Military Romance Collection

by E Cleveland

  Seventy million views? That’s how many people watched my meltdown? The number feels too large, too abstract to even be embarrassed by. I can’t imagine what a thousand people look like, let alone seventy.

  I don’t have time to really mull it over though, because the man behind the camera is signalling us again. “We’re back on in five, four, three, two…”

  Anderson looks straight into the lens, “Welcome back. I’m sitting down with Captain Mack Forrester, for those of you who were able to watch the entire footage that we just shared with you, it’s easy to see how the nickname “Captain America” was given to you. The heroism that you displayed that day was nothing short of the acts of bravery you would expect to see in a movie about a superhero.” His eyes break from the camera and focus back on me.

  I try not to squirm at the comparison, “Uh, thanks.”

  “I for one would like to thank you for your service and for the unflinching courage you showed when we came under attack. It must have been a surprise to you when, after the other video of you on the highway earlier this week went viral, how many people quickly turned against you.” He rubs his thumb and forefinger over the meat of his hand, “I was disgusted when I saw calls for your medals to be rescinded. How have you been dealing with the fallout of Captain America?”

  I blink for a moment, just trying to stay in the moment. “To be honest,” I clear my throat loudly, “that name has never sat easy with me. It’s always made me feel like it doesn’t honor the men I lost that day by comparing me to a Hollywood character. How do I feel about them being angry?” I look down at my missing leg, “I’m sorry that I let people down, but I’m much more concerned with how I made the man who I dragged out of his vehicle and his family feel. Those are real people, whose lives I affected, and for that I’m sorry.”

  “I think that’s appropriate. However, it appears to me that this entire thing has been blown out of proportion. As the last video we shared just showed, you’ve been through more than most people will ever face. You’re a true hero. You’ve sacrificed your own health and safety to save others. Now, because you experienced some road rage, people are demanding that you return your medals? I get road rage every week!” His unbiased reporting is getting buried under his emotions. “Everyone gets annoyed sometimes. I’m going to play a bit of the video showing the events that took place earlier in the week, in case there are some viewers at home who still haven’t seen it.” He leans forward and presses play on the already loaded video.

  On the laptop monitor, the familiar footage plays. I’ve seen bits and pieces of this video on the different news stations all week. Usually about ten seconds worth is all I’ve gotten through before shutting it off. My entire body tingles as I watch myself beating on the window of the man’s van. It’s strange to see yourself do something that you have no memory of. Like watching footage of yourself blacked out at a frat party. Who is that guy? Without the memory connecting me to the event, it feels surreal.

  We’ve now made it past the part that I usually see before scrambling for the remote. Now, I’m wrenching the door open and unbuckling the man’s seat belt in a panic. My seat suddenly feels extremely uncomfortable, like I just can’t find a way to sit in it that isn’t pinching into my skin. Cooper leans over to shut the remaining footage off, when the person who taped this on their cellphone suddenly sweeps across the car and over to Lauren and Chris.

  “No, wait, don’t turn it off.” I reach out and grab his hand.

  I can feel Cooper’s stare boring into me, but I can’t tear my eyes off the screen. Chris tries to break free from Lauren’s arms to run over to me, but her and Chelsea firmly grab him by the shoulders and keep him by their side. It’s a good thing too, with the state of mind I was in, I don’t know what I would’ve done if he tried to intervene.

  My guts twist up tight and my chest squeezes as I watch the tears slide down his face before he buries his head against his mother. Lauren is screaming my name, sobs convulsing through her body, but I’m too busy climbing into the man’s van to even know they’re near me. I let go of Cooper’s hand and he shuts off the computer.

  “So, those are not the actions that one would expect from a highly decorated war veteran,” Cooper continues, “but, it doesn’t look like anything more complicated than a little outburst of road rage. After all, you were stuck in construction, weren't you?” He looks up at me imploring me to follow the bouncing ball and help him downplay this whole thing.

  “No.” My voice is flat and empty.

  “No? You weren’t in a construction zone?” He sounds betrayed.

  “No, it wasn’t road rage. I wasn’t even driving. I think…” my voice cracks and I breathe in deep, I will not cry on national television.

  I give myself a second, but I can’t push the image of Chris trying to run after me, trying to help me...what would I have done to him? What have I already done to him? To Lauren? To my family. I fight the tears forming in the corners of my eyes.

  “What happened that day wasn’t road rage, Cooper,” my confession finally slips out. “I’ve been having flashbacks of the war ever since I returned home. I’m back there every night fighting in my dreams, and I’m often transported back in the day when something sets me off. I, well, I think that people look at me and they see that I’ve learned to walk again, and they say ‘oh, he’s better. He’s healed.’ But I haven’t healed. Because I have scars on the inside that no one can see, and they keep splitting open. I’m not better just because I can walk again. Not when my mind is still fighting a war.”

  I take a deep breath and look straight into the camera, “I need help. I’m going to get professional help.”

  39

  Mack

  2014

  With a long day of fishing behind us, we’re settled around the campfire for the night. When I first looked into the Odyssey Project with Wounded Warriors, I wasn’t completely sold on their program. It just seemed like a bit of wishful thinking that you go out camping and fishing with other war veterans for a week and somehow you get better.

  Luckily when I sat down with the program coordinator, Jay, he set me straight on how it all works. This is only my first day, but I already feel that familiar bond that you have with your brothers in arms. There is an instant understanding and respect given to anyone who served their country. However, that bond is much deeper when you know you’re with others who fought for it as well.

  I stare into the fire, we all do, as Tim Baines wraps up his introduction. “So, that’s why I’m here,” he finishes up.

  “Great, welcome to the group, Tim.” His eyes travel over our faces, “Mack Forrester? Would you mind sharing why you signed up for this program and what you hope to get out of it?”

  I guess I’m up. I feel like when a teacher used to call on me in class because it was my turn to read. My head snaps up and my eyes try to focus after staring into the flickering flames to look at Jay.

  “Uh, yeah. Sure,” I clear my throat and look around self-consciously. However, none of the other guys are looking at me. They’re all zoned out like I was a couple of seconds ago. Listening, but hypnotized by the fire.

  I relax a little, realizing that there’s no spotlight on me right now. This isn’t like when I was awarded the medal of honor by the president. Hell, it ain’t even like sitting down with Cooper Sanders last month. These are my guys, we don’t know each other yet, but our shared experiences are enough to bond us.

  “When I got home from Afghanistan, I didn’t have time to think about much. I was so doped up on painkillers and meds that I got the best sleep I’d had in years. But, once they cut back on the pills, I had time to think. I thought about the men I lost. How I let them and their families down. I was consumed with guilt and anger. Honestly, there were days when I wanted to give up. There were a lot of days I asked God why he didn’t just let me die over there too.” My voice cracks and I have to fight a lump in my throat just to swallow. I’ve never really talked about those dar
k days. When living felt like a worse option than dying.

  I breathe in deep and push myself to keep going. No one said this would be easy. But nothing worth doing is. “One day I was talking to a pastor who lost his arm over there on a different rotation, and he told me that God had a plan for me and it wasn’t up to me to question it. It made me look at my recovery differently. I stopped feeling sorry for myself and put everything I had into healing. Into walking. Into making everyone believe I was the same guy I had always been.”

  I run my hand over my beard and look around the circle of men sitting around the fire. Some of them are nodding, others look lost in their own stories, but each of them still has their eyes on the crimson flames.

  “And what happened?” Jay interrupts my thoughts and gently nudges me back on track.

  “I think I did a great fucking job,” I laugh. “You know, for a while there, I even had myself fooled.” My smile fades as I lower my voice, “but then the flashbacks started.” I look down into my hands, “that first one, it scared the shit out of me. It was intense,” I blink back tears and look over at Jay. I need to look into a friendly face to keep me in the present.

  “Did you know what it was?” He prods me on.

  “No. Well, I knew it wasn’t good. I’d seen enough movies about war and shit to know that much. You know, it’s funny though, if someone else had told me they were going through the same thing I would’ve had no problem identifying it. I would point at them and say, ‘oh, that’s PTSD. You should go talk to someone, it’s totally normal after what you’ve been through.’ But I couldn’t admit that shit to myself. I just couldn’t.”

  “Why not?” Jay is asking me questions that make Cooper Sanders look like an amateur. I mull it over. Why couldn’t I see it in myself?

  “It wasn’t because I didn’t know. The flashbacks, they got worse. And then, so did the nightmares. I knew what was going on in the back of my head, but I didn’t want to admit it. Honestly, I’m still uncomfortable.” I rub my hands together and look back into the fire.

  “You know,” I continue, “if it was someone else, I would say there’s nothing wrong with admitting you need help and all that. But, for me, it wasn’t like that. It’s like when I went to basic and they talked about PTSD in one of the classes. Even then, they give the whole ‘there’s no shame’ speech, but there was something false about it. The tone they use, the eye rolls. It’s like they have to teach it because it’s a law or something, not because anyone really believes it.”

  “So, you felt ashamed. Do you still feel that way now?” Jay pushes me.

  “Yeah. I guess I do. I can’t help but feel like when you admit you have PTSD; those four letters hang around your neck in a neon sign that spells ‘broken’ to everyone else. You know?” I look around for validation. Guys in the circle are nodding silently.

  “I just,” my voice breaks, “I just spent so much time trying to fix everything. I wanted to somehow fix what happened over there. I wanted to fix my leg so no one would know by looking at me that it was fucked up. I wanted to fix everyone’s lives that I messed up in one way or another. But, I couldn’t fix myself. I couldn’t make it go away…” tears stream down my cheeks and my throat feels like I swallowed a coal. “I couldn’t fix it,” I sob.

  Tears fall down my cheeks and into my beard. For a few seconds the only sounds in the camp are the crackle of the burning fire and me crying.

  “Thank you for sharing that,” Jay finally softly speaks. “I think you’re going to find that most of us in this group have felt or do feel that way too. You’re not alone. This is only the first step in healing, but once you’ve gone through the entire program I think you’ll find you’re stronger for admitting you needed help,” he explains gently.

  “Thanks,” I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand. My chest already feels like someone has removed a crushing rock from it. I’m still on my back, and my lungs need work, but I can already breathe just a little easier. “I already do.”

  40

  Lauren

  2014

  I’m excited, I’m nervous … I think I might throw up! If Mack Forrester only knew the real effect he had on women.

  It’s been two, excruciatingly long months since I watched Mack finally confess that he needed help. Two months that I haven’t been able to look into his eyes. Two months that I haven’t been able to kiss his lips. Two months that I haven’t been able to feel his rock hard cock fucking me.

  I mean, a girl has needs too, damn it! Sixty days is a long time to go. Not that I’m counting or anything. Sixty-three and a half. See, I’ve barely even noticed.

  That’s not to say that we’ve been out of touch for two months. Instead, we’ve been talking on the phone and texting like a couple of teenagers. I haven’t felt like such a love-struck dope, smiling down at my phone all the time since … well, since Mack and I were in high school. I guess some things never change.

  “You look so good, Lauren,” Chelsea reassures me as I squint at myself in the mirror for the billionth time.

  “You don’t think I’m wearing too much make-up?” I look at her past my reflection in the mirror.

  “No, it’s just the right amount. You’re already a natural beauty, now it’s just in high def,” she smiles.

  Mack is taking me out on a date tonight and from my dry mouth and nervous tummy, you’d think I’d never gone on one before in my life. Of course, him refusing to tell me where we’re going or what he’s got planned hasn’t helped at all.

  I give myself one last look in the mirror. Oh, who am I kidding, I’ll be back here in five minutes to scrutinize again. Chelsea is right though; my make-up does look good. So does my manicure and my hair, and even though she doesn’t know it, the wax job I got doesn’t look bad either.

  Just because she’s my sister doesn’t mean she needs to know every little detail.

  I turn and look at her, the sparkle in her big brown eyes makes me wonder who’s more excited? Her or me?

  “I hope I’m not overdressed. Or underdressed,” I look down at the black blouse and jeans I finally managed to settle on.

  “You’ll be fine! You look fine! Just relax, Lauren. You won’t have any fun if you’re just hyperventilating the whole time. You’re gonna have a great night, ok? And you know you don’t have to worry about Chris, he’s got the world’s best aunt to look after him, so chill, will ya?”

  I open my mouth to spill a laundry list of more worries and concerns, but my voice is drowned out.

  Vroom-tick-tick-tick!

  What the hell was that?

  Chelsea, Chris and I all rush over to the living room window and see Mack pop out the kickstand on his motorcycle and tilt it onto the support as he steps off. I’d be scared that he showed up on his bike, if a larger part of me wasn’t aching with desire just from watching him park it.

  “Whoa,” Chris gives his approval and my sister and I watch Mack remove his helmet and walk toward the door.

  It feels like a scene from a movie. Probably a James Bond movie, because there’s just one teensy, minor detail that Mack didn’t fill me in on. Where ever he’s taking me tonight, he’s taking me there wearing a tuxedo.

  I’m painfully underdressed, that much is clear, but I can’t scrape two shits together about it right now. Not when Mack “Captain America” Forrester shows up in some sexy man-lingerie on the back of a Harley.

  I rush over to the door and yank it open with all of the patience of a kid opening gifts on Christmas.

  “Mack!” I throw my arms around him as soon as he steps through the door. His arms wrap around my waist and he easily lifts me from my feet and swirls me around.

  For a moment, my mind flashes back to when we were kids and he talked me into being spun around on the merry-go-round at our park. I remember clearly how I clung onto those bars for dear life as Mack spun me around in nauseating circles until my façade of bravery broke down and I screamed his name in pure terror. In an instant, he thrust himsel
f up onto the spinning cyclone from hell and grabbed onto my arms. “Don’t let go of me,” I cried desperately.

  “Never.” It was a one-word sentence, a statement and a promise spun into one.

  Mack places me on my tipsy feet and gives me a quick kiss on the tip of my nose.

  “Hey Mack!” Chris leaps over to him.

  “My man!” Mack high fives him enthusiastically.

  Our son could compete with the sun right now for who’s shining brightest.

  “Mack, nice to see you again,” Chelsea smiles at him.

  “Hey, lady! Thanks for helping me out,” he nods over at her and I know I don’t have a cool superhero nickname but my Spidey sense starts tingling. Helping him with what?

  “What are you wearing,” I interrupt their meaningful looks. “I’m not dressed for where we’re going if you’re wearing a tux!” I look down over the outfit I painfully picked out, rejected, tried back on, and finally settled on.

  “Don’t worry about that!” Chelsea interrupts before I have a chance to fully get immersed in Mack’s hypnotizing stare. “Come with me, I’ve got you something to wear,” she slides up beside me and grabs my hand.

  She quickly pulls me up the stairs before I have a chance to process much of what’s happening let alone protest over it. I look down over my shoulder as my feet automatically follow my sister and I see Chris and Mack talking like two old friends at a party.

  It's hard to be overly concerned with whatever the hell is going on right now when my Mom heart is overflowing with joy.

  Chelsea leads me back down to my bedroom and lets go of my hand, leaving me to fend for myself by the door while she raids my closet. What the hell is she doing?

  Quickly, she slides hanger after hanger forward until she finds whatever she’s looking for. She pulls a floor length, purple gown from behind my work clothes and tosses it on the bed.