01.0 Soldier On

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © 2014 Sydney Logan

  Published by Mountain Media

  Cover design by Jada D’Lee

  Front cover image by Studio 1One/Shutterstock

  Back cover image by Mega Pixel/Shutterstock

  Formatting by Mayhem Cover Creations

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the author.

  All book, song and movie titles, television and movie characters, and movie quotes included in this book are the property of the respective copyright holders. Army Strong® is a registered trademark of the United States Army. Netflix™ is a registered trademark of Netflix, Inc. The publication and use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  DEDICATION

  For my friend, Denise,

  who told me I should write a book about it.

  Matthew 5:4

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also By Sydney Logan

  Acknowledgments

  CHAPTER ONE

  Stephanie

  I’m going to kill Tessa for dragging me here.

  What started out as just a few friends quickly turned into a rowdy frat house mixer on New Year’s Eve. Hip-hop music blares, and the thick, smoky haze makes me sick to my stomach. The co-eds who can still stand are dancing in the middle of the living room. Some have found secluded areas of the house to make out, while others play video games in the den.

  I get it. This is all supposedly part of the college experience. But keg parties are the one aspect of campus life I despise, and I guarantee I’m the only one drinking soda instead of beer. I’ve always hated the smell, and I definitely hate the taste. Besides, I see nothing fun about puking in the bushes or hooking up with random guys. I’m not a prude, but I can recognize a stupidly dangerous situation when I see one, and this party is a recipe for disaster.

  I check my watch and notice it’s close to midnight, so I send a quick text to Tessa, my best friend and roommate, to see if she needs a ride back to the apartment. Knowing Tessa and her boyfriend, Xavier, they are probably one of the couples in the upstairs bedrooms. If that’s the case, my presence is no longer required. I hope that’s the case.

  While waiting for her reply, a guy dressed as Luke Skywalker walks up to me.

  If he asks me to touch his lightsaber, I’m out of here.

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  His breath reeks of alcohol, and my stomach twists. I lift the red plastic cup that hasn’t left my hand all night.

  “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  His gaze sweeps over my costume. “Nice dress.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Disney, right? That girl who likes to read.”

  “Right.”

  Dressing up as Belle from Beauty and the Beast had seemed like a good idea at the time. The party’s theme was “Movie Night,” and Tessa had found this short and sexy version of Belle’s yellow dress in a vintage costume store in town.

  Belle had never shown this much leg. Or cleavage.

  The guy steps closer. “So, Belle, wanna dance?”

  “My name’s Stephanie.”

  “Okay . . . Stephanie. Wanna dance?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Wanna touch my lightsaber?”

  Totally called it.

  “No, but I’ll be happy to break it.”

  The guy’s face pales before he quickly slinks back into the shadows.

  With a disgusted sigh, I toss my cup into a nearby, overflowing trash can before maneuvering my way through the dancers and up the stairs in search of my best friend. Bravely, I try a few of the rooms, but all are locked except for a set of open double doors at the end of the hallway.

  Curious, I step inside, and I’m instantly mesmerized.

  Frat houses have libraries?

  This one does, complete with ceiling-high bookshelves. Laptops line one wall, and a giant multimedia screen is attached to another. While all of it is impressive, nothing excites my book-loving heart more than to see the library ladder.

  Secretly, I’ve always wanted to climb one—the tall ladders that roll from one end of the shelves to the other. Ironically enough, library ladders always remind me of Beauty and the Beast. Or the love scene in Atonement.

  One of those movies is G-rated. The other most definitely is not.

  Suddenly nervous, I look over my shoulder before making my decision.

  YOLO. Carpe Diem. Whatever.

  Slipping off my shoes, I reach for the ladder and slowly begin to climb. Sadly, this is the most adventurous thing I’ve done in a long time, and I can’t stop smiling. I’ve made it to the fifth rung when I hear someone clear his throat.

  Crap. Please don’t be Luke Skywalker.

  I hold on tightly and manage to turn myself around without falling off. When I’m sure I’m steady, I turn and find myself looking into the eyes of a soldier. Possibly Army. Maybe Marine.

  Not that it matters. I accepted long ago that my hatred for anything military related is a little unhealthy, but when the service strips a girl of the privilege of knowing her father, it sometimes makes a person bitter.

  I am the epitome of bitter.

  This particular soldier is smiling at me, and I can’t lie, the smile is kind of beautiful. Despite that, my first instinct is to roll my eyes at his outfit. But then, I remember this is a costume party, and he probably just needed a quick and totally uncreative disguise.

  “I don’t think this room is open to visitors,” he says, his tone soft and deep.

  I wonder if that’s his natural speaking voice or if he’s just playing his role as a badass. The guy certainly looks like a soldier, dressed in his head-to-toe camouflage and smeared-on face paint.

  “It was actually the only room that wasn’t locked, which is kind of stupid if you ask me. This is the one room in the house you guys shouldn’t want trashed. Drunken idiots could really do some damage in here.”

  He grins, and my breath catches in my throat as he steps closer. I tighten my hold on the ladder, because a smile that makes a girl’s heart race isn’t the best thing when she’s trying to maintain her balance.

  “I noticed you downstairs.”

  Embarrassed, I glance down at my ridiculous dress. “I’m a little hard to miss in canary yellow. I’m going to kill Tessa—”

  “That’s not why I noticed you.”

  He’s closer now, with one hand pressed against the shelf be
hind me. He’s tall, but thanks to the ladder, we’re practically nose-to-nose. Normally, I would be frightened of a complete stranger invading my space, but honestly, this is the most relaxed I’ve felt all night. With his athletic build, there’s no doubt he could hurt me if he wanted, but I’m not afraid. For one thing, his breath doesn’t stink and his speech isn’t slurred. For another, he’s gazing at me with a pair of big brown eyes that make my stomach do this weird somersault-thing, and my stomach hasn’t done somersaults in a very long time.

  Before I can ask why he noticed me, shouts erupt from downstairs.

  “Ten, nine, eight . . .”

  “Do you have someone to kiss at midnight?” he asks.

  I simply shake my head. He steps closer, pinning me between his body and the bookshelf.

  “You do now.”

  Horns blare below, but I barely notice because in the next second, his mouth covers mine. His lips are featherlight and sweet, causing warmth to spread through my veins and settle in my heart. I sigh, causing my lips to part slightly, allowing him to deepen the kiss. One of his hands stroke my cheek as he leans in, pressing his body tighter against mine. His quiet groan vibrates through me, and I’m ready to let go of the ladder and wrap my arms around him when he suddenly pulls away.

  “Wow,” he whispers.

  I’ll say.

  I open my eyes, and all I can see is his smile.

  “Happy New Year,” he says.

  Then he’s gone, sprinting from the room before I can even formulate a coherent response.

  In a daze, I carefully climb down the ladder and step into my shoes. While the celebration roars below my feet, I flip off the lights and close the door before heading downstairs.

  “There you are!” Tessa says, grabbing my arm as I reach the landing. “I’ve been looking all over the place for you since I got your text. I am so ready to go. Xavier wants to stay and play video games, but I’m . . . Steph? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She squints and examines my face. “Have you been drinking? You never drink.”

  “No, I haven’t been drinking.”

  “Are you sure? Because you look a little drunk.”

  Shaking my head, I snap out of my daze and pull her toward the door. It’s only when we’re outside in the frigid air do I manage to come to my senses. I spin toward my best friend, whose eyes grow wide as I tell her about my New Year’s kiss.

  “Steph, that’s amazing! What’s his name?”

  The simple question kills my momentary excitement and knocks me right out of my dazed state.

  I just had the most perfect kiss of my life, and I don’t even know his name.

  “Is that you, Steph?”

  “It’s me.”

  I let the door slam behind me and drop my backpack on the floor. The apartment smells delicious, but right now, all I want is the couch. The first day of classes seriously kicked my ass.

  Tessa runs out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist. “Xavier’s coming for dinner. I’m making meatloaf.”

  Tessa and Xavier have been together since sophomore year, and it’s a rare night when he isn’t here for dinner. Or waking up just in time for breakfast. At six-foot-seven and two hundred twenty five pounds, Xavier is a power forward for the basketball team and eats enough at dinner to feed a third world country. They are a match made in heaven because Tessa loves to cook. On special occasions, she loves to break out her Abuela’s cookbook and experiment with elaborate Mexican dishes that I can’t pronounce but will gladly eat. Her major is culinary arts, and she hopes to open her own restaurant someday.

  “It smells great. Can I help?”

  “Nope, but you can call your mom.”

  “I’d rather help.”

  Tessa smirks. “Stop that. Your mom is great.”

  “No argument here.”

  “And she finally gave me her kickass oatmeal raisin cookie recipe that I’m dying to try.”

  “You know, sometimes I step on the scale and wonder how I’ve gained twenty-five pounds since my freshman year. Then I remember I’m living with Rachael Ray.”

  Tessa laughs. “Whatever. Call your mom. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes.”

  Sighing tiredly, I take my backpack and head to my room. After quickly changing into a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt, I grab my cell and climb onto my bed. In an instant, my calico cat joins me.

  “Hey, pretty girl.” I scratch behind her ears while she purrs and snuggles close. I’ve had Bangle since my senior year of high school. She’s just one of the many reasons I’m thankful to no longer be living in the dorms. The separation anxiety was hard for both of us.

  Snuggling time doesn’t last long. Bangle suddenly jumps off the bed and trots out of the room, probably on the hunt for food. My suspicions are confirmed when I hear Tessa’s voice echo from the kitchen.

  “You know the rules, Bangle. No meatloaf for kitties.”

  I laugh and scroll through my phone, tapping on my mom’s name.

  “Hello?”

  “Miss me?”

  Mom laughs. “Is it that obvious?”

  Growing up, it had just been the two of us in our tiny two-bedroom house. Only an hour separates us now, but Mom had still taken it hard when I decided to move away.

  “Mom, we’ve talked every day, and I’ve only been gone a few weeks.”

  “I know. I just got used to having you around at Christmas.”

  We talk about my first day of classes and the six inches of snow that are predicted for tomorrow. Living in Indiana is always a crapshoot when it comes to winter weather. I’d worn a T-shirt and light jacket to class today. Tomorrow, I would need my snow boots.

  “Have you met any cute guys?”

  I automatically think about the soldier from the New Year’s Eve party. It still surprises me how attracted I was, in spite of his military gear. Like a crazy person, I had actually looked around campus today, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Unfortunately, he would have to be wearing his camo costume and thick face paint for me to recognize him.

  “Oh, I hear a pause.”

  “There was no pause.”

  “Stephanie Lynn, lying to your mother is a sin.”

  “That hasn’t worked since I was ten. What is it with you and your obsession with me finding a boyfriend?”

  Mom sighs. “You just work too hard. You always have.”

  “A strong work ethic is an admirable trait.”

  “It is. I’d just like to see you have some fun this last semester, that’s all.”

  Last semester. Such sweet words.

  “With six classes and my job at the library, having fun is the last thing on my mind. I have to focus if I want to graduate in May.”

  “I know. You just can’t wait to get out into the real world. But what have I always told you?”

  I close my eyes and repeat my mother’s mantra. “Don’t be in such a hurry to work, because once you start, you’ll never stop. Let yourself be young as long as you can.”

  “That’s right. Just promise me you’ll do something fun this last semester. Do something adventurous before you devote the rest of your life to your teaching career.”

  I know it’s pointless to argue.

  “Fine, I promise.”

  After we say goodnight, I think about my mom and her preoccupation with my lack of a social life. Getting married right after high school and becoming a mother, and a widow, by the time she was twenty had forced her to become an adult way too soon. She worked two jobs—one as the secretary at my elementary school and another as a freelance photographer on the weekends. Mom has worked hard all her life. She just wants me to experience all the things she missed.

  Like I always do when I’m feeling anxious or confused, I reach into my shirt and pull out the silver ball chain. The cold metal of the dog tags against my skin serves as a constant reminder of the father I never knew. They are my only real connection to my dad and definite
ly my most prized possession.

  When I think about my mom, and how lonely she has been for the past twenty-two years, I’m reminded why I hate the military so much.

  And why I’m in no hurry to fall in love.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Brandon

  “Good afternoon and welcome to Women in Literature.”

  I can feel their eyes on me—even the professor’s—and I know what they’re thinking.

  Why would a guy take this course? He has to be in the wrong class.

  I’m not.

  Unfortunately, the stares continue, so my brilliant plan to sit in the back of class and take a much-needed nap is shot to hell. I can sleep anywhere, but I can’t sleep when I know I’m being watched.

  I stifle a yawn and force myself to pay attention. My advisor had warned me that eighteen credit hours might be too much to handle, especially with my job at the coffee house and my 5:00 a.m. workouts, but I had ignored him and signed up for six classes anyway. And now, thanks to my one remaining humanities elective, I’m sitting in a Women’s lit class, surrounded by girls.

  Okay, maybe that part’s not so bad.

  The teacher drones as she goes over the syllabus. It doesn’t look too tough. I like to read, which is why I hadn’t complained when Mr. Ramirez, my advisor, suggested the course.

  “It’s either this or another foreign language,” he’d said.

  I’m already fluent in Spanish, German, and French. Do I really need to add another language to my résumé?

  I glance around the room, and the girl to my right quickly turns her head away. I catch the slight blush of her cheeks.

  I smirk. Busted.

  She’s cute, with her Peyton College sweatshirt and ponytail. But she’s blonde. And tall. She also has a barbell in her ear. In other words, she’s not the girl from the New Year’s party, so I’m not interested at all.

  That’s what I call her—the girl—because I’m an idiot and didn’t even ask for her name.

  Like a man obsessed, I’ve searched in every class, stupidly hoping that by some cosmic coincidence she and I might have signed up for the same course. I had asked around after the party, but nobody could remember seeing a Disney princess in a yellow dress, which I still find unbelievable because she was the most interesting person there. She was pretty—not supermodel-like—but in a timeless, classic, girl-next-door way that’s always attracted me.