Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Saving Liberty (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Sarah O'Rourke

  Yeah, I knew I was moving fast, but when that social services lady had put Liberty in my arms yesterday, I’d known right down to the marrow in my bones that I was meant to be her father. But as gung ho as I was to be a dad to this kid, I still realized that Liberty needed a momma just as badly as a daddy. And for some reason, Liberty’s birth mom had believed that mother should be Truly Evans… a choice I couldn’t have agreed more with even though I knew it would very likely initially hurt Tru. Now, my most important job was to convince Truly that she needed to be a part of the family I was building, too. I needed her to agree to be Liberty’s mother, but I also wouldn’t deny that I wanted my own personal connection with her, too. Maybe wishing for a wife was crazy, but this whole situation was already nuts.

  Based on Truly’s recent painful history, however, I knew I was gonna have my work cut out for me. There was no telling how many hoops the wounded beauty would force me to jump through in order to prove that she was meant to be with us.

  Glancing down at the now sleeping infant in my arms, I smiled.

  “What your future momma doesn’t know is that I’ve got a secret weapon of my own to use, baby girl. You.”

  Chapter Two

  Truly

  One Week Later

  When I was a little girl, I had lots of big plans for myself. Well, at least I’d thought they were big by my standards. What little girl doesn’t daydream of how her life would turn out? For me, every night when I closed my eyes, my biggest dream was that one day, I’d find a way to move out of the cockroach-infested low income housing where I lived with my junkie father and alcoholic mother. I’d escape the projects and embark on an adventure to find a new life, one where my only reliable meal would come from some place other than my school’s nasty cafeteria. Yeah, my dreams weren’t exactly big… but they were mine. All mine. And most importantly of all? It was a dream that one day, if I tried really hard, I might just attain.

  From the moment I entered school, I worked my butt off to make good grades. At first, I did it to see the teachers smile at me like I mattered – something that never happened for me at home. Then, as I got older, I kept pushing myself to do better in the hope that I’d be able to scrape enough scholarship money together to attend college where I’d hopefully meet a man that would love me and only me for the rest of my days. I imagined him hurtling his way into my life with the force of a bullet and whisking me away to a new home – one that had central air, cable television, and a white picket fence. We’d have an amazing life together, and when the time was right, we’d start a family. One son and two daughters.

  I’d had it all planned out. Every single detail right down to the color of the nursery walls. A rich buttery yellow, for anybody that’s wondering.

  It’s funny how things never turn out quite the way you imagine them.

  I never got to go to college. A bout with mononucleosis during my senior year wrecked my grade point average and ruined any chance I had of obtaining those scholarships I so badly needed. Instead, I went to work as a waitress at the dive bar on the corner of my street where I spent my nights being groped by drunk guys with rough hands for lousy tips. And that pansy-ass prince in shining armor that I’d been waiting for? Yeah, he stood me up, too. In his place, fate sent me another kind of man altogether.

  Yancy Evans was everything a girl like me should have run from, a smooth-talking charmer that was passing through town visiting friends while on leave from the Army. With a silver tongue and a wicked smile, it didn’t take him very long at all to talk me out of my panties. See, I’d been looking for a way out of the hell I lived in … and Yancy provided me one. A week after meeting him, he had me convinced that a marriage to him was the answer to all my prayers. By the time he put me in his car to drive me back to his base in Ft. Hood Texas, he had me believing that I’d hit the marital jackpot with him.

  That feeling lasted about as long as the tankful of gas did in his used blue Mustang.

  That was six years ago.

  Now, a whole lot of things had changed for me. Some of them had been good. Some … well, not so much so. Let’s start with the fact that I was a widow at the ripe old age of twenty-four. Twenty-frickin’-four! Most of the girls I knew in high school hadn’t even been married once yet. Nope, they’d been busy going to school and building careers. Not me, though. I’d somehow managed not only to get myself hitched to someone, but also already lose them, too. Was this a good or a bad thing? Well, that depended on what day you asked me the question.

  Yancy had been killed a little less than six months ago in an accident while he and the rest of his Delta Force brothers had been out on a training mission. As a military wife, I always knew there were risks for my husband … but those risks usually came in the form of bullets and bombs flying at his head. I never expected a freak helicopter crash close to home. My husband had survived Baghdad and Kabul only to croak in a field in Texas. How was that for irony?

  I’d probably be mourning his passing a whole lot more deeply if I hadn’t learned of his most recent in a long line of infidelities - courtesy of one of my gossipy co-workers - on the very day he died. It hadn’t been the first time my man had strayed outside our marriage; he’d had several affairs throughout our years together. Most people thought I’d been oblivious, but the truth was that I’d known. I’d always known. Because the cold, hard truth was that Yancy had catted around enough that I was legitimately surprised that his dick hadn’t rotted off his body, considering some of nasty places he’d stuck it over the years. In fact, I believed my late husband had genuinely never met a pussy he wouldn’t fuck. Women got off on his whole badass soldier vibe. I know this because I, too, had once gotten a cheap thrill from knowing my ripped and muscled man fought and bled for our country. And when he threw in a side helping of bona fide American hero to the mix… yeah, females could and would shed their panties faster than a snake sheds its skin. Yep, most girls couldn’t wait to drop to their knees to worship at the altar of his dick. I ought to know. Once upon a time, I’d once been one of those horny, stupid bitches.

  So, why the hell had I stayed with him anyway? It’s a good question. Hell, it’s a great question. One that I’ve I asked myself every day of my life since I had the misfortune of falling for a handsome man’s lies. The truth was really a mixture of several different things. Let’s count them, shall we? First, my fear of being alone in a world filled with terrifying things. Then, there’s my belief that marriages were supposed to last forever rather than until things got hard. In the middle are my almost desperate need for stability rather than fidelity and my worry that I wouldn’t be able to make it alone in the big, bad world. And finally, let’s discuss the fact that I had actually loved the cheating asshole that was my husband. When he wasn’t going behind my back and fucking females that weren’t me, he could be a sweet, loving man. Handsome as sin and twice as charming, he could always convince me that the last time he cheated would be the last time he strayed. It was true. Yancy could do a convincing impression of a devoted husband when he was motivated.

  That was why, like a true fool, I’d forgiven him each and every time he had let his dick wander into a snatch where it shouldn’t have been. I’d stupidly believed his lies and accepted his apologies when he swore I was the only woman who’d ever mattered to him. I’d chosen to trust him when he said sorry and he’d change.

  That’s right, friends. Do you have any swamp land you’d like to sell me? Because evidently, I am a first-class moron.

  This last time he’d cheated on me, though … it had been different for me. Or, it would have been different if my lying, no-good spouse had lived through that chopper’s crash. If you’re wondering why, I’ll tell you. It was because the last time Yancy had been unfaithful to me, he’d sunk to an all-time low - even for a snake such as him. The reason was simple enough. Because every-fucking-body knew it was fucked up in about a million different ways to screw another woman while your own wife was laid up in a hospital bed, sufferi
ng a second miscarriage inside three years. I was pretty sure that God would give me a free pass for the hatred I had in my heart as a result of my husband’s treachery. Yeah, while I’d been writhing in pain while I fought not to lose my mind to the grief that nearly consumed me, my asswipe of a hubby had been sinking his dick into some random slut inside the bathroom of the local watering hole he frequented. How was that for tacky, huh? While I’d been losing my innocent unborn baby, he’d been losing himself inside another woman’s coochie!

  Even now, I could still feel the fiery rage I’d been trying to keep buried deep inside me trying to reignite. Tamping down on my self-control, I reminded myself that Yancy and his cheating ways were history in a very permanent kind of way. I had to snap out of it. Too much time thinking about the tragedies that had made up my life would send me spiraling back to a dark place I was all too familiar with … that bottomless rabbit-hole of depression.

  Suffice it to say that my late husband’s final lapse in marital fidelity had been absolute last straw for me. After I’d gotten past the initial wave of pain Yancy’s betrayal had delivered, a red haze of anger had descended over me and I could have happily killed him myself. It had finally dawned on me in brilliant technicolor that I was hitched to a serial cheater that was never going to change his ways. And with the knowledge, I realized something else: I was done. Through. Finished. D-O-N-E! In fact, I was so done with his bullshit that I’d actually been on my way home that day to pack a bag and leave his unfaithful ass for good. My plan, however, had been interrupted by the arrival of Matt Davis (Yancy’s commanding officer) and Jeff Barkley (the unit chaplain) at my workplace. One of Yancy’s best friends, Paxton “Pax” Graham, had rounded out the somber trio, and I’d known with one look at their solemn faces that something awful had happened.

  I’ve blocked out a lot of how I felt in those moments after they delivered the news that my husband had been killed in a training accident. I vaguely recall feeling like I’d absorbed a physical blow after I received the news. I sort of remember crying out in denial, unable to believe that the man I’d decided to leave had actually left me first. I do remember the way my nose had stung and my vision blurred as my eyes had filled with tears that I refused to let fall because, even in my grief, I knew Yancy didn’t deserve my tears.

  I remember the way Captain Davis’ shoulders had sagged after he delivered the grim news while the chaplain had quietly offered to pray with me. But most of all, I remember the sorrow I’d seen brightly shining from Pax’s own wet eyes just seconds before he’d wrapped me up in his strong arms and pulled me against his solid chest. I’d never gotten as close to Pax as my husband had, but we had spent some time together. For reasons I’d never questioned (mostly because I’d known my husband would never answer them anyway), Yancy had never brought me around his Delta Force buddies much, but Pax had spent the odd weekend here and there throughout the last couple of years over at our place watching football and hanging out. Knowing that Yancy’s friend was feeling some of the same loss I did went a long way toward helping me cope. And having a handsome hunk like Pax hold me in his arms like I was someone to be cherished while I tried to make sense of my grief had definitely soothed some of my pain. It also didn’t hurt that he was a genuinely nice guy. Which was rare. Delta Force guys could tend to be a little on the arrogant side, but from what I’d known of Pax, he was as down-to-earth as they came. It was just one of the many reasons I was grateful that, of all Yancy’s pals, it had been Pax to come help deliver the devastating news that Yancy was gone.

  After my initial reaction to the news, I’d gone thankfully numb. There’d been no screaming from me. No hysterical tears falling from my eyes. No dramatic scene to draw attention to me. It was almost as if my psyche had absorbed one trauma too many. My shitty childhood. Yancy’s numerous affairs. My miscarriages. Living in a sham of a marriage where only one of us had been committed. It was all just too much to deal with, and my distressed mind had simply shut down while my body shifted into autopilot as I moved through the next several days.

  Thankfully, Pax continued proving himself to be one of the few decent guys I knew, and I found it ironic that he and my husband had been as close as they were. Yancy had never gone out of his way for any of his fallen buddies’ widows in the past. After offering her condolences, he’d move on with his life and forget about her. Paxton was the exact opposite. Every week since Yancy had died, he’d checked on me. Sometimes it was just a quick fly-by the house to make sure I had what I needed, but other times he’d take me out to eat or to the movies – almost like a date without the romance part.

  Pax was a mass of contradictions. He’d taken care of me so well after Yancy’s death, but he was also the same man that had kept Yancy’s infidelities a secret from me. I tried to forgive him that, though; I knew the men had some kind of stupid code among them that demanded they keep each other’s confidences both in wartime and at home – evidently, even when a woman was in a hospital miscarrying a child while her asshole husband got his rocks off.

  I just had to keep reminding myself that Paxton (along with a few other of Yancy’s soldier friends) had gone out of his way to help arrange my late husband’s memorial service and burial. Truthfully, Pax had done most of the heavy lifting. From arranging the service to dealing with Yancy’s family while I hid in my bedroom and avoided the world, Pax had come through for me when it counted.

  Despite my very real desire to run away from home, I did attend my husband’s funeral, but I’d felt stiff and awkward, uncomfortable in my own skin as I tried to mourn a man that had broken my heart long before his heart had quit beating. So, I’d gotten through the day the best way I could, moving almost mechanically through the proceedings. Even when the American flag had been placed in my cold hands and the twenty-one gun salute had been fired, I’d remained unmoved, stoic in my sorrow and lost in my anguish. My physical body had been present, but my fractured mind had been a million miles away, trying to process exactly how everything in my life had gone so wrong. Most people assumed I was in shock, and maybe they had been right. I was shocked… shocked that the man I’d loved so deeply could hurt me so much… even while lying dead inside the nice coffin I’d chosen for him. In the end, all I really knew was that when Yancy died, he took my belief in love and happily-ever-after into the grave with him. I lost both my husband and my belief in the beauty of love on the same day. Thanks for that, Yancy!

  The world had seemed like a cold, lonely place ever since.

  Blinking rapidly as I forced my tired mind to move back to the present, I wearily trudged out the sliding glass double doors of the Ft. Hood Commissary at the end of my ten-hour shift. I was thankful my workday was done, but I dreaded going home; there was so much work to do there it nearly overwhelmed me just to think about it. Since a widow could only live on post for six months after her spouse’s death, I had just a couple of weeks left in the small duplex I’d shared with Yancy before I’d be forced to move. Thanks to my husband’s life insurance and military death benefits, money wouldn’t be an issue for me, and finding an affordable place to live wouldn’t be a problem for a change. The real challenge I faced was that I still had over six years of memories to pack up in boxes and a good deal of them were less than pleasant. I’d given myself some time at the beginning, but had been working on it sporadically over the past month. Still, though, I’d only managed to completely pack up one of our two guest bedrooms and part of the kitchen. Tonight, my goal was to tackle the bedroom I’d shared with Yancy, and even now, my stomach twisted painfully as I thought of facing the ghosts that room held.

  Forcing one foot in front of the other as I walked outside, I nearly groaned out loud as a wave of muggy heat hit me squarely in my face. The humidity was killer, and I wished I had taken time to buy a soda before I came outside; something cold to drink would have gone a long way toward quenching my thirst and cooling me down now. “Oh, well,” I mumbled to myself as I nearly bumped into a wayward shopping cart so
meone had left parked haphazardly on the sidewalk. Sighing, I reached for the handle and pushed it toward the cart receptacle before it could roll into traffic and damage someone’s car. I was more than ready to get home and put my aching feet up after my extra-long shift, but returning the cart was the right thing to do, and I always did my best to do the right thing. It was one of the reasons I’d stayed with my cheating prick of a husband for as long as I had.

  Steering the cart around a small crowd of shoppers, I sighed in relief as I deposited it where it was supposed to go. Today had been an exceptionally busy day at my job not only because it was Friday, but also because this particular Friday had coincided with the dreaded first day of the month, otherwise known as military payday. Add on top of that a case lot sale the commissary was having (which for anyone who doesn’t know is just a way for extreme shoppers to buy cases of products in bulk at cheaper prices). Honestly, what kind of family needs a case of ketchup? I don’t think I could go through a case of ketchup in a friggin’ lifetime! At any rate, between the active duty families trying to fill their pantries and the retirees determined to stock up for the zombie apocalypse, today had been a certified nightmare inside the post’s grocery store. As one of the most experienced cashiers, I’d been assigned to work the slammed express lane. Things had been hectic all day, and aside from my twenty minute lunch break (of which I’d only gotten to take ten minutes to cram a candy bar down my throat), I’d been on my feet all day.