Blurb
Former Army Sergeant Deacon Hunter is
trapped.
Trapped in the friend zone. Longing for the
woman who captured his heart when they were deployed in Iraq.
Former Army Sergeant Kelsey Ryder has scars,
the kind of scars she hopes that no one ever sees. Working around the guys at
the Pint, she’s reminded of everything she lost when she left the Army
behind.
But some scars refuse to stay hidden.
One fateful night changes everything and
neither of them know if their relationship will ever be the same.
All Deacon knows is that he’ll be there to catch her when she finally falls.
✦✦EXTENDED SAMPLE✦✦
✦✦BUY LINKS✦✦
I let her
go. I probably should stop fucking with her but with Kelsey, everything is
complicated. And in the six months that she's been back in my life, it's only
gotten more so.
"She's
fine, you know," Nalini says softly. Her eyes are always bright and calm.
I love Nalini like a sister and I love that she’s looking out for Kelsey
because I no longer can.
I've known
Nalini a while now, ever since I started grad school. She's a magnet to other
vets on campus, kind of like Eli is over at The Pint. Between the two of them,
they're the sun and the moon. The rest of us are caught in their orbit.
"I
know."
She smiles
warmly and pats my cheek. "But you're not sure. If you were, you wouldn't
watch her like that every time she walks away."
I grin and
lean against the broad table behind me. I love that The Grind has broad, wide
tables as well as smaller ones and comfy overstuffed chairs. "How much trouble
are you causing on campus today?"
"As
much as I need to," she says. She folds her arms over her chest.
"When are you going to stop pining after her and do something about this
awkward standoff you two have going on? I feel like I’m caught in no man's land
between the French and the Germans in World War I."
"That
is a terrible analogy."
"Yeah,
well, you should try being caught between you two once in a while. Take pity on
the rest of us who have to deal with your sexual frustration. You can practically
touch it."
She follows
for a few steps while I laugh and move to the line for coffee. "I don't
even know what to say to that." I place my order. “Large latte, extra shot
of espresso.”
"Well,
that'll put hair on your chest," she says dryly.
I shake my head.
"What are you poking at, Nalini?" Because she always pokes until she
gets around to what she needs to say.
"Nothing
much. Just wondering how things are out at The Pint?"
"They're
good. I mean, I know you don't drink but you really should come out some time.
There's a whole bunch of us out there, even a couple of new guys who came by
last week who used to be in First Cav. You could come by and just hang out,
swap war stories about Stetsons or whatever you Cav people do."
She grins
and glances down at her watch. "I'm good, thanks. Though it's awful
tempting. You 82d Airborne guys think you're all that with your raspberry
berets."
"Bite
your tongue." Damn, sometimes it feels good to walk back over familiar
ground, harassing each other because of the units we've both served in. "I
chewed the same dirt as you did in First Cav."
"Well,
use that common ground to make some damn progress with her, why don't
you?"
I sip my
coffee and instantly, my blood cells are more awake than they were a moment
before. "Does she say anything?" I want to add in about me. But I don't.
Because I'm
a coward when it comes to Kelsey.
"You
wish. And even if she did, I wouldn't break her confidence."
"I
hate playing games. You know that, right?"
"No
games, Deacon." Nalini turns suddenly serious. "I worry about her.
About the things she doesn't talk about."
I glance
toward the door that Kelsey disappeared through. "Yeah, me too."
I know the
things she doesn't talk about, at least some of them.
I know what
things keep her up at night.
I know how
good things used to be between us, once upon a war.
And I know
exactly the moment things got screwed up.
I can't fix
any of those things now, no matter how much I might want to. Kelsey has to want
to unpack that stuff herself. In the few months she's been back in my life,
she's given me no indication that she wants to go anywhere near our shared
memories of sand and dust and war.
Not that I
blame her.
I leave
Nalini at The Grind and head to the old Wilson building for my graduate seminar.
I’ve got a relatively light load this semester. At some point, I have to stop
avoiding my thesis and actually start typing.
I've become
a master of procrastination, among other things. Funny how leaving the war and
the Army behind makes you find other things to keep you occupied.
My old
first sergeant would kick my ass if he knew how much I was avoiding this work.
I grin, thinking of him. I should shoot him a note one of these days.
But I
won't.
Lately it's
been like I'm running some kind of test with myself or something. How long can
I stay away from the lure of the familiar? The good memories.
And yeah,
even the bad ones are good when you're talking to someone who speaks the same
language. There's something comfortable about just talking to someone who's
been there. Bullshitting about the stupid shit we or one of our soldiers did.
I'm pretty
sure America would have kittens if she knew the kind of shenanigans her
soldiers pulled on guard duty in the middle of the desert.
But I won’t
make the call. I can’t. It’s like I’m trying to prove to myself that I can cut
the cord between me and the Army, that I can truly function out here as a
civilian and not constantly be reaching back to the guys I left behind when I
left Fort Hood.
Besides,
it’s not like I don’t have enough Army around me with Eli and the rest of the
gang at The Pint.
I smile
down at my phone, double-checking the room number for the class Professor Blake
asked me to assist with. She was pretty vague about who I was going to be
teaching with this semester.
I probably
should have asked for more details but she's pretty much been my fairy
godmother since I decided to go to grad school and get my master’s in public
administration, so I figure I owe her whatever she needs.
The
classroom is just inside of the old Wilson building. You can practically smell
the history in this place, along with the chill from the stone walls and
ancient windows. There’s too much history here for a working class kid like me.
I suppose people who are used to this kind of place aren’t really awestruck by
it like I still am.
I still
have no idea how I got accepted here. Or how I haven't managed to be politely
asked to leave.
Ah well.
I push open
the door to the classroom, tucking my phone into my back pocket, and then stop
short. The classroom isn’t empty.
"You've
got to be shitting me." What's that they say about fiction? It's supposed
to be believable, right? You can't make this shit up because no shit, there is
Kelsey Ryder sitting in a corner, her back to the wall.
And
she looks ready for war.
***
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