Military Romance Collection

by E Cleveland

  28

  Chelsea

  The bass thuds in the club, vibrating the floor, vibrating in my chest, traveling through each of us like tiny buzzing jolts of sexual attraction. I bet this feeling is half the reason so many drunken one night stands happen. With music teasing every nerve in your body with the promise of how good a bad decision can feel, it’s not a hard sell. Of course the other half of the reason would be my good friend liquor here. I raise my glass to myself and enjoy the warmth the booze and heat of the club spread through my body.

  Jake and Cameron were right; a night out was definitely the way to go tonight. I originally wanted to stay put and keep their mother happy by playing board games I didn’t even care about when I was a kid. That’s the people pleaser in me, I guess. The one that won’t rock boats or take risks.

  Fuck that.

  Tonight, I’m not Chelsea the mousy schoolteacher. Just like every other person in this room, I’m taking tonight off from adulting. I’m surrounded by guys who are braver and stronger versions of themselves. Superheroes of every type surround us, complete with foam muscles. Girls dressed as slutty versions of every imaginable thing on this earth dance with abandon, free from judgment in their costumes. I mean, slutty butterfly? Whatever works for ya, I guess. I’m a fucking Greek goddess. Miss Taylor, the sweet second grade schoolteacher is nowhere to be found tonight.

  I’m feeling naughty.

  I look over to Cameron, returning from the bathroom with his brother and think about how I’d like to sneak him off to a stall and let him have his way with me.

  I stand up abruptly, if not a little wobbly, and feel my smile slink across my face sneakily. Fuck he’s hot. He’s hot, he’s smart, he’s complicated and he’s all mine. I don’t know what I did in a past life to deserve him. To deserve this happiness, but I’ll take it.

  I take a single step toward him and a young man dressed in green scrubs nearly knocks me over, swooping between me and my man.

  “Hey there,” the stranger sways slightly as he attempts to stare me down in what I think is supposed to be a smoldering gaze. It’s also entirely possible that he’s having a stroke. Jury is still out on this.

  “Um, sorry, I’m just going that way,” I point my finger past his face to Cameron, but his gaze doesn’t follow.

  “You know,” he slides his hand over his costume like he’s revealing a showcase showdown to me, “I’m a doctor.”

  I feel like he expects me to react. Like I’m supposed to laugh or go along with whatever half-cocked idea he has cooked up. Instead, annoyance flashes from my eyebrows to my manicured toenails.

  “Cool,” I try to sidestep him and make my way to my boyfriend, but he steps back in my path like a sloppy slow dancer.

  “I’m, uh, a heart doctor,” he points to the toy stethoscope hanging from his neck. “I definitely need to check your heart,” he slurs.

  Before I have a chance to think, let alone speak, he picks up his stethoscope with one hand and shoves his slimy hand down under the front of my toga with his other hand, squeezing my breast between his sweaty fingers hard.

  “Ouch! Get the fuck away from me!” I cry out, wincing with pain and humiliation.

  It’s a blur as he hits the floor in front of me. One second he’s got his gross hand on me and the next, I’m looking down at him on the dance floor. It takes a moment for my mind to process the fact that Cameron is straddled on top of him, punching his face like a boxing bag.

  “Oh, shit!”

  “Who the fuck do you think you are? Going around molesting others, you fucking piece of shit!” Cameron yells over the music.

  “No, you don’t understand!” The idiot on the ground cries out, “I’m a doctor!” He clings to his feeble excuse.

  “You’re gonna need a fucking dentist you fucking twat!” Cameron punches him in the jaw with a sickening thud.

  “Cameron, that’s enough. Just let the bouncers take care of him. I don’t want you getting arrested!” I scream.

  I look up across the club and sure enough a couple of burly men in golf shirts and frowns are making their way over to the scene in front of me.

  “Shit, Cameron! Let’s go!” I try again.

  Jake walks up to Cameron and I feel a wave of relief wash over me. He’ll pull Cameron off the idiot and help me out.

  I watch in disbelief as Jake kicks the guy that Cameron is on top of, not once, but twice to the ribs. Hard.

  Okay, so that probably isn’t helping.

  The bouncers reach us and rip Cameron from the bloodied doctor below him. The other bouncer scrapes him off the floor by lifting him easily with one hand.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” The bouncer holding Cameron yells in his face.

  “That fucker stuffed his hand down my girlfriend's shirt,” Cameron looks like the poster child for rage with his face contorted with anger.

  Well, this is the end of our night. I try not to wring my hands like fucking Olive Oyl from the old Popeye cartoons and I watch this all unfold.

  “Is that true?” The bouncer eyes me up for a confirmation.

  “Yeah, he grabbed my breast,” I answer.

  “I fucking warned you before,” the bouncer holding Doc Mc-Groping shakes him like a rag doll between his fists.

  The bouncer holding Cameron lets go of him and smooths his hands over his crinkled toga. “Don’t worry about it man, we’ve got it from here,” he claps his hand on Cameron’s shoulder a couple of times before following his partner through the crowd, dragging the good doctor toward the exit.

  “All right!” Jake yells, “Who wants some fucking shots?” If the fight phased him in any way, it doesn’t show. If anything, he seems happier now.

  I watch Jake slide his finger under his nose, sniffing in deeply as he disappears over to the bar to grab the promised booze.

  “You OK?” Cameron slides his hand over my shoulder protectively.

  “Yeah, I mean, I dunno. That was just fucked up, you know?” I look at him for help with processing the million feelings racing through me.

  “I know. I’m just glad I was nearby so I could take care of it,” he pulls me close and I can smell his musk mixed with beer on him. I know it’s old-fashioned and it might even be fucking stupid, but seeing him fight for me, protecting me from some entitled douchebag, has me all hot for him. I have half a mind to sneak him away into a bathroom stall or in a dark booth and show him how much I appreciate him in the universal language that all men intrinsically understand; with my lips on his cock.

  I look up at him from under my eyelashes and pull his hand to guide him to the back booth in the corner of the bar. Fuck being a people-pleasing good girl. My inner goddess has plans for this Zeus.

  “Yo! Cameron! Chelsea! Get your asses over here, I’ve got this all lined up!” Jake interrupts our moment, yelling and gesticulating wildly.

  I look across the busy club to the bar and see a line of shots waiting. More shots then the three of us can reasonably drink.

  I don’t have time to analyze it though. Before I can blink, Jake is pushing us toward the bar.

  Once we’re saddled up to the heavy wood barrier between us and the bartenders, I can see that Jake has accumulated a groupie fan club of girls. From slutty Rainbow Brite to slutty cop, he’s got his slutty bases fully covered. All these shots suddenly make more sense.

  Cameron and I both grab one, along with the slutty astronaut and slutty unicorn.

  “Happy Halloween!” Jake yells, raising his shot glass high.

  “Cheers!” A slutty chorus of voices chime in, mine included.

  Like I said, the mousy schoolteacher was left behind tonight. I’m a fucking goddess and this night is still young.

  Before it’s over, I’m gonna worship my man on my knees like the fucking amazing man he is, both on Halloween weekend and every other day of the week.

  29

  Cameron

  The sun splashes through the bedroom window, painfully reminding my eyes tha
t I’m getting too old for doing shots. Somehow, despite my headache and gauzy tongue, I’ve managed to get up and get dressed. If Chelsea is feeling as rough as I am this morning, it doesn’t show on her perfect face. You know you’ve got a true natural beauty when her make-up can be smudged after a night of drinking and she still looks breathtaking. For a moment the room spins around us as I admire the glint of gold flecks in her brown eyes.

  Then again, the room might be spinning from my hangover. I clutch the edge of my old dresser and wait for gravity to feel like it’s working properly again.

  “You gonna survive?” Chelsea studies my face.

  “Yeah, I’m good. I just need some Advil and water. I’ll be fine.”

  “I didn’t realize you were such a lightweight,” she laughs at me. I peer over at her, wondering how she is so cheery and full of energy.

  “And I didn’t realize my tiny girlfriend can drink even sailors under the table.”

  “Well you know what they say about books and covers,” she shrugs.

  “Yeah, I do,” I stand up straight.

  “Ok, let’s get some breakfast. You’ll feel better after you have some toast,” she opens the bedroom door and I follow her out into the hall.

  As soon as we reach the top of the stairs my pocket starts buzzing. I pull out my cell and see my coach’s number on the screen.

  “I gotta take this. You go on down and get started on breakfast. I’ll be right there,” I slide my thumb over the screen and walk back to my room as Chelsea goes to eat.

  “Hey Coach, what’s up?”

  “Cameron, I’m glad I caught you.” His voice is overwhelmingly chipper. I don’t know what Chelsea and Coach Silver have been slipping in their smoothies, but I need to invest in some.

  Or, you know, just don’t do shots.

  “Yep, so what’s going on? Everything OK with the team?”

  “The team? Yeah, they’re fine. Don’t worry about them. I’m calling about you, Cameron. I’ve got some great news,” my ears perk up and I focus on what my coach is saying. He’s not a man who gets easily worked up, so this must be big.

  “Well don’t leave me hanging. What’s going on?” I prod him with the grace of a kid hitting a piñata full of candy with a stick.

  “All right, well I just got word that there’s gonna be at least three different NFL scouts at our next game and that they’re coming to check you out. You’ve caught the eye of the big boys, Armstrong. You need to bring your A game.”

  “Really? That’s awesome! Do you know what teams they’re scouting for?”

  “Well, I know one you’ll be interested in. He’s working for the Broncos.”

  “Shit, that’s amazing!”

  “You got it, kid. I know you’ll wow ‘em. This is your time.”

  “Thanks, Coach.” I smile broadly.

  “Don’t thank me. It’s hard work and skills that got you here. Now take it easy until the game and get your ass back here in one piece for drills tomorrow, got it?”

  “I got it,” I can’t stop grinning. My cheeks are starting to hurt from how hard I’m smiling.

  “See ya then,” he hangs up the phone and I race down my parents’ stairs and burst into their dining room where Chelsea is sitting with my brother and parents.

  “I don’t know, that’s a tough one Jake,” my father is leaning in toward my brother in conversation. “I was never Special Forces, so I’m not sure how things like that go with you guys,” he continues.

  Jake is clearly interested in my father’s advice, but I’m too excited to wait for them to stop talking shop for five minutes.

  “Hey, guess who’s got three different NFL scouts coming to his next game?”

  “Really!” Chelsea stands up from the table and throws her arms around me. I pick her up and swirl her around, gently placing her back on her feet.

  “I know! Isn’t it crazy? This is really happening for me now,” I continue.

  “Dude! That’s awesome,” my little brother chimes in. “Congrats, bro.” He gives me a nod.

  “Oh, Cammie! I’m so proud of you,” my mother clasps her palms together. “Isn’t that wonderful, Don?” She prompts my father to do something other than scowl at his plate.

  “Yeah, that’s great,” his voice is devoid of emotion. I’d be better off hearing nothing right now than hearing his empty praise.

  “Gee, don’t get too worked up there, Dad. I don’t want you to have a heart attack or anything from the excitement,” anger begins to boil up inside me.

  “Anyway, Jake, back to what you were talking about with the military,” my father doesn’t even look at me, “I’d say you might need to go through your chain of command on that one,” he steamrolls over my good news, leaving it shattered and unrecognizable on the ground.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” My eyes narrow to slits and my lips pull back into a sneer. “I come down here with the best news of my career and you just keep talking about this shit?” My neck tenses up as my shoulders grow tight.

  “You know, Jake’s career is just as important as yours,” my father finally looks me in the eyes.

  “Bullshit!” I hit my fist against the table, “His career is much more important than mine, isn’t it Dad? At least to you anyway. When have you ever spent even five fucking minutes giving a crap about what I’m doing? You’re trying to say that it’s too much to ask to give me five minutes? Or how about five seconds to say ‘congratulations’ or, I don’t know, ‘I’m proud of you’ or something?”

  A crimson trail of anger burns across my father’s cheeks and he slides his chair back from the table loudly, standing tall to stare me down.

  “I don’t know where you think you get off talking to me like that in my house, young man, but if I want to talk to Jake at my dining room table about his actual career that he’s actually working instead of the dream you’re chasing, then I’ll do so.” He clenches his jaw tight.

  “That’s right Dad, ‘cause what I’m doing isn’t real, right? You know, it’s amazing you’re such an expert when you’ve never even been to a single game. Not fucking one. But that’s OK. Why support me and my dreams unless you share them too, right? Well, I’m sorry I didn’t stay in the military so you could vicariously relive your glory days through me like you do with Jake, but I’d much rather chase my dreams all over a football field and make myself happy than work a career that was your dream to begin with.”

  My father points at the kitchen door, “I think it’s time you left.”

  “Don! No! Will you two stop?! This is way out of hand,” my mother interrupts, but neither of us stop glaring at each other.

  “No, Mom, he’s right,” I don’t blink. “I wouldn’t want to waste anymore of Dad’s time. It must be exhausting the way he has to pretend to give a shit about me for seconds every day. Let’s go, Chelsea.” I jerk my head toward the door and finally break the stare down between my father and I.

  “Bro, come on. Let’s all just talk about this. You don’t have to go,” Jake calls out, but I dash up the stairs two at a time and quickly toss our things into our bags.

  Not a minute later, I’m guiding Chelsea out the front door while my mother and brother try to get me to change my mind. The only person who should be saying anything is dead silent. I give my mother a quick kiss on her cheek and clap my brother’s shoulder before Chelsea and I walk out the front door.

  I refuse to look back. I won’t waste any more of my time looking back at the father who has never been there for me. Everything I am, everything I’ve done, it’s because of me. I’m the man I am because I fought to become him. No, I won’t look back. Not now at his stone face. Not at the years and years I tried but failed to make him care. My future is bright; my future is forward. From now on, that’s the only direction I’ll be looking.

  30

  Chelsea

  Cameron chucks our bags in the backseat and slams the door shut. Flinging the driver’s side door open, he thumps down into his seat and ma
kes the car shake as he yanks his door closed with an angry thunk.

  I barely have time to process any of this. It’s all whirling around me so fast, I feel like Dorothy caught up in a cyclone, not really sure where this house is gonna land. One second I was enjoying another breakfast straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting with Cameron’s family, the next we’re peeling out of the driveway like we left three bodies behind in a gruesome crime scene. We may not have committed any felonies, but shots were most definitely fired back there.

  Cameron screeches to a halt at the red light and my head thuds off the back of the seat as the car abruptly stops. I look over at him. The anger radiating off of him is as clear as the LED stoplight hanging over our heads. His jaw is set and his fingers are wrapped tightly around the steering wheel.

  “Hey, are you all right?” I try to break through the dark storm clouds engulfing him

  “I will be,” he answers through clenched teeth.

  “I’m sorry that it all had to end that way. I liked meeting your family. It’s too bad your father was being such a dick.”

  “He has always been that way. Military first. Above everyone and everything.” he answers. I can see some of his rage sliding away and the sadness that he carries hiding underneath reveals itself on his face.

  “I’m sorry,” the words feel inadequate. Empty. But I feel them with all my heart. I hate seeing him so upset. I hate that his father has never made him feel important. Somehow, “sorry” doesn’t feel like enough, but nothing else comes to mind.

  Cameron shrugs, “I’m used to it. He’s never gonna change. Like I said, the only time he’s ever pretended to give a rat’s ass about my life is when I joined the military.” His face softens and the sorrow clouds his blue eyes. “But anyway, I’m not gonna sit here and sing “Cat’s In the Cradle” to you. It is what it is.” He looks over at me and my heart breaks for the little boy who was never enough for his dad. For the guy who put so much time and effort trying to prove he was worthwhile, who had to fake it until he made it, learning to have confidence in his dreams when no one else did.