The Strength of Love: Happily Ever Menage (The Luck of Love Book 3)

by Serena Akeroyd

  “You’re fortunate you weren’t court-martialed,” the youngest man on the panel retorted, a snipe to his tone.

  That he’d completely disregarded half of what Luke had just said made him see red.

  The room was as quiet as a library. The pressure of a dozen egos each battling the other was an impressive force. Luke knew he should keep quiet, so he bit his tongue, but the arrogance of the man facing him irritated the shit out of him.

  Three officials, each dour, each judging him when he hadn’t done a damn thing wrong—hell, he couldn’t help it. The words tumbled out. “Court-martialed is one thing, but I consider myself even more fortunate not to be in jail. Doesn’t that tell you something, gentlemen? Doesn’t that trigger the tiniest question to pop up in your brains? Why, after what I’ve been accused of, am I not in jail? Why am I free to appeal my discharge?

  “This entire charade screams cover-up. I should be in jail, and yet I’m not. And though I know this, I’m still appealing it, risking my freedom to bring this to the upper ranks’ attention.”

  “So you’re doing it for the Forces’ benefit?” one of the review board stated, a sneer twisting his mouth. “A likely tale.”

  Luke firmed his jaw. “What’s going on over there isn’t for me to say. All I know is what I saw goes against everything this nation stands for.

  “I swore an oath to this country many years ago, and not once have I broken that pledge. Not many soldiers can say that, under oath, but I can. Easily. So yes, I am doing this for the Forces’ sake.

  “I’ve made sacrifices to get where I am, and that’s nothing to the fallen, to the people who I called friends and brothers, who have sacrificed their lives for the cause that we’re all striving to protect: freedom.

  “Judge me on my desire to protect that, gentlemen, and not on what some upstart Colonel has made up about me on a few reports. Look to my past COs. Look to my record. That speaks for itself.”

  Josh reached a hand out to grab hold of his knee. It was a gesture that proffered comfort and warned restraint. Unfortunately, it was his bad knee. A yelp escaped Luke before he could control it, and nausea hit him square between the eyes as Josh inadvertently dug his fingers into scar tissue and ground into bones and cartilage that were, to put it kindly, fucked.

  As one, the review board jumped at the sound of his shriek of agony, but Luke was too far gone to even notice. As pain ricocheted around his system, he could feel sweat begin to bead on his forehead, pricking at his pores and making him feel clammy as hell.

  Black dots started to float on the periphery of his vision, and the sounds in the room began to fade away as his consciousness sank with it.

  He could feel his muscles slump, the starch in his bones begin to crumple, and to Luke’s shame, he passed out. All from a relatively unforceful squeeze on an unfortunate injury at the most important meeting of his life.

  But any thoughts of the importance of the review process disappeared as a wave of blankness swarmed overhead, drowning him in the low buzz that came from a pain so strong his senses clamored like the piercing wail of an alarm.

  * * * *

  “Where am I?” Luke sat up in bed, blearily looking around the room for a clue as to his location.

  When his senses came online, a hoarse cry escaped him as his body rebelled against the sudden movement. “Not Tripoli,” he groaned, shaking his head in horror as he spotted the white sheets of the military clinic he’d grown to detest during his stay there. When he realized he could move his hands, that they weren’t tethered to the bed, he knew he wasn’t back in Libya. A belief compounded by—

  “No, dumbo, you’re home.”

  Hearing the voice he knew well, he sighed with a relief so strong it added to his dizziness.

  “Josh.”

  Turning to look at the owner of the voice, he studied his husband, then winced at the banging in his skull that slight movement caused. “What’s going on with my head?”

  “You passed out. The medics sedated you so we could get you home without doing more damage to your knee.” He pulled a face. “I’m sorry, Luke. I forgot.”

  “Forgot what?” he asked groggily. “Can I have some water?”

  Josh nodded and passed him a tumbler full of blissful liquid—his mouth tasted like crap and felt as dry as sand. As he sipped the manna from the gods, Josh replied, “I squeezed your knee when you were getting a bit loud, and it was your bad one. I’m so sorry.”

  “‘S okay,” he replied, the need to sleep more making him slur his words. “It will get better.” He yawned after he passed the water glass back to his husband. “Aches like a bitch still.”

  “I know. When you passed out, you slid forward, which probably made it worse. They gave you some extra meds for tonight, just in case the ache doesn’t go.”

  “I have a feeling I’m going to need them,” Luke mumbled. He raised his arm and used it to cover his face. The light, though dim, shot shards of pain through his retinas, and the glare was enough to make his eyes water. “What happened after I passed out?”

  “I told the appeals board to carry on without us.”

  “Was that wise?”

  “They’re only allowing you to speak to the board anyway because my CO got involved. Otherwise, they would simply be reviewing your case, which is what they’re doing. I wouldn’t worry. The facts speak for themselves.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m certain.”

  Luke blew out a breath. “I don’t want to go to jail. I guess…”

  “What?”

  “I guess I was stupid. I should have stayed quiet. Not rocked the boat. I could see that today, if you hadn’t wormed your way into this, I’d be fucked. And I don’t want to end up inside, Josh. I couldn’t stand it.” A shudder made him shake in the bed, and it added to the pain in his skull.

  “I don’t want you there either. I’d have moved heaven and earth to stop that from happening, love, so don’t you fret.”

  The simplicity of his words hit Luke with the precision of a hammer to the temple. Maybe it was the sedatives or the pain, but rather than argue, he took Josh’s certainty at face value. “Okay, I won’t,” he murmured, his voice clouding over with exhaustion.

  “Good.” Josh got to his feet, bent over the bed, and pressed a kiss to Luke’s forehead. “You need some more rest.”

  “Probably. Where’s Lexi?”

  “In bed.”

  “Hell, I slept that long?”

  He nodded.

  “Shit, I missed Gia’s call too.”

  “You did, but you can always call her now. I’ll get your cell phone, and you can chat to her. I need to make some calls myself. I’ll let you sleep alone tonight to save your knee. I’d have preferred for you to be in our bed, but it was easier for the medics to put you in here.”

  “That sucks,” Luke gritted out. “But I think it’s for the best if I sleep alone too. Just for the nightmares. I know I disturbed you last night.”

  Josh disregarded that. “It’s not about the nightmares, doofus. I’ve already singlehandedly stunted your recovery. I’m not doing anything else to jeopardize it.”

  Luke watched as Josh headed to the closet, did some rummaging, then came out with his cell phone. He had the feeling Josh was hiding something, that he was purposely keeping it from Luke, but the truth of it was, he wasn’t up to asking. He didn’t have the strength—mentally or physically—to query what was going on.

  If Josh wanted to hide something, he could keep on doing it. His shoulders were strong enough to carry the burden for one more night, whereas Luke’s felt as though his would crumble if a bird’s feather had the misfortune of landing on them.

  When Josh passed him the phone, he did try. It wasn’t right for the weight of the world to be Josh’s burden alone. “Everything okay, Josh?”

  “Yep, everything’s fine.”

  There was a slight twitch of his left eye that gave Luke the real answer. Everything wasn’t fine. But what t
hat meant and what the repercussions were, he didn’t know.

  Fatigue swamped him, so he let him go, content for the moment to patch a call through to the second love of his life and fall asleep to the sound of her voice.

  * * * *

  “You’ve got him riled, Josh. That’s a good sign.”

  Staring out of his study window, Josh peered at the city lights in the distance. They were bright, even if the outer edges were faded thanks to the many miles between them and his house. Overhead, the sky was dotted with spots that disappeared at the perimeter of the city limits as light pollution made its dent on their beauty.

  It was a familiar sight but no less beautiful because of it.

  “I hate what I had to do today.”

  “We agreed if Luke started to lose his patience, you’d have to act.”

  “I didn’t mean for him to pass out.”

  “Apparently, you don’t realize your own strength.”

  “The medics are saying I’ve set his recuperation back.”

  “You only squeezed his knee, for God’s sake.”

  “It’s to do with the way he fell.”

  “You had to do it, Josh. He can’t say too much, and from the notes I read, he’d already said a lot. And we don’t need him to say anything at all. It’s good that he’s out of action.

  “The evidence speaks for itself, but the review board could twist up his words and make him out to be the villain regardless. They’re paid to look into the minutiae, and we have that covered. On the periphery of this case, that’s all.”

  Sighing guiltily, Josh swigged back the four fingers of scotch he’d poured himself.

  Truth was, he drank it rarely because he hated the damned stuff, but he needed the burn tonight. He hoped the scorch would raze his guilt.

  Only trouble was, it wasn’t fucking working.

  “I can hear you overthinking this.”

  “What do you expect me to do, sir?” he growled at Jarvis. “I’ve just hurt my husband. Severely.”

  “You’ve also saved his ass and his freedom.

  “Harrison’s flown over, and he’s going to speak at the appeal tomorrow. If Luke was there, attending, then he could jeopardize his own case without meaning to.

  “He said it himself today—the review was on him, his actions. It wasn’t for him to cast blame. But that’s how we’re saving him. Once the procedure is out of the way and I can finally speak, all of this will be wrapped up quickly. I promise you that.”

  “You sound very certain of that, sir.”

  Jarvis laughed. “Oh, I am. Your investigation has snowballed, Josh. You don’t know what you’ve started.”

  “Do I want to, sir?”

  “No, not really. I can’t say much, but what I can say is now this information has come to light, Luke’s days with us aren’t over.”

  Josh frowned. “He’s going to be reinstated after the appeal?”

  “No. They’re going to retire him, on my recommendation.”

  “Why is that?” He quickly added, “Sir?”

  “Because he’s more use to us as a civilian.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “It doesn’t have to.”

  Josh grimaced. One thing he’d come to learn, no matter how much clearance you had, it was never enough. Even Jarvis only had so much. “He’s been through enough wars. He wants to settle down. Live a quiet life.”

  “And he can. But he can still keep on helping us. Dragging this through the muck the way you have has brought his impeccable record to the attention of some of my superiors. Don’t worry, no danger will come to him. Especially now he’s out of the review process.

  “The last thing we needed was for him to spot Harrison in the morning and to go for him. That wouldn’t have done his case much good.”

  “No, it wouldn’t.” He scowled into his tumbler and swirled the amber liquid around the craggy ice cubes. “And I can see him doing that. Not that Harrison doesn’t deserve it. And not that Luke’s legs are up to a battle. Hell, he can hardly stand without wobbling, but I know he’d still give it a shot.”

  “The little prick deserves more than the beating Luke gave him when he was caught raping that prisoner, and Harrison will get his just deserts. But first and foremost, we need to protect Luke.”

  The words had Josh reaching for the scotch bottle and pouring himself another couple of fingers of the fiery brew. “Why do I feel like I’ve saved him from the frying pan but he’s still heading for the fire?”

  Jarvis boomed out a laugh, and though laughter was unexpected, it was reassuring. Said reassurance came from the fact it was genuine—enough so, it helped Josh relax a little. Although that might have been the eighth of scotch he’d knocked back like it was good old H²O.

  “No need to fear, Josh.”

  “You say that now, sir.”

  “I do, yes, but you’re in for a pleasant surprise.”

  He blinked. “If you say so, sir.”

  “Oh, I do. Now, get some rest. Just because he’s out of the process doesn’t mean you are. I’ll see you at the base tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  When Jarvis disconnected the call, Josh stared at the receiver in his hand. Alcohol had started to burn off some of his guilt but not all of it. Especially now something was underway over his rank and above his pay grade.

  He tried to take consolation out of the fact it meant Luke was free. Gia and Luke looked to him like he was the oracle. The one with all the answers. When they asked if he’d managed to right these wrongs, he said yes, every time. He couldn’t allow himself to believe anything else.

  But at night, when the house grew silent, and the sounds of his family sleeping were overly loud in his insomniac brain, his own fears crept in.

  He’d done what he could to save his lover, and he’d keep on doing it. That Jarvis was talking the way he was, well, it was a fabulous sign. In fact, the more Josh thought about it, the more he relaxed, until finally, he slept, slumped over his desk, head in his hands.

  And crazy though it was, and in the most uncomfortable position known to man, it was the best night’s sleep he’d had in months. The loves of his life were both safe, and for Josh, that was enough to finally be at rest.

  Chapter Seven

  “I don’t think these roses will graft well together, Luke.”

  He ignored his mom’s grousing and carried on with the delicate work of taking the stalk of one rose and grafting it onto the rootstock of another.

  He was working with English tea roses and a miniature variety. The antique English were densely petaled with a thick and full blossom, whereas the miniature was obviously smaller with a looser bloom.

  His intention was to create a miniature English rose. One with all the strength of the hardier flower, as well as its perfume, but all in a compact size.

  The past two weeks had been spent grafting a variety of heritage English roses, and so far, save for one, the rest had been unsuccessful. They’d been trying to discern which graft fit the best as well as which rose to settle on.

  He didn’t mind. After all, it was about being patient, but he’d have liked more than one to take.

  Still, it was a slow process and all about experimentation. This part was the first of many to come, and he knew how many hurdles they’d have to leap over before they perfected the hybrid tea rose he’d been dreaming about since he’d first realized he could Frankenstein two types of roses together to create another.

  He likened that bloom to a child. It took on characteristics of its parents, which was why when he eventually crafted the rose of his dreams, he was going to call it the Alexia Gray Rose.

  Lexi would get such a kick out of that.

  “We can but try, Mom,” he told her, his voice absentminded as he got to work on the delicate procedure. “Anyway, it’s the wrong time of year, so no need to stress about it.”

  They were T-budding, which was a form of grafting they were experimenting with today. At the mome
nt, he was using a Dr. Huey rose as rootstock, as they were hardy and over time would create a stronger hybrid tea.

  He had cut a T-shape into the stalk of the Dr. Huey, and of the English rose he was working with at the moment, he’d taken the bud eye—the part on a rose bush that would eventually turn into a leaf—cut the stalk in two, and pushed that part down into the slot he’d created on the Dr. Huey. He then had to tape the graft into place, making sure not to cover the bud eye, which would eventually blossom if the graft took.

  They were starting at the beginning. Determining not only the best grafting technique but which English rose would work best. Then would come the miniaturizing process.

  This was not something that would happen overnight, and it was unlike his mom to be impatient.

  As he taped above the bud eye and below it, using electrician’s tape to tightly bind the graft in place, he looked at his mom from the corner of his eye. “Everything all right, Ma?” he asked, noticing she was fidgeting as she watched him work.

  She pulled a face. “I’m just nervous. That’s all.”

  “I know. Why do you think I’m here?” Day three of the appeal, and Josh had advised him not to sit in on the process. He knew what that meant—Harrison, the bastard who had tried to blame this whole farce on Luke, had shown up and was probably going to testify against him today.

  Josh thought he was so clever, so sneaky in keeping things like this from him. But when you lived with someone as long as he had Josh, it didn’t take much to figure out what was really going on.

  It had either been stay at home in bed or get his mom to come over and drive him to the family farm. He shouldn’t be on his feet, but he was leaning most of his weight against a high stool, and the best part, it was keeping him sane.

  If his mind and fingers were engaged, then at least he wasn’t thinking about things he could no longer change and an unfair appeal process that was entirely out of his hands.

  “I hate the fact you’re under fire, son. I don’t like that I can’t do anything to help.”