Not A Hero: A Bad Boy Marine Romance

by Sarah Robinson

  The faint trigger clogged his throat, causing his mind to whirl into a panic. Miles took the rest of the stairs in three long strides, rushing through the ground level of the house as he searched for the source of the heat and burnt taste dancing on his tongue.

  “We gotta get outta here, Miles!” His friend yanked on his pack, pulling him back as he stared at the building engulfed in flames in front of them.

  His mouth hung open, his eyes stinging with smoke. Everything sounded far away, muffled since the first blast. Since the moment he’d been running to the building, toward their screams.

  One second, screams.

  The next, silence.

  “Miles! Have you lost your goddamn mind?” a deep voice shouted in his ear.

  Miles jolted, blinking. Attempting to identify his surroundings, he quickly realized he was standing in his kitchen. His father was standing a few feet away from him with the aid of a walker, his expression bewildered and…afraid? Why is my father afraid?

  Miles had no recollection of walking into the kitchen.

  “Put it down, son.” Walter’s voice was quieter now, his hand reaching out slowly. The alarmed look was still etched on to his face, but he seemed to be trying to suppress it. “Put it down, Miles. You’re safe here.”

  Miles followed his father’s gaze slightly to his left to see what he was looking at.

  A long, gleaming silver, and sharp-as-hell, kitchen knife was in Miles’s left hand, raised slightly above his head.

  A knife.

  He didn’t remember even picking it up, or why he was holding it in the first place.

  The metal weapon crashed to the floor as Miles’s fingers sprang open, releasing it from his grasp. Staring at the knife against the tiles beneath him, he took a few steps back, then finally looked at his father again.

  Walter’s face had changed from alarm to sorrow. “Zoe?” Walter called loudly as the petite blonde skidded to a stop, entering the room at a run.

  “What’s going on? I heard shouting.” Her emerald eyes were wide with panic as she looked frantically between the men. “Is everyone okay?”

  “Can you please pick that up? I can’t bend too far anymore.” Walter’s attempt at a nonchalant smile was obviously false as everyone’s eyes focused on the knife lying flat against the tiles.

  Zoe quietly slipped past Miles and grabbed the knife from the floor, bringing it over to the counter and sliding it into its spot on a wooden block.

  “Dad, I...” His words drifted off, unsure how to continue or what to say. Humiliated didn’t even begin to cover what he was feeling in that moment. “I don’t know what happened.”

  “Shouldn’t you be going to work? Grab a biscuit to take with you. I burned the bottom a bit, so peel that part off.” Walter changed the subject easily, moving with the aid of his walker over to the kitchen table.

  “Yeah, okay. Thanks,” Miles mumbled, grabbing a few biscuits. He popped one in his mouth and avoided eye contact as he headed to the garage.

  “What do we do?” Zoe’s soft, melodic voice followed behind him as she spoke to his father.

  “Throw away the entire set—every single knife in this house,” Walter instructed, his voice tight.

  Miles clenched his jaw at his father’s words and then shut the garage door.

  It’s just a bad day. Miles sank into the driver’s seat and clenched the steering wheel. Maybe if he repeated that enough, he would believe it.

  “How are you not completely freaking out right now?” Arienne gawked at Zoe, her eyes wide as she put down her cup of coffee on the high countertop between them. “And how did you wait two weeks to tell us this?”

  “We haven’t even seen her in two weeks,” Mollie chimed in, tossing her red hair over her shoulder and dipping a bag of tea into her mug of hot water as she stood next to her stove. “But, seriously, Zoe, this is what phones are for.”

  “Hell, high school crushes who come back to town and flirt with you is the entire reason behind why phones were invented,” Arienne agreed.

  Zoe rolled her eyes, trying to pull the smile from her lips. “I don’t have a crush on him now.”

  “Um, who said you did?” Mollie lifted one brow. “Quick to deny something we didn’t even accuse you of. How interesting.”

  Zoe laughed. “I don’t! He’s not the same guy who was every girl’s dream back in high school.”

  “Oh, so now he’s your dream man?” Mollie teased.

  “I think we’re a bit past high school crushes, Mollie,” Zoe replied, taking another sip of her coffee.

  Mollie shrugged. “I didn’t get past my high school crush, and now I’m married to him.”

  “Well, that’s different. Mark is a great guy,” Zoe agreed.

  Arienne frowned. “And Miles isn’t? I remember him being quite the town idol back then. Now he’s all buff and military built—the returning town hero.”

  “He is a good guy.” Zoe ran her finger up and down the handle on her mug slowly, feeling the cool ceramic beneath her skin. She vividly remembered sitting in the stands at his football games, dreaming of running her hands over every ripped muscle beneath his uniform. The fact that eight years later, he was still firm as a rock—actually, more so—was definitely not helpful either. “He’s just different…and it’s a little weird.”

  “What kind of weird?” Arienne asked.

  “Different weird,” Zoe said. “A little scary, but mostly sad. There’s some definite red flags.”

  “That’s not entirely abnormal though, is it? I heard he did a few tours in Afghanistan. Remember the one explosion he was in, where the rest of his unit died? It made the paper here, so he’s seen some shit,” Mollie mused, the corners of her lips pulled down. “Some red flags turn white after a few years of bleach. That’s what my grandma used to tell me, at least.”

  “Yeah, I mean, he sounds like he didn’t come home with every crayon in the box, but so what? He’s still Miles,” Arienne added, sliding her fingers back through her jet black straight hair to bring it into a ponytail and tying it securely. She rolled her eyes, dropping her hands back in her lap with a sign. “Jeez, I spend too much time coloring.”

  “Imagine if you and Will added another one to your bunch.” Mollie wiggled her brows at her friend. “You’d forget how to speak ‘adult’ all together.”

  “Not happening. We have our hands full with Tessa—‘terrible twos’ is an understatement,” Arienne said in her usual sarcastic manner, a harsh exterior that once peeled back revealed a truly caring and loving mother and friend. “Swear I’m going to lose my mind one of these days.”

  “I think Mark and I are going to try for another one,” Mollie revealed casually, glancing at her as if she was worried how she’d react to the news.

  Arienne gave her a sidelong glance as well, saying nothing.

  Zoe lifted her chin, hoping to show her friends she could talk about children with them and not fall apart. She gently fingered the charm on her necklace, passing the smooth silver footprints between her fingertips. “Three kids? Wow, that’s a handful.”

  “Why not?” Mollie shrugged, still watching her carefully. “Maybe I’ll finally get a girl this time.”

  Arienne nodded. “Girls are the best.”

  “You’d have the cutest little girl,” Zoe said, remembering how adorable Mollie looked as a little girl herself. “I don’t know how you do it—surrounded by boys, day in and day out.”

  “Mollie isn’t the only one surrounded by guys all the time, Zoe,” Arienne added in a mischievous tone, giggling as she changed topics. “I don’t know how you get anything done with all that muscle around.”

  Mollie laughed.

  Zoe nearly snorted her coffee. “Don’t be ridiculous. Miles is not around all day.”

  Arienne grinned. “Bet you wish he was though.”

  “I don’t wish he was,” Mollie said. “The guy sounds like he has a lot of work to do before he should be coming near any woman. He had a knife, guys
. Can we get back to that? Is no one concerned he might be completely psychotic?”

  Arienne put her hands up and shrugged. “Crazy is easy to forgive when it looks like he does.”

  Zoe glanced at the ceiling and sighed. “He isn’t some serial killer. I’m not going to jump to conclusions, but yeah, he definitely needs help with something.”

  “Don’t you dare Florence Nightingale him, Zoe,” Mollie instructed, her index finger pointing in her direction.

  Zoe scoffed. “Who? Me?”

  “Listen to her, Zo.” Arienne tilted her chin toward Mollie, using Zoe’s nickname. “You love to fix people, and after everything you’ve been through? This time is about you, not a new project.”

  “Jeez, Ari,” Zoe groaned. “He’s not a project. I’m not going to Florence Nightingale him.”

  “Promise?” Mollie asked.

  “Mommy!” came a shrill shout. “Mikey peed on hisself!” A small boy with a mop of brown hair almost covering his eyes ran into the kitchen.

  Mollie rolled her eyes and sighed. “Duty calls, ladies.” With a grin, she walked out of the kitchen with her son in tow.

  “I need to go, too.” Arienne sighed and picked up her nearby purse off the couch, swinging it over her shoulder. “Will has to be at the fire station in an hour, so I’ve got Tessa for the rest of the day.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got to get to work.” Zoe grabbed her wallet off the counter and followed Arienne to the front door.

  Arienne stepped onto the porch and closed the door to the house behind them. “I’ll see you later, girl. Remember your promise—no nightingaling!”

  Zoe thought of Miles’s expression this morning at her friend’s reminder. Strangely enough, he hadn’t looked angry, or even scary when he was holding the knife; he’d only looked scared. But nothing about him made her feel afraid, and she couldn’t ignore the ache in her chest that wanted to hold him, help him, and tell him everything was going to be okay.

  But that was a dangerous road, and after everything she’d been through in the last year, she knew her friends were right to advise her away. Miles was not her problem.

  Okay, so it’s not just a bad day, it’s the fucking day from hell. Miles dropped down behind the wheel of his car after a long shift at the construction site. His hand slammed down on the radio buttons, cranking up the volume.

  Anything to tune out today.

  His blood was boiling, anger still coursing through his veins at the recent conversation with his boss—more like a lashing than a conversation. He was careless once, just one damn time, when he forgot to put in the order for the parts needed today. The entire project had been set back two additional days, and his boss had sent him home early.

  Miles wasn’t even sure he would still have a job come morning, and he realized he didn’t even want one. He’d only gotten this job because he needed money to get his feet on the ground, and a friend of his father’s had hooked him up.

  But he was a decorated United States Marine—simple manual labor was way below his skill level. Most importantly, it wasn’t what he enjoyed.

  He concentrated on the road as he pointed his car toward home, wondering why today had gone so off the rails anyway, because everything had been smooth sailing for two weeks.

  He’d developed a routine—wake up, have breakfast with his dad, maybe catch a glimpse of Zoe in a tight tank top and some short pajama bottoms, go to work, bust his butt for ten hours, stop by the town tavern on the way home for a few beers with friends, sometimes Tobin, come home and heat leftovers from Zoe’s dinners, then bed. It was simple—easy, even.

  Maybe that’s the problem, Miles clutched and pushed the gearshift into the next gear. It’s been too good, too easy, too not what I want at all.

  Memories in uniform flashed through his mind, sending a chill down his spine, but he couldn’t seem to shut off the slide show. He didn’t deserve this life, or to be acting like everything was good…like he was good.

  He was the farthest thing from good.

  “I’ve got your six, Miles!” Tobin shouted.

  They moved quickly toward the darkened building, flanking the perimeter and keeping their back to the wall of the next building over.

  His intercom buzzed. “Alpha team, close ranks and hit them dead center.”

  Miles followed direction without question.

  It’s what he had been taught. It’s who he was.

  Running quickly and cautiously toward the front of the large concrete building with bars on every window and a barely hanging wooden door attached on the front, Miles surveyed his surroundings.

  Tobin shouted from somewhere behind him.

  Then silence.

  Miles whirled around, his gun high and ready. Something in Tobin’s shout had made his skin go cold. Skimming the wall, he moved quickly back to the end of the building and glanced around the corner to see Tobin on his knees, his rifle yanked away by three hooded men holding him at gunpoint.

  The insurgents aimed his own gun back at him. Tobin lifted his chin—confident, unafraid, trained.

  Miles didn’t hesitate. He aimed the barrel of his gun at the back of their hoods through his scope.

  BANG!

  BANG.

  Bang.

  The car veered to the right abruptly, followed by honking as Miles swerved into oncoming traffic.

  His eyes widened, and he glanced frantically around as he jerked the wheel to the right, overcorrecting and skidding off the pavement, nosediving into a ditch.

  He lurched forward, slamming against the steering wheel. The breath knocked out of him with a whoosh, then time seemed to slow as he watched the approaching windshield crack and shatter.

  Sharp pain in his left shoulder and across his waist registered as his seat belt caught him and dragged him back. As momentum rocked him forward once more, his forehead hit the top of the steering wheel. Sparkly mist crowded the edge of Miles’s vision, and he would have sworn he saw stars swirling around his head, like in the cartoons he’d watched as a kid.

  Silence enveloped him for what seemed like forever. Then ringing, soft at first then growing louder and louder, pulsing with the pounding in his head. He finally sucked in his first breath, greedily stealing air in an attempt to fill his beaten lungs.

  “Miles!” Her soft voice was filled with panic, and he immediately knew who it was.

  Fucking hell. This is really not my day.

  7

  “Miles? Can you hear me?” She kept calling his name, and he felt tiny fingers sliding down the side of his face.

  He lifted his chin to look at her—both relieved to see her, and not wishing it was anyone else. “Zoe?”

  He pushed himself back into his seat, tilting his neck this way and that, before pushing open his door, and climbing out.

  “Careful, don’t get up so fast,” she cautioned, her hands on his arms. “You were just in an accident, Miles.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he insisted, shaking off her hands and testing his joints. He looked down and saw several cuts and scrapes, and he could already feel bruises forming, but nothing seemed broken. “You didn’t have to stop.”

  Zoe propped her hands on her hips, tossing him an annoyed look. “Um, I saw a car fly off the road. Of course I had to stop—I am a nurse, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “Just my luck,” he said, heading for the embankment back to the road.

  “Wait!” Zoe shrieked, running around to stand in front of him again. “Let me check that you’re okay first.”

  Miles sighed, but allowed her to examine him for a moment.

  “Nothing looks broken, but this is might need stitches,” she said, pointing to his forehead again. “It’s small, but we should go to the hospital and have them decide. Plus, with a head injury, you could have a concussion. Do you feel dizzy?”

  “I’m fine.” He shook his head but quickly regretted the sudden movement. “No hospitals. You’re a nurse, can’t you stitch me up?”

  She blanche
d, her mouth falling open. “Me? I know how, but usually doctors do that.”

  “Please, Zoe,” he replied, his voice softer. “I only want you. No doctors.”

  She licked her lips, swallowing hard, before she nodded. “Okay, let’s get you home. We’ll swing by the pharmacy on the way so I can get what we need.”

  Zoe headed to her car, but Miles took a moment longer to survey the damage to his father’s car. He was relieved to see it only looked like the front head light was broken and one tire flat, along with some scrapes and dents and a crack in the windshield.

  It wasn’t irreparable, and he’d call a tow company once he was in Zoe’s car to come get it. Sighing, he followed after her, becoming more and more aware with each step of the painful cut on his forehead.

  “Can we not tell Walter about this?” Miles asked as they pulled down the wooded lane and headed to the lake house. “I’ll get the car to a mechanic tomorrow. I don’t want him to worry.”

  Zoe frowned, peering sideways at his lacerated face. “Don’t you think he’ll notice a big cut on your face?”

  “Not if I have a great nurse to heal me,” he said smoothly.

  Zoe rolled her eyes. “I’m not magic, Miles.”

  “Jury’s still out on that.” His lips twitched into a small smile, and she was sure he thought some sweet talk would convince her not to rat him out. “I’ll tell him after I get it fixed.”

  She pulled the keys out of the ignition after she parked, grabbing the bag from the pharmacy out of the back seat. “All right, but only because your injuries are pretty minor, and the car doesn’t look too bad off. It’s probably best your dad doesn’t know about it anyways; he needs to watch his blood pressure.” She shot him a pointed glare. “And you are not good for keeping down someone’s blood pressure.”

  His smile widened. “Oh, really?”

  Abruptly, she realized her words could be—probably had been—interpreted another way, and she stopped speaking. Heat bloomed in her cheeks as she turned toward her door, opened it, and got out.

  Coming around to his side of the car, she stepped in front of him, blocking him from getting out. “Don’t rush, or you’ll probably be dizzy. Can you stand on your own?” she asked him, forcing her tone into her trained bedside manner.