American Bad Boy: A Military Romance (9 page)

“
Y
ou into track
and field in school?” I ask Lauren’s son as I sit on the bench and attach my blade.

“Nah, I used to but I don’t anymore.” he shrugs.

“Do you play any sports?” I secure the prosthesis and check it over.

“Yeah, I still play football a lot. I wanna get on the school team when I get to middle school. I’m pretty good,” he says, proudly squaring his shoulders back in a move I’ve seen Lauren do a hundred times.

I’ve never had much experience with kids. When my brother, Ben, was killed in the attack on the twin towers, my chances of becoming an uncle died along with him. So, I wasn’t sure how this was going to go today. However, talking with Chris is easy. Even though he’s only nine, I feel like I’m chatting with an old friend. Something about the way he talks, it’s familiar. I guess that’s to be expected from Lauren’s child though.

“I love football. What’s your team? The Broncos?”

“Yeah, but I also like the Seahawks,” his eyes shine.

“Well, ya got good taste then. Ok, so whaddya say you and I hit the track for a little race? I’ve gotta warn you, I’m not one of those guys that’s going to go easy on you because of your age. I’d get prepared to eat a little dust,” I throw a little smack talk his way.

“As if! Even if you didn’t have that thing,” he points to my blade, “I’d still beat someone as old as you!” And he chucks it right back. I like this kid.

“Christopher! Mack’s, I mean, Captain Forrester’s prosthetic isn’t called ‘that thing’. Don’t be rude!” Lauren interrupts.

It gives me an excuse to stop and check her out. She’s wearing spandex again, and I’ve been trying to keep my eyes off of her out of respect for her kid. But, damn, if her ass looked any better it would be art. I’d have to throw the boy some change for the bus so I could show her just how much I appreciate the masterpiece she is.

Focus.

Right. Track, Chris, race. I got this.

“Don’t worry about it, Lauren. It doesn’t matter what he calls it, because I’ll still kick his … butt in the race with it.” I smirk at Chris and he’s returning my smirk right back at me.

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see,” he puffs out his chest and we walk up to the track.

Lauren stays on the bench, which is really for the best. It’s always a constant struggle with my self-control to be around her. I don’t know if it’s the talk we had in the stairwell, or me hanging out with Chris, but with the way she’s been looking at me.… Let’s just say, my self control would be bleeding out in a shallow grave if her son wasn’t here.

Chris and I take our positions, lining up beside each other on the asphalt. The kid’s got confidence, I can see that. His swagger reminds me of myself at his age. I bet he’s got all the girls on the school yard falling all over him. Well, he would if he didn’t get kicked out of school.

“You ready?” I look over at him. He’s got his game face on. He’s been blessed with his mother’s skin tone and the same stubborn look of determination she gets when she’s trying to prove me wrong.

“You know it,” he answers.

“Ok, we’ll race to that oak tree. Sound good?” I point to the marker at the track’s midpoint.

“Why don’t we just do a full lap?”

You have to admire his bravado.

“I’ll beat you going to the tree first, then, if you want a chance to redeem yourself, we can race as far as you want afterward. Ok?”

Chris rolls his eyes good naturedly. “Whatever, I’ll wait for you at the tree then.”

Yep, I really like this guy.

“We’ll see. On your mark, get set, go!” I yell and we break into a sprint. Chris is out in front of me, pumping his arms and pushing hard.

I adjust my gait for the springy bounce of my blade. I’m still not totally used to it yet. The kid is fast; I’ll give him that. But, I’m faster.

Sucking oxygen deep into my lungs, I propel myself forward until Chris and I are neck and neck. For a split second, it almost feels like neither of us are moving at all. We’re perfectly in step beside each other, making it look like the world is rushing by us, instead of us rushing through it.

“Meep, meep!” I do my best roadrunner impression, like I used to back in my grade school days when I was about to make my opponent eat my dust. Not that someone Chris’s age knows who the roadrunner is.

I pull forward and give everything I have to put some distance between us. Chris is right on my heel though. He’s relentless. Someone has been taking their Flintstone vitamins.

With one last push, I manage to put about a foot of space between us and raise my arm in victory as I soar pat the oak tree. I did it! That was closer than I expected.

Chris and I slow our run into a slow jog, a speed walk, and finally a normal walking pace. I’m trying not to suck wind, meanwhile, Chris is completely fine. He’s not even breathing hard.

“Ok, you got me,” he smiles. “I can’t believe you can run that fast with that thing. I mean, that prosthetic,” he corrects himself.

“Yeah, once you learn how to use it, it’s just as good as having both legs.” I breathe in deep and try to slow my heart back down.

“But, wasn’t it hard to learn how to use that? I mean, running again and all that?” He looks up at me from the side of his eye, like he’s not sure if he should broach the subject.

I was hoping he would.

“It was, Chris. Probably one of the hardest things I’ve done in my life. Physically anyway,” I add.

“How’d you get so fast on it? I really thought I had this in the bag.” He looks me straight in the eye this time, more confident in his questions now.

“You know, it took a long time,” I admit. “When I first lost my leg, I didn’t even really want to walk again,” I confess one of my darker moments to him.

“What? Why?”

“Cause, I was pissed off. I lost something that meant a lot to me and I was angry at the world that I could never get it back.”

Chris nods silently and watches the track in front of us.

“But then, I saw some veterans who also lost limbs in the war. I saw some who had moved on and learned how to live again and I saw some who didn’t. Let me tell you, the guys that didn’t, well, they may have only lost a leg or an arm or something, but then they let the anger about it take the rest of them.” I look over at Chris, he’s still watching the track but I can tell he’s listening to every word.

“They were still living and breathing, but they might as well have had tombstones hanging around their necks where their dog tags used to be. They let that anger kill them inside. So, I did my physio and trained and followed your mother’s program here,” I look up as we’re approaching Lauren on the bench and smile her way. My heart speeds up again when she returns it.

“And now look at me. I’m kicking a nine-year-old’s butt in a foot race.” I grin at him.

He laughs and I hope my message got through. “Well, I don’t know about that. But you did win. Barely.” He smiles back.

As we close in on the bench, Lauren stands up to meet us. “What happened out there? I thought you were gonna win at first,” she puts an arm around her son’s shoulders and gives him a quick squeeze.

“Ahhh, he just got lucky,” Chris brushes her off, but shoots his mom a grin.

Lauren looks so happy for once. It’s radiating from her.

“That’s not what it looked like from here,” she points at the bench.

“He almost had me. Honestly, I had to really dig deep to push past him,” I come to Chris’s rescue. I don’t want him leaving here with a bruised ego.

“See?” He looks up at Lauren, vindicated.

“Hey, Chris,” I sit down on the bench to change my blade to my regular prosthetic. “I’d like to talk to you about something, if you don’t mind.” The kid sits down beside me on the bench as Lauren stands a few feet away.

“What’s that?”

“Well, since you’re the man of your house, I was hoping to talk to you about taking your mom on a date.” I watch as his eyebrows shoot skyward. Hopefully the word “date” doesn’t upset him.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, see the thing is, I have these tickets to the Buffaloes game this Saturday and I was wondering if you’d mind if I took her out. I mean, if you’re interested, I have an extra couple tickets. You could come as our chaperone, if you want?”

“To the Buffaloes game?”

“Yeah, I’ve even got a ticket that you can bring a friend with, if you want.”

Chris’s face looks like he just got the best birthday and Christmas gift all rolled into one.

“Yeah! That would be awesome!” He jumps up, springing toward Lauren.

“Mom! Can we go? Can we?” He jumps from foot to foot and Lauren giggles.

“Yeah, we can go,” she agrees and Chris gives a whoop, pumping his fist in the air. “But that extra ticket is going to go to Chelsea,” she interrupts his dance. “You’re still in trouble, so you won’t be bringing any of your friends,” she adds sternly.

“Ok, ok. But we can go, right?” He looks over at her and she nods back. “Thanks, Captain America! I mean, Mack,” Chris smiles at me.

“No problem, kid.”

With my blade changed we all head back to the hospital, but now Chris is practically bounding back to the front doors, leaving us in his dust.

“Hey, thanks a lot. I really appreciate it.” Lauren gives my hand a quick squeeze and between that and her smile, it’s all the thanks I need.

“I told you I’d help,” I nod toward Chris.

“You’re a man of your word,” she looks at the ground, biting her perfect lip. God, I want to kiss her.

“Always,” I answer. “So, uh, about the game on Saturday?”

“Yeah?” She looks up.

“What time do you wanna come pick me up?” I smirk.

Lauren laughs and it’s an easy, happy sound that reminds me of a dream.

A dream come true.

“
W
oo
! Go Buffaloes!” Chelsea screams with her hands cupped around her mouth like a bullhorn. The team can probably hear her, too. When Mack said he had tickets to the game, I didn’t think he meant for seats that are practically on the field. We’re sitting so close that we can not only hear every word of the coach cursing out his boys, but we can smell the gum he keeps snapping as he anxiously watches the plays.

Chris and Chelsea are on their tip-toes, even though there’s no one in front of them to block their view. I’ve never seen them so excited! I knew my son loved football, but didn’t realize that Chelsea was such a fan. With two minutes left in the game, they’re watching the field, unblinking, so they don’t miss a second.

I’m pressed up against Mack on the bench, and happy to stay here. Don’t get me wrong, I’m just as red-blooded as every other American. I follow football and yell at my screen every Sunday, just like everyone else. However, right now, I’m a bit more interested in the sexy guy to my left.

I sneak a peek at Mack and let my eyes wander over his rugged features. His brown hair is tousled just like when we were kids. But that’s where the similarities to the boy I once knew end. Sitting next to me, with tattoos sneaking out from under his white tee is a man. No question. My gaze falls down over his muscles and my mind wanders to how his hard body would feel against mine once I ripped that shirt off him. And those jeans. They’d have to go.

I glance back at his face and feel my cheeks run hot as Mack watches me, smirking. So much for a subtle glimpse.

“Are you bored with the game?” His voice is like velvet and makes me want to feel his arms around me as he whispers in my ear. “Or were you distracted by something?” His eyes twinkle mischievously. He knows damn well I was checking him out. He’s loving this.

“No, I was, um,” my mind races as I try to save some face here. I’ll give Mack a lot of things, my body, my heart, my future, but I’ll never give him the upper hand. “I was just going to ask you how you got tickets this good. These seats are amazing.” I lie. Well, it’s not a total lie. I mean, those thoughts have crossed my mind in the past five hours. Just not when he caught me eye-fucking him.

“Uh-huh. Tickets, huh? That’s why you were undressing me with your eyes? More like you were wondering how you can get tickets, to the gun show.” He lifts his arm, flexing his bicep jokingly. Even though he’s just kidding around, I have to remind myself to slide my eyes back over to his face when I see his cut muscle flexing tight against his sleeve.

“Oh, give it up!” I nudge him with my elbow gently. “Not every look from a woman means she wants to sleep with you.” Why are his lips so distracting? Is there no safe space on his face or body that I can rest my eyes anymore?

“Maybe not every woman, but you do.” His smile broadens like he’s just won the Super Bowl. God, he’s so arrogant. God, he’s so right.

“Seriously, how’d you get these seats? This is amazing,” I sweep my hand out toward the field. I almost feel like, if I’m not careful, I might bump one of the players.

“I have my ways,” he answers slyly. I bet he does. He probably got them from one of his little bimbos. Not that I care. Except, I do.

Luckily, with only forty seconds left on the clock, the Buffaloes score a touchdown and the crowd erupts into deafening madness. Somehow, above the cheering and yelling, I can still hear Chelsea freaking out.

I guess I made the right call inviting her.

Mack and I stand up and join the crowd in their riotous screams of joy. On the other side of me, my son is happily jumping like he’s stolen a pogo stick from a small child.

“Did you see that, Mom?” he screams over the noise. “This is awesome!” It does my heart good to see him so happy. After the year we’ve had, I was starting to wonder if he’d ever be happy again.

Lieutenant Rogers did us a solid by getting him into that group therapy session. I took him to his first one on Thursday, and I feel like I’m already seeing a positive change in him. Between the therapy, and the way he and Mack have been bonding, I’m starting to settle into this once unfamiliar feeling of hope.

“I saw,” I answer him, but he’s already back to watching the field. With the clock counting down, it’s obvious that the game is over, but Chris doesn’t want to miss a nanosecond.

The timer erases numbers until it hits zero. The game is over, the Buffaloes won. This couldn’t have been a better day. When Mack first talked to Chris about taking me on a date, I was a little annoyed at how he played his hand. Going through my son to get a date with me was a bit sneaky. Now, I could kiss him for having such a great idea. And kiss him for having such sexy lips, and eyes, and abs … My eyes snap back up to Mack and he’s smiling down at me. Caught red-handed. Again! If I’m going to keep working with him at the hospital, I’m going to need to step up my game a bit.

“Ok, let’s pack it in,” I ignore Mack’s knowing smile and direct my attention at Chris and my sister. “Traffic is going to be a nightmare, so we might as well make our way to the car.” I gather up my water bottle and check to see if I’m leaving anything behind.

“Wait a sec,” Mack puts his hand on my arm and a tingle shoots through my skin.

“What’s going on?” His eyes stop me in my tracks though. His hypnotic blues are playing their old tricks on my body.

“You’ll see,” he nods over my head toward the field and I turn around. Running toward us with his helmet tucked under his arm is the quarterback of the Buffaloes. He looks familiar, but I can’t place him.

“Mack! Hey man, good to see you again,” he walks up to Mack and claps his shoulder.

“You too, Armstrong. Great game out there, man.” Mack shakes the quarterback’s hand.

Armstrong. That name rings a bell, wait, Cameron Armstrong? From our graduating class? Well somebody grew up!

I look over at my sister to give her a look. After all, Cameron Armstrong had once spent an entire afternoon trying to pick her up. Back then, with her being two years older than us and already graduated, it felt like she was practically old enough to be his mother. I remember she enjoyed the attention, but shocked the high school junior when she passed on his rare offer.

If Chelsea remembers any of this, it doesn’t show on her face. In fact, the only thing that does show on her face is lust. She practically looks like a human emoji with large hearts for eyes.

“Hi, Chelsea.” Cameron’s voice cuts through to whatever planet she’s on and she startles back into the moment.

“Hey,” she looks at him, confused. Yeah, she doesn’t remember him. But, obviously the same can’t be said about him. I’ll fill her in later.

“Hi, thanks for coming out today. Did you enjoy the game?” Cameron looks at Chris and I think there’s a very real chance that his head might burst.

“It was awesome! You guys rocked. Oh my God, that last touchdown too, I couldn’t believe it.” Chris rattles on excitedly.

“Yeah, I was hoping we could make that work, but you never know. It’s just as much luck as it is skill sometimes.” Cameron looks at Chris and then over to me. “Hey, do you think it would be ok if I take Mack and, I’m sorry, what’s your name?” He looks back at my son.

“Chris.”

“If I take my old Captain here and Chris for a tour? I mean, if you’d be interested of course,” he looks back at Chris and I can’t guarantee he won’t faint.

“Yes! Can I, Mom? Please?” His voice has a tinge of whininess to it, like a toddler begging for a cookie.

“Your old Captain?” I ask Cameron before answering Chris.

“Yeah, this guy led my platoon over in Afghanistan. Hell of a leader, as you all know,” he looks over at Mack, who gives me a knowing look.

“See, I told you I had my ways to get these tickets,” he puts the puzzle pieces into place for me. I find myself secretly relieved that it wasn’t another one of his fan-girls throwing gifts at him in exchange for God-knows-what.

“Well, thank you both for serving our country,” Chelsea interrupts and Cameron looks over at her. You can almost see the rest of the world disappear from their vision in the look they exchange. Jeez, get a room!

“Mom!” Chris pleads from my side.

“Yes, oh, yeah. Of course you can do a tour. Chelsea and I will meet you guys out in the car, ok?” I look over at Mack and he nods.

That’s all Chris needs, he’s on the field quicker than an Olympic sprinter having a false start during a race. “Awesome!” he cries out, excitement trembling through him.

“Ok, well, I guess I should go then,” Cameron mumbles but his eyes still don’t break contact with Chelsea’s.

“Alright, thanks for doing this for us, man.” Mack claps Cameron on the shoulder, bringing him back from whatever imaginary field of flowers him and my sister seem to be running through in their love struck gaze together.

“Yeah, ok.” Cameron’s eyes come back into focus and he looks over at my son. “Let’s do this. I’ll give you guys the grand tour.”

“Cool!” Chris jumps from foot to foot.

“I’ll, um, see you around.” He looks back at Chelsea again and I want to gag. “I hope.”

“You will,” she assures.

“And, I’ll see you later,” Mack gives my hand a quick squeeze and it takes my breath away like he kissed me.

I watch as my son and his father walk across the field with the gridiron bad boy we went to high school with. It’s amazing how a week can change everything. Last week, life couldn’t look any bleaker than it did. Now, I feel like I have my son back, and possibly Mack back too.

I can’t wait to see what next week will bring.