Military Romance Collection

by E Cleveland

  I feel like I made a deal with the devil and I won. Somehow. I must’ve out fiddled him or something, ‘cause here I am. Standing with my peers around me and my fans breaking out onto the field with nothing but ecstatic love in their hearts.

  I look over at Coach Silver, my surrogate dad, and the look on his face makes me feel like I’m walking on Heaven’s clouds. If his face makes me feel like I’ve been welcomed to Heaven, then my own father’s screaming mouth, twisted in happiness is the pearly gates swung open under my guardian angel’s power.

  I can’t believe that the last four years of my life are about to come to a close. Like another chapter written in an already lengthy book. I look up at Chelsea and my mouth twitches into a huge smile. The way she looks at me as she holds her hand on her tiny tummy, just knowing that she’s mine. That she’s my future wife, the love of my life, the mother of my child.

  It’s amazing.

  We’re not just starting a new chapter together. This is a whole new book and I can’t wait to crack the cover and see where each new page takes us. Before I met Chelsea, I had a dream of making it into the NFL. I don’t want to jinx it, but it looks like that’s gonna happen for me. Now, I have a new dream.

  A bigger dream.

  One that will take a sky full of stars to wish on, to be the best husband and father I can be. To make that woman up there happy, the one who smiles at me in a way that I can never fully deserve. To give her all of me, every single day. She is my North Star. My one true guiding light and I know as long as I follow her in this life, I’ll never be alone or led astray.

  “I love you,” I mouth the words to her. I know she sees me. She holds her hand to her heart and says it back. Even though the roar of the insane crowd is too loud, I swear I can hear her. My heart hears her.

  It always has. It always will.

  46

  Epilogue 1 - Cameron

  Sweat drips off my nose as I take another long swig of Gatorade.

  “Get those electrolytes in ya,” Gosselin nods at me before downing his own bottle.

  “Man,” I pant, “this humidity is going to kill me,” a little bit of the orange sports drink spills onto my Miami uniform as I try to inhale the remaining liquid.

  “Didn’t you do time in Afghanistan or some shit? Florida can’t be hotter than a desert,” my new running back squints his eyes in the glaring mid-day sun to focus on my face.

  When I got picked in the first round of the draft, I was so shocked, I stumbled to the stage like a drunk. Truth is, I felt drunk, or like I was dreaming, I guess. The moment was so surreal, I barely remembered it when I watched the news coverage of it later.

  Sure, Florida wasn’t my first pick. I wanted to stay in Colorado, if I could. However, just like in the army, you don’t have a whole lot of say about what state you end up in when you play professional football. Chelsea was happy to say goodbye to the frosty winters and hello to white sandy beaches. She told me that she can teach anywhere, if she goes back to teaching at all. Between my salary and her bonding with her growing baby belly everyday, I think she’ll be spending her time at home with our little miracle, instead of being in the classroom.

  “Yeah, man. I did a tour over there, but it’s a dry heat in the desert. This shit,” I swirl my hand around us, “is like doing practice inside a used gym sock. And doing wind sprints next to your nasty ass makes it smell like a gym sock around here too.” I chuck shit back at him.

  When I first started the training camp on the new team, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I didn’t know if the guys would be happy to have me, or if they would be shaking their heads at another college kid with wide-eyes and big dreams being added to the roster. Lucky for me, I’ve got a solid bunch of guys. Gosselin and I hit it off right away, with him showing Chelsea and me around Miami’s hotspots whenever we’re not sweating our sacs off on the field.

  “Yeah, yeah. I know it might confuse a young guy like you, but this is what real men smell like,” he smiles.

  “Dude, you’re like, three years older than me,” I laugh.

  “That’s right, and don’t you forget it,” he gives me a nudge with his elbow.

  “Armstrong! Get your ass over here!”

  My head snaps up as my coach interrupts our banter. I immediately haul ass across the field toward the man who scares me more than any Staff Sergeant I’ve ever faced off with.

  If Coach Silver was like my surrogate father, the man you never wanted to disappoint, then Coach Ashcroft is like my crotchety old grandfather who would just as soon whip your ass as he would hug you. I swear, he just needs to wear a set of dentures, sit on his front porch, and shake his fist at the kids who stray into his yard while yelling ‘get off my lawn’.

  “Sir?” I try not to suck wind as I come to a stop a foot in front of his sun-leathered, frowning face.

  “Listen here, Armstrong, this must be your lucky day, got it? Cause if this shit happened once we started the season, you’d have to sit and wait out the game, hear me?”

  “Uh,” I search my mind for the translate button. I have no idea what he’s talking about.

  “In my day, you didn’t get excused from practice unless you were being carried off the field in a stretcher. But, now we’re all touchy-feely, aren’t we?”

  I stare at him blankly. Is this supposed to be making sense to me? “I, uh, guess so?”

  “Yer girl is having the baby, Armstrong. Get your ass out of my stadium and go meet your kid, be there for your woman, and then be back here fifteen minutes early for practice tomorrow, got it?” He looks into my eyes. I can see, behind the chest-puffing, that his eyes are twinkling.

  “Chelsea’s in labor? Now?” My chest feels tight and my heart races.

  “Did I stutter? That’s what I said. Now, get out of here!” He flings his hands in the air at me, dismissing me from his sight.

  I turn and run toward the exit, forgetting everything behind me.

  “Oh, and Armstrong!” Ashcroft calls out.

  I stop short and turn around to look back at my coach, “yeah?”

  “Fucking congratulations!” His mouth twitches like it’s trying to smile.

  “Thank you!” I full out run to the doors.

  Chelsea is in labor! The baby is coming now. I’m going to be a dad. I race through the parking lot and rush to my car. I need to be with her.

  Now.

  47

  Epilogue 2 - Chelsea

  “She’s fully dilated,” the doctor pops his balding head up from between my knees. I groan as ripples of agony rush through me.

  I manage to unsqueeze my eyes for a second and look up to my mother’s calm, sweet face. “I can’t be. I can’t have the baby so fast. We took a class, they said the labor would last all day. Maybe two days,” I plead my case.

  Mom pats my hand softly. I try to focus on her fingers wrapped around my palm instead of the convulsive muscle spasms attacking my belly right now.

  “Honey, this is out of your hands. Babies are born how and when they’re ready. This is in God’s hands now, you gotta trust that this is right,” she tries to soothe me. My mother swipes her free hand over my sweaty brow, pushing back my matted, soaked hair.

  When I woke up this morning, I knew I felt off. Heavier than usual, and that’s saying something. I had no idea that I’d be giving birth today though. I’ve only been in full labor for less than two hours, but it’s felt like a lifetime. Each nauseating surge of pain has been rolling over me like ocean waves in a thunderstorm. I feel like a small sailboat, desperately trying to keep on course as water crashes over me, threatening to crush me with its force.

  “I can’t do it! I’m scared,” tears stream down my face. I never imagined giving birth without Cameron. I don’t know why. I knew it was a possibility with him going pro, but in my heart, I always saw us together for this.

  “Ms. Taylor, I’m gonna count to ten and then I need you to push for ten seconds ok? I’ll let you know when you can stop pushing, just liste
n to me,” the doctor I never really got to know instructs me firmly. I mean, I’m sure Dr. Mercer is a good guy and a great doctor, I’m not saying he isn’t. He’s just not the same as my old doc.

  I miss her. I miss the familiarity we had. In a new city, everyone is a stranger. That’s why I need Cameron here. I need more than just my mother. I need my future husband. The father of my baby.

  “One, two, three,” Dr. Mercer calls out.

  “Mom, did you call his coach?” I sob, already knowing the answer.

  “I did,” she answers me with tight lips. “Chelsea Taylor, you’re gonna have this baby and I’m right here to see you through it, do you hear me? You’ve always been my tough little cookie, and you can do this,” she looks down at my face with a flicker of determination in her dark eyes.

  “Seven, eight, nine, ten! Push!” The doctor yells.

  An overwhelming urge to bear down centers inside me, I hold my breath, lean forward, scrunch my face and give all I have. I push like it’s the only thing my body is capable of doing right now. As if my organs, my brain, my senses are all shut down just so I can.

  “Ok! Good. That was great actually. A few more like that and you’ll be holding your baby in your arms, Mama!” Dr. Mercer smiles up at me.

  Tears mix with sweat on my face and drip down to my gown. Nurses scurry around us in the hospital delivery room, checking charts and the print out of the baby’s heart rate. They’re a constant flurry of motion, like a hummingbird’s wings, but I can’t focus on them.

  “That’s my girl! I’m proud of you, Chelsea. You’re doing it.” My mother smiles down at me.

  “We’re going to do that again, Ms. Taylor. I’m going to count to ten and then you’ll push until I say stop, got it?”

  I grit my teeth and nod sharply, trying so hard to focus on anything but this pain.

  The door to the room crashes open and my head whips to the side to see what the cause of the commotion is.

  “Chelsea! I’m here!” Cameron slides into the room like he’s struggling to keep his balance on skates. I look down and see he’s still got his cleats on his feet. It goes well with the turquoise blue Miami uniform he’s still wearing. Hell, he’s even got his shoulder pads still on. I’d laugh if I wasn’t sobbing so hard.

  “Sir! You can’t come in here like that!” One of the nurses descends down on him like a hawk zeroing in on a field mouse.

  “That’s my fiancé, please let him stay!” I beg her, desperate for Cameron to be by my side.

  She looks to Dr. Mercer and he gives her a curt nod. Relief floods through me as she backs off and Cameron joins me by the side of the bed.

  “One, two, three, four,” the doctor counts.

  “You made it,” I smile up at my man.

  “Of course I did,” he locks his deep blue eyes on me, “I love you, Chelsea.”

  “Nine, ten. Push!” Dr. Mercer barks at me.

  I crunch forward and squeeze every muscle I physically can to its limit. I feel Cameron’s hand on my shoulder and it gives me the strength I need to slice through the hellish burning, and keep bearing down.

  “Ok, stop. Good!” The doctor holds up his hand at me. Your baby is crowning. One more push and the head will be out. You’ve got two more max and you’ll be holding your child,” he smiles up at me broadly.

  I slump back against my damp pillow, exhaustion surging my senses. I’m excited to meet my baby. In a way, two more pushes sounds so fast, yet feels like I have so far to go still.

  “You’ve got this, Chelsea,” Cameron kisses the back of my hand. Mom pushes my hair back from my face and holds my other hand. My heart is bursting with love for them.

  “Ok,” I take a deep breath.

  “You ready?” Doctor Mercer calls out. It’s not so much a question as an order.

  “Yes.”

  “One, two, three,” he begins again.

  I look up at Cameron and he smiles at me. His eyes shine with tears. “I love you so much, Chelsea.”

  “Five, six, seven,” the doctor calls out.

  I need to muster my strength. My courage. My will. I need to dig deep as Cameron would say.

  “Ten. Push!”

  I grunt and lift my shoulders as I lean toward my swollen belly. With my eyes pressed shut, I focus all I have left on pushing with all of my might. I feel like I’ve completely succumb to my animal instincts as I grunt and moan. Finally, the pressure between my legs eases up a little and tiny cries fill the room. I can’t stop pushing. I just clench my jaw and keep going, listening to my body instead of my doctor.

  The cries grow louder and fiercer as Dr. Mercer lifts my baby up and snips the umbilical cord attaching us.

  “It’s a girl,” he announces.

  Gently, the doctor places her on my chest and I look down at her in awe. My baby. My girl. My newborn daughter cries up at me and I join her, sobbing with joy.

  “I’m so proud of you, look at her! You did it, Chelsea,” Cameron hunches down over us and kisses my tear-stained cheek as he looks at his child.

  “She’s beautiful,” my mother whispers.

  I look down at my little miracle. A child I was never supposed to be able to have and my heart fills with a love I never thought I’d know. I smile at Cameron. I have no words, there aren’t any that can explain this love, this joy, this amazing moment.

  I know in my heart that this is the beginning for us. A new journey as a family, with Cameron in the professional league and with me and my little girl in Florida.

  It feels like a dream come true.

  “What name will you give her?” Mom asks.

  I look at Cameron and he looks back at me. We discussed many names, from ones that honor family members to popular actresses. However, we kept coming back to one. The woman who kept Cameron company on so many lonely nights as a child.

  “Cassiopeia,” we answer together.

  “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” my mother smiles approvingly.

  I kiss my little baby on her forehead and lean into Cameron’s embrace as he wraps his arms around us.

  Cassiopeia, the constellation that Cameron talked to. The w-shaped cluster of stars that he showed me in his treehouse on the night he bared his soul to me. She will be brighter than Sirius and more important than the North Star in our night sky. She will be the one true light that guides my heart home.

  Continue Reading For Jake’s Story

  The Devil’s Temptation

  Authors Note:

  This book was previously released as “Navy SEAL Bad Boy.”

  1

  Holly

  I’m straddling Knox’s leg. The firm muscles of his thigh are wedged between mine, pressed up against my pussy. The fabric of my short skirt is hiked up, giving a glimpse of my lace thong to the guys – that’s how Knox likes it. He likes putting me on display.

  I watch the guys. Watch as their eyes dart back and forth from between my thighs to the gun casually resting on Knox’s other leg. As if their animal brains are too stupid to decide what to focus on: my panties or the threat of death.

  Men.

  I’m bored. It’s taking all of my self-restraint not to show it. I remember when this used to make me wet. When Knox went through his speech with a new guy about how much coke to sell he would start him off with. When he laid out all of his payment demands, with me on his leg, his coke queen, fuck, I’d practically cum.

  Being with one of the most dangerous and powerful drug runners in Miami had a lot of appeal to a messed up seventeen-year-old. And the nights where it lost its lustre, the free-flowing mountains of cocaine never did.

  Now, at twenty-two, I’ve seen it all a million times. I know I’m not Knox’s queen; I’m his puppet.

  His dummy.

  “Since yer new, I’ll start ya with four ounces,” Knox juts out his jaw and gives a curt nod toward the compact, tinfoil-wrapped brick on the coffee table.

  The new guy, Jim, doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink his icy blue eyes.
“I want ten,” his lips are tight as the words squeeze between them.

  “You got shit in your ears? Or just shit for brains?” Knox’s muscles tighten, pushing me up a bit taller. Nobody contradicts Knox. I’m surprised Jim doesn’t know that. Or he just doesn’t care.

  Tommy rests his hand on the new guy’s knee, silently instructing him to shut up. “He’s starting you with four. End of story, man.” Tommy glares into Jim’s face.

  I can’t help but stare into his face too, but not for the same reason. I’m just shocked that someone has the balls to talk back to Knox. It’s stupid and it’s… kinda hot.

  Tommy’s greasy helmet of hair doesn’t move as he directs his gaze back to meet Knox. “Four is fine, man. Ain’t it, Jim?” He prods the man he’s vouched for.

  “No.”

  Tommy’s eyes squint, causing the three black tears inked onto the outside corner of his eye to crinkle up. Three tears for three lives he’s taken. It’s a pretty standard prison tat. I try to imagine what Knox’s face would look like if he had a tear for every life he snuffed out. The side of his face would be stained black. Just like his soul.

  I can feel Knox’s rage seething from his pores. I don’t need to look at him to know that his jaw is cut from stone and his eyes are narrowed like a wolf about to rip the throat out of his prey.

  From the corner of my eye, I see his hand grip his gun. “Tommy, why the fuck you bringing clowns into my home who can’t follow basic instructions?” His voice grits through his clenched teeth.

  “Listen, Knox, I don’t mean no disrespect, man,” Jim holds up his palms. “I can do ten though. You don’t need to work me up slow. I’m good.”

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Tommy hisses at him. Jim doesn’t respond. His eyes are locked on Knox.

  “You’ll take four, or you’ll take none. You have one fucking week to get me my cut, five grand. You make the math work, but don’t cut it with too much shit or you won’t get any repeat business, got it?”