshit through the flowers. “I want you to get help. I want you to go to therapy.”

  “No.” There’s no anger attached to his voice, but his single word hits me like a sucker punch to the gut.

  “Mack, please, just listen.”

  “No, you listen,” he drops his head and his voice is barely a whisper. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I don’t need some quack analyzing me and asking me whether or not I loved my mother. I’m a soldier, Lauren. I’ve been to war and I watched my men die. I have bad days, that’s the way that goes. I don’t need to go to some Kumbaya preaching, hug-me sessions to know that.”

  “Look, I’m not a doctor, ok? So, I’m not going to pretend I can diagnose you or anything, but I think you might have PTSD, Mack.” He puffs out his chest and his lips twist in protest. “There’s no shame in that!” I quickly add, trying to smooth over the blow to his ego. “Hell, after what you’ve gone through, it would be more shocking if you didn’t have some kind of residual scars that need healing. I just want what’s best for you, and our family. I can’t have you walking around like a ticking time bomb in Chris’s life.”

  “Don’t talk to me about bombs, Lauren. I’ve seen enough of them go off. You’re the one blowing this whole thing out of proportion. I’m not gonna go sit on some therapist’s couch just because I had a bad day. It’s not happening. End.Of.Fucking.Story.” He slams his fist into his palm with every punctuated word.

  A huge part of me just wants to let that be the end of the story. Our son’s face as he watched Mack in a fit of confusion and rage is burned into my brain though. I can’t let this be the end of the story. Chris needs stability, he needs a father, and Mack is in no position to be either.

  “It’s not just one bad day, Mack, and you know it. Chelsea told me about what happened by the fruit truck, ok? I know about that. Chris told me about how you got shaky at the grave. Mack, you even threw me to the ground that day at the track. Do you remember? I thought you were just trying to screw around, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot. It was because of that car that backfired, wasn’t it? It’s not just one thing, or one day. It’s getting worse and I can’t let this become everyday of our lives.”

  I reach across the car and place my hand on his. He peers up at me, just like his son does when he needs reassurance. Am I getting through to him?

  Suddenly, he flings my hand off of his like it’s a mosquito about to bite. No. No, I’m not.

  “You said it yourself, you are not a doctor, Lauren. You’re not a therapist. The last time I checked, you were a nurse. So, how about you let the big boys do their job and you worry about yours, ok?” His eyes flicker with rage and his face burns crimson. “For the last time, there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m not some delicate flower, got it? I don’t need to sit around and cry about my feelings. And I’m not going to fucking therapy!” He spits out the last words like they’re tainted in poison.

  Silence builds like a tidal wave, drowning us.

  “Fine.” I find my voice and look down at the steering wheel. “If you won’t get help, then you need to leave. I can’t take you to my place, Mack.” Tears sting my eyes as I realize what I have to do.

  “What are you talking about? Are you trying to blackmail me?”

  “Blackmail? No. This is an ultimatum. You either get the help you need, or you can’t be in our lives anymore. I can’t always be wondering and waiting for you to explode again. This time you pulled an innocent man out of his car. Do you know how upsetting it was for Chris to see that today? What are you going to do next time? Beat someone to death? No. You either get help, or you leave.” My voice wavers, but my mind is made up.

  Silence again. It hurts my ears more than anything Mack could yell or say. I keep staring at the wheel, hoping that Mack will listen to reason. That he’ll put his family, not to mention his health, above his inflated ego and pig-headedness.

  “Fine,” he sighs.

  Oh, thank you God. I silently pray. Thank you!

  Mack reaches over to the door and opens it, stepping back outside of the car before I fully understand what’s happening. “Then, I’m leaving.” He slams the door in my face and storms back to the police station as I watch in disbelief.

  Mack Forrester had only just walked back into my life a little over a week ago, and now he’s leaving me again. And this time, I think it’s for good.

  36

  Mack

  2014

  The oak table under my arm is solid and the beer in my glass is frosty cold. Both sensations are keeping me grounded in the present. After what happened on the drive today I know being grounded is just what I need. Lauren’s furrowed brows and soft eyes linger in my mind and all of a sudden I don’t want to be grounded anymore. I want to be fucking drunk.

  The pub is pretty much a ghost town at only four in the afternoon with the exception of the bartender, a young couple laughing in a booth and a slovenly drunk guy who’s cozied up to the bar like it’s a replacement for the wife that surely left him.

  Across from me, the twenty-four-hour news station is passing off their opinions as facts. The news anchors keep yelling at each other like children competing for their mother’s attention. They discuss every point like it all has the same weight, whether is about a drunk driving accident or Kim and Kanye, the fervour is the same.

  “Are high-tops the new flip-flops in hip hop? Find out about this summer’s latest fashion craze coming up in the next hour.” The voiceover tries to titillate us with the hard hitting stories coming up. Seriously? Is this the news or Dr. fucking Seuss? It’s annoying and little more than a background noise. Until my face flashes on the flat screen.

  Oh, that ain’t good.

  Of course, they’re using my military grad picture where I’m in full dress uniform. How long do you have to be out of the military before they stop using those pictures? Five years? Ten?

  My mind flashes back to my first day at West Point, when Staff Sergeant Skillnick formed us up in our civvies and gave us his introductory speech. “Welcome to West Point, ladies and gentlemen. Let me make it clear to you, that will be the last time anyone in your life refers to you that way. From now o
n, no matter what you do. No matter where you go. You will always be known for your military service first. It’s an honor few are ever awarded and not one to be taken lightly. So just remember this, whether you’re buying your first house or getting arrested for your first crime, it will be you rank, your service and this United States military that will open those doors for you, or that you will tarnish with your bad decisions. Choose carefully.”

  Fuck.

  My attention snaps back up to the television and I strain to listen to the same newscasters that only moments ago I was hoping would choke to death on live tv.

  The blonde with the severe make-up and over processed hair jumps in, “clearly, Captain Forrester has lost it.” She shares her unbiased, professional view. “Have you seen the video footage?” She drawls. “It’s just disgraceful. In my opinion he should have to give back the medals he was awarded. A man like that shouldn’t get to keep the highest award for courage…”

  “Hey,” I interrupt the program and wave my hand at the bartender. “Do you mind turning the channel?”

  The guy behind the counter doesn’t even look up from his phone. He just picks up the remote and clicks it one channel higher to an afternoon cooking show.

  “Hey, man. Sorry I’m running behind,” Cameron Armstrong comes up behind me and plops down on the chair across from me. “Have you been waiting here long?” He looks down at the beer I’m one swig away from finishing.

  “Nah, I’ve just had the one,” I hold up the bottle and finish the last mouthful.