Military Romance Collection

by E Cleveland

  “Last night, Cameron Armstrong, the star quarterback of the college football team, the Colorado Buffaloes, was arrested. He was found at the scene of a car accident with over two grams of cocaine in his possession along with another woman in his company.” News anchor Ted smiles at the camera like he’s making a birth announcement.

  “What do you think this means for the Buffaloes this season, Ted? Is it over for them now?” Platinum mc-Blonde asks him.

  “Only time will tell, Candy,” Our walking mid-life crisis, Ted retorts.

  “Let’s hope that this all blows over in time for the play off season to begin, the over painted news anchor pretends to care about what’s happening to my boyfriend.

  “Indeed,” Ted answers cheerfully.

  When the news changes over to the weather segment, I realize where I am and who I’m surrounded by. I feel sick. I don’t have to look over to the ladies the next table over to see the smug smirks on their faces. Instead, I stand up and walk out of the staff room. There’s no point sitting here, like a moron waiting to be roasted on a comedy special.

  No. Why would I need them for that?

  Especially when the Colorado news and my boyfriend seem to have an agreement on how they can best publicly humiliate me.

  Jesus Christ, Cameron. Another woman? My hand flutters up to my stomach as tears spring to my eyes. I can’t shake the feeling that this is the beginning of the end. The end of my dreams. The end of my future with the father of my child.

  The end of us.

  38

  Cameron

  I slide down into the passenger seat of Coach Silver’s old GMC pickup and we both click our seatbelts tight. “Thanks for getting me, Coach.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he gives a flash of a fake smile and turns the key in the ignition.

  “I didn’t want to call my folks, not right now.” I try to explain why I had him pick me up from jail. “My girl isn’t answering my calls. Does anyone know about this yet?”

  When my brother hightailed it down the street and disappeared into the darkness with his one night stand in my backseat and two grams of coke in a bag on my dashboard, I thought the night had already hit rock bottom. It didn’t feel like there was anywhere left to sink down to.

  I was wrong.

  Rock bottom is feeling the pinch of handcuffs on my wrists. It’s sitting in the back of a police cruiser as you watch the woman you smashed your car into get put in the back of an ambulance. Rock bottom is a sober night in the drunk tank while your entire future crumbles in front of your eyes.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry buddy, it was in the local news this morning. I know these aren’t the kinds of headlines you wanted to make, Armstrong.” He looks at me like I shot his dog. I feel like I just might have. Guilt washes over me in sickening waves as I realize just how many lives this one night is going to affect.

  “Shit,” I hang my head in shame that rightfully belongs to my brother.

  “Hey,” he claps his hand on my shoulder, “this will all get sorted out, OK? You told me you never touched that shit in your car and I believe you. You’re a good kid, Cameron. I’ve known you long enough to know that.” He turns down the street and I look out the window. Everything is just shades of gray. The colors have slid out of my life like sidewalk chalk being washed down a storm drain.

  “Thanks,” I finally muster the word.

  “The problem is, well, I know you say those drugs weren’t yours. Like I said, I believe you.”

  “OK.”

  “But,” he continues, “with you not telling the police whose they are, well it doesn’t look good on you. You know?”

  “I can imagine.” Anger and despair sprint through my veins, like both are racing to reach the gold medal spot in my heart. How could Jake do this to me? How could he just fucking run?

  “Yeah,” he clears his throat and rubs his palm down the leg of his track pants.

  “What is it?” I look over at him. His face is twisted to the side, like it’s painful to hold in the words he needs to tell me.

  “You’ve been benched, kid.”

  “What! What do you mean?” My voice grows frantic as despair wins the race.

  “It’s a temporary suspension… “

  “Suspension!”

  He holds up his hand on the steering wheel and I shut my mouth. “Pending an investigation into this whole thing. You need to take a blood test to screen for the drugs,” he continues.

  “Fine! I’ll fucking take one right now. Drive me to the lab. I’m not lying!”

  “I know. Hey, I’m on your side. I know this is all gonna come back good. I trust you, but a bunch of guys who run the NCAA and don’t know you from Adam aren’t so sure. So do the bloodwork, prove ‘em wrong and hopefully we win the conference game and you can come back in for the Rose Bowl.”

  “I can’t play the conference game? You’re shitting me, right? It’s only the most important game of my entire life.”

  “Not just yours, bud. There’s a lot of people on our team who need to win this,” his voice is tight with the disappointment he’s been trying to hide this whole time. Picking up his star quarterback from the police station and possibly having the entire season fucked over because of how I spent my night is not how any coach wants to spend their time.

  I shut my mouth. I have no reason to whine about this. I made my bed, I guess. Well, Jake made it. Rage courses through me as I see him vanish down the street in my memory. What kind of brother let’s his own flesh and blood take the fall for him? I’m not even sure who he is anymore.

  “Listen,” Coach Silver pulls down my street, “just do me a solid, OK?”

  “You got it, Coach.”

  “Go do the bloodwork. To-fucking-day. Don’t dick around on that shit. Then, just lie low until this all gets sorted out.” He looks over at me.

  “I will.” I nod.

  As he turns into my apartment building parking lot, I see a person I never expected to be waiting for me.

  Chelsea.

  She’s pacing back and forth, blowing her breath on her hands and mumbling to herself.

  Fuck.

  “Is that your girl?” Coach asks.

  “Yeah,” my heart twists as I find myself hoping that’s still the case.

  “Good luck, Cameron.” He brings the car to a stop and I look over at Chelsea.

  “Thanks, Coach. I’m gonna need it.” I unbuckle my seat belt and open the door.

  39

  Chelsea

  Cameron steps out of the car and crunches over the light dusting of snow over to me. “I’m so happy to see you,” he puts his hands on my shoulders and stares into me with his deep, blue eyes.

  Eyes I thought I could trust.

  “Don’t,” I shrug him off, desperately trying to swallow the sadness creeping up the back of my throat. The betrayal. My eyes sting with more tears. More of them. As if I haven’t spent the entire morning bawling already.

  “Hey, don’t cry,” he hushes me. “How long have you been here? Why didn’t you use your key?” He acts like he has a right to ask me questions.

  My eyes sting as I blink, I’m sure they’re as red as a supernova sun. Just like one of those almost dead stars, I’m about to explode. “I haven’t been here long,” I lie.

  The truth is, I’ve been pacing the ground between my car and the front door over and over. I can’t seem to make it into his apartment. I can’t fully face the truth. The Colorado news team seemed to have the story pretty straight though. Cameron was arrested last night for drug possession after he smashed into another car. Probably while driving under the influence. And the only other person in his vehicle was a woman.

  Another woman.

  “Please come inside. Let’s talk, Chelsea. You’re freezing,” he wraps his arm around my waist and leads me into the apartment. I let him walk me in there, because I want answers.

  We ride up in the elevator in silence, both of us haunted by our thoughts. Before I know it, we’re insi
de his apartment. The last time I stepped foot in here feels like it was a decade ago, not early last night. The lines of coke cut on the counter like sand dunes was my first red flag. And I ignored it.

  No more.

  “Here, let me take your coat. Sit down with me,” he offers a place on his couch.

  “No.” I don’t move from the front hall. I’m not interested in getting cozy. I’m interested in getting the truth.

  “Chelsea, please. It’s been a long night,” he rubs his forefinger and thumb at the bridge of his nose, “come in and talk to me,” he pleads.

  “About what, exactly? How you cheated on me? How I’m an idiot for trusting you? How you lied to me? Please, tell me what you’d like to talk about,” I can feel my lips pull back in a sneer.

  “Cheated on you?” Cameron drops his hand to his side and stares at me blankly. He looks almost as confused as I feel about all of this. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Don’t act dumb, please. ‘Cause I’m not. It was on the news, Cameron! The news! You got arrested and hit some woman. Were you drinking and driving? I mean, seriously? Who the fuck are you?” I point in his face, “I thought I knew you! But then, I guess the girl in your car thought she did too, didn’t she?” I try not to let my bottom lip quiver. I want to be angry, not sad. Furious. My broken heart wins the battle and tears stream down my cheeks again.

  “Cheat on you,” Cameron repeats the sentence like he needs a decoder ring to understand it. I feel like slapping about four rings on my fingers and punching him in his face. “I would never,” he starts.

  “Don’t you stand here and lie to my face, Cameron!” My voice trembles.

  “Chelsea! I’m not lying! I was dead sober last night. I drove my brother and some girl he planned to hook up with home. Well, I was trying to get home and they spilled coke all over the place and I didn’t see the lady stopped at the light and hit her. Hand to God, I wasn’t high or drunk. I had one beer all night long.”

  “You are lying,” I call him out, “the news said it was just you and some chick in the car. Not you and your brother and his lay for the night. I hate to bog you down with minor details, but if you’re gonna lie to me, you should get the story straight,” I can’t keep looking at him, I sob into my hands uncontrollably.

  “Chelsea, shhh. Hey, it’s OK.” He wraps his arms around me and I don’t want to feel the comfort that surges through me. I want to hate him. “Listen to me, I’m not lying. The news was right. By the time the cops got there it was just me and that chick. That’s because my fucking brother took off like a bat out of hell when we hit the other car. He left me at the crime scene with the bloody knife in my hand and took off so he wouldn’t get in shit,” his anger vibrates through him as he explains.

  “What? No!” I can’t imagine what kind of person would do that. Let alone what kind of brother. “Wait, if that’s what happened, why didn’t you just tell the police?” I eye him suspiciously. I want to believe his story, even though I need to jam the puzzle pieces together to make it work. I don’t want this all to be a big, fat lie.

  “I didn’t tell the cops that he was there.” He answers matter-of-factly. “He’s shipping out in less than two days now and I know he’ll get put on charges and maybe put in military jail if this all came out.”

  I step back and break the hold his arms have on me, looking into his pained face with disbelief, “You’re kidding me right? You didn’t tell them so Jake wouldn’t get in trouble? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yes,” he purses his lips together tight.

  “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that you’d rather destroy your own future, your own career, everything you have, to save your brother from facing the music? What about us, Cameron? What about everything we want together?” My mind is reeling. How can I raise a child with a man so willing to toss away his future? Doesn’t anything we have together matter to him?

  “I’m going to get drug tested, I’m going to prove that I’m innocent. I just don’t think I need to take my brother down to do it. I can leave his name out of it and still clear mine,” he insists. “Hey, are you still feeling sick?” Concern flashes over his face.

  “What? No, why?” I frown up at him.

  “You’re holding your belly. I know you haven’t been feeling well lately. Do you want to lie down?” He tries to rub my shoulder, but I pull back.

  “No,” I drop my hands from the baby I’m instinctively shielding. “I just need to go. I think we need some time to think. Some space is the best thing for us right now,” I take another step back.

  “Listen, after spending the night in jail, missing you, thinking non-stop about this bullshit, the last thing I need is more time or space.”

  Anger licks up in flames from my chest to my throat. “It’s not about what you need, Cameron. Did that ever occur to you? I need to think. I need some time and I need space! You’re not the only important person in… whatever this is,” I toss my hand up at him.

  Who does he think he is? Like he can just send my entire world into a tailspin and then tell me when I’m supposed to be over it?

  “Relationship,” he fills in the blank.

  “Maybe. I guess we’ll see,” I walk to his door and don’t look back. I don’t care about Cameron’s hurt feelings right now. I need to figure out what’s best for me and this baby, even if that means he’s not it.

  My heart hurts at the thought. His door slams behind me and I march down his apartment hallway. I hope that’s not the case, but I can’t raise a baby when the man I love is an overgrown child. Cameron needs to step up and man up. Before it’s too late.

  40

  Cameron

  I sit on my couch, the volume turned up loud on my TV and watch as my coach shuffles to his seat for the post-game media coverage. Tonight has made a rollercoaster look like a flat line on a heartrate monitor. My face was glued to my screen as I watched my team fight every inch of that field for their win. I screamed like it was New Year’s Eve on every step they took forward, I fell to my knees when the Nebraska Cornhuskers got their one and only field goal and I yelled at my TV when the stupid ref called a pass interference on our only big offensive play.

  My throat is hoarse and my emotions are strung tighter than a guitar string about to break. I’ve been tossed in the spin cycle here and wrung out to dry, while a game that was rightfully mine played out in front of me. Every tackle, every punt, every yard my Buffaloes fought for in that stadium tonight, I had to watch from my couch… alone.

  With my teammates fighting for their place at the Rose Bowl table, Mack at a Wounded Warriors retreat and Chelsea not talking to me, it was just me and a dwindling six pack to keep me company.

  I take another long swig of beer and check my phone again. I have the volume as high as it’ll go, but I still keep checking for messages Jake isn’t sending me. I open my call log and press the last number I dialed. His number. It goes straight to voicemail. Again. Fucking piece of shit!

  I down my beer and go to the fridge to grab my last one. Why am I protecting him? He obviously doesn’t give a shit about me. Here I am with everything I love and care about on the line, and he’s disappeared into the ether. I should just spill it to the cops that it was his drugs. I should tell everyone.

  But, I can’t.

  Jake has been a lot of things in my life. Usually annoying in the way only little brothers can be. However, he’s always had my back. This isn’t like him, I know there’s something wrong. I just need to find out what’s going on with him before it destroys me too.

  Popping the cap off my last beer, I take a mouthful. I check my phone, still glued to my hand. Of course, nothing has changed. And yet, with Jake leaving me in the lurch like this, everything has changed.

  I still haven’t found the spine to face my parents. I’ve talked to Mom on the phone, but I don’t have much to say. It’s a no-win situation, really. When I told her the drugs and chick in the car had nothing to do wi
th me, she pushed me to tell her who left me with a hangman’s noose wrapped around my neck. I had to let her go when my father started ranting in the background.

  “I bet it was one of his football buddies. Let me tell ya, guys in the military wouldn’t pull that shit,” he started in. “A few little words like ‘duty’ and ‘honor’ go a long way with brothers in arms.”

  I hung up. I was biting my tongue so hard, I think I drew blood. If he only knew. Not only would a military guy pull that shit, but it was his fucking Navy SEAL golden boy who left me holding my hands over my head while the cops dropped me to the ground.

  Coach Silver straightens his ball cap and answers a few softball questions about our season. He looks relaxed. Happy. It’s nice to see him with a sparkle in his eye. Especially after seeing the disappointment tattooed into his skin after he brought me home from jail.

  “Congratulations on the win, Coach.” A faceless reporter speaks to him. “Are you worried about how the Buffaloes will perform at the Rose Bowl without your first line quarterback? I mean, your guys did win this game, but I think it’s safe to say it was barely squeaked out.”

  Coach Silver’s face twists downward and he squints his eyes. I watch as he takes a deep breath and composes himself, waiting for his answer.

  “Am I worried about Armstrong not playing in the Rose Bowl game? Is that the gist of your question?” He looks out into the room I can’t see off-camera.

  “Yes,” the voice cuts back in.

  “Sure,” he shrugs. “Yeah, I’m worried about that. Cameron Armstrong is a strong leader and an amazing quarterback. I’d be a fool to have no worries about him not returning in time. And let me make that clear, he will be returning. Just today, his drug test came back one-hundred-percent clean. I never doubted it would. I’ve never doubted his story for a second, but for all of you who’ve been hating out there, now you know.” He tugs his cap down to his eyebrows.