American Bad Boy: A Military Romance (19 page)

“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.”

W
ith 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 dark 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.”

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 himself 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.

“Put this on,” she smiles.

“Where did that come from?” I peer past her into my magical closet making amazing, elegant ball gowns appear. Is there a door to Narnia back there too?

“I hid it in there,” she looks entirely too proud of herself with her chest puffed out and her eyes twinkling.

“Oh, you did, huh?”

“Yeah, and I know it’s a perfect fit cause I got your measurements from your other clothes. Well, from the ones you actually wear,” she laughs at her jab about my collection of clothes I’ll never fit into again.

I look at the lavender dress on my bed and then back to my sister. I know she’s got my best interest at heart, so I won’t question her… not yet anyway.

Instead, I slip out of the clothes I agonized over and put the dress on. “Can you zip me up, please?” I look over my shoulder at her.

“Sure.” She helps me close the back as I admire how the light purple hue of the dress plays off of my skin tone. I look good, even if I do say so myself.

“Where’s Mack taking me? Why are we dressing up like this?” I turn and confront Chelsea once I feel the zipper reach the top.

“Nope. I’ll never tell you,” she sing-songs. Like she’s a five-year-old version of herself taunting the three-year-old version of myself.

She clamps down on my hand and practically drags me out of the bedroom, back down the hall and to the stairs.

“Oh, mom! You look like a princess!” Chris exclaims and almost immediately bashfully looks at his feet, like he’s ashamed of his declaration. It’s probably incredibly uncool to say that to your mom. It might be uncool, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make my week.

“He’s not wrong, you know,” Mack’s eyes glide over me from head to toe. “You look amazing, but I don’t think you look like a princess,” he looks up at me after sweeping his eyes down my body all the way to my bare feet.

“Oh, no?” I pout.

“No. You don’t look like a princess, because you’re no princess. You’re my queen.” He grabs my hand and twirls me around in a small circle. I spin around with my eyes closed and enjoy the way the dress feels as it billows out around my legs.

I do feel like a queen. His queen. Wait, a minute. This queen doesn’t have any shoes to wear with this dress.

“My feet!” I stop on a dime and look down at my toes woefully.

“Got it covered,” Chelsea smiles.

“Come over here,” Mack walks me back to my couch and I sit as soon as my legs touch the seat.

Chelsea rummages in the back of my coat closet and pulls out a shoe box. “Got it!”

Seriously? Is my whole house full of hidden Easter eggs for this date?

She drops the box beside Mack, who is kneeling at my feet. He opens the lid and I watch with my breath held as he pulls out the first velvet crushed high heel shoe. The heel must be six inches long. I’m going to officially break my neck tonight, that much is apparent. I look up at Chelsea, her smug smile is practically popping off her face. I’m 100% certain that these shoes were her brainchild.

Make that 1000%

Mack holds it in his hand, smirking up at me. “Let’s see if the shoe fits,” he teases me, sliding it onto my foot.

It does fit. Perfectly.

He puts the other one on me and I can’t help but wonder if I’m about to get whisked away in a pumpkin carriage. Remembering that there’s a motorcycle in the driveway waiting for me makes my stomach turn cold.

“A perfect fit.” Mack stands back up and helps me off the couch. In these heels, I can use all the help I can get.

Teetering on the brink of disaster I look down at our son, who is beaming his radiant smile up at us. “Ok, we’re going to head out now, Chris. Please promise me that you’ll be good for your aunt?”

“I promise!” He crosses his heart, reminding me of his father only a few months back making me a similar promise in the backyard.

“I can’t promise I’ll have her back by midnight,” Mack winks at Chelsea.

“Don’t rush back, we’re good,” she cheerfully answers. “Have fun you two!”

I follow Mack out the front door over to the bike and wonder how this is going to work, exactly.

“Here, we’re not going that far, but I want you to wear the helmet,” he hands it to me.

“Uh, ok.” I grab it from him and look down at it.

“Mack! Lauren! Wait!” Chelsea yells from the front step dramatically. She’s holding something in her hands and runs over to us in her bare feet.

“You almost forgot this,” she stuffs the white cardboard box into Mack’s hands and then gives me a meaningful look before disappearing back inside the house.

“What’s that?” I look down into Mack’s hands and wait for him to pop the lid on this mystery.

“It’s for you,” he opens the box and inside is a corsage. Violet and white roses are twisted up with some babies’ breath. He holds it over my wrist.

“Lauren, will you do me the honor of going to the prom with me tonight?” He peers into my face with his crystal blue eyes and I don’t even want to question the insanity. I just want to hand over my ticket and take the ride with Mack into the madness he’s clearly planned out for us.

“Yes.” I hold out my wrist for him. “Yes, I will.”