For Love of Valor: A Bad Boy Military Romance

by Samantha Westlake

  "Rich, coming from the guy who seems to only move back and forth between the bar and the master bathroom's toilet," Sebastian answered immediately. He reached back behind him and grabbed the bottle of champagne out of its ice bucket. "Drink?"

  After Dr. Linda's questioning, I definitely needed one. I held out my glass to Sebastian, and he filled it up with bubbly wine. Not my favorite drink, but hey, any port in a storm. I downed it in a couple gulps, picking up the leather-bound menu sitting in front of me on the table.

  "You two order yet?" I asked, deciding on the ribeye. I'd had it before here, but it always tasted great.

  They nodded, so I flagged down a waiter and put in my order. By the time that the young man darted off to the kitchen, Teddy had another uncomfortable topic of conversation loaded and ready to go.

  "Anything new with our mum?" he asked, looking expectantly at me.

  I sighed. "You know, Teddy, there's nothing stopping you from going to visit her," I pointed out. "We're all allowed as guests in the assisted living home."

  "Yeah, well, some of us have actual jobs," Teddy tried, but Sebastian sat forward at this weak excuse.

  "Don't give us that, Teddy," he snorted scornfully. "You don't need to work – you've got the same trust fund setup as the rest of us. I don't know why you keep on torturing yourself like that. I mean, getting up every morning at eight? AM?" He shuddered at the thought.

  "It's not that I get up at eight in the morning," Teddy corrected with a sigh of the perennially suffering. "That's what time work starts."

  "That's even worse!" Sebastian tipped his glass of champagne in Teddy's direction, spilling a few drops on the tablecloth. "Why not just give it up, be an indulgent playboy like me? Or a cripple who tries to lose himself in cheap booze and young women, like our older brother Richard?"

  I chucked a bread roll at Sebastian's head. "Stop picking on Teddy, Seb."

  Sebastian easily dodged the roll. "Yeah, the sheriff wakes from his drunken stupor for long enough to defend the poor, weak middle brother," he mocked. "Next time you're at the VA, why don't you see if they're hiring there? You could be an orderly, wear scrubs and clean up old men when they shit themselves."

  "Seb, if our mother could hear you talking like that-" Teddy started, but Sebastian spun around before he could finish the sentence.

  "She'd what?" he growled savagely. "Nothing, that's what, because she can't fucking remember anything except for our names, half the time! Why don't you stop trying to act like her? At least put on a wig and padded bra, if you're going to be the fucking voice of morality around here!"

  This time, however, Teddy wasn't going to back down. "Well, at least I can still manage some sense of morality!" he answered, glaring back at Sebastian and throwing his napkin down beside his empty plate like a duelist throwing down a gauntlet. "That's more than you can muster up! What's this I hear about you using drugs, now?"

  "I'm dealing, not using – and hey, speaking of money, I bet that I'm earning more than you make at your stupid engineering job-"

  "She was a psychiatrist," I blurted out.

  Both of my brothers paused for a moment at my abrupt exclamation, turning to look at me in surprise and confusion. "What's that?" Sebastian asked.

  I sighed. "The reason I was late is because I got referred to a psychiatrist," I said, looking down at my lap, where my hands were busy crumpling the cloth napkin into a wrinkled ball. "She seems to think that I've got some sort of internal issues left over from the service, and wants me to talk it out with her."

  For a moment, both of my brothers just stared at me, words apparently failing them. During this prolonged, uncomfortable moment of silence, the waiters arrived with our food, swiftly depositing hot plates in front of us before discreetly vanishing.

  None of us moved to take a bite, just sitting there. I waited miserably for my brothers' reactions, wondering what in the world had possessed me to blurt it out in the first place.

  Teddy managed to recover the power of speech first. "Well, I guess that's okay," he admitted, sounding out the words as if he wasn't quite certain of them even as he spoke. "This might be good for you. It does seem like you've been holding onto some sort of anger since your last deployment."

  Sebastian, meanwhile, had focused on a different point of my revelation. "She?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows. "Not some old dude with a beard?"

  "That's what I expected, too," I said to him. "But no, she's younger. Dr. Linda Bisson. Seems pretty harmless, and apparently she's got some sort of experience at talking with military people."

  "Hot?" came the next question from my idiot youngest brother.

  "What are you, crazy?" I retorted. "If there's one thing that I'm not going to do with the woman who wants to hear my secrets, it's think about sleeping with her!"

  "Oh, there wouldn't be much sleeping involved," Seb countered, waggling his eyebrows at me in the most inappropriate way possible. "Although maybe for you, there might be, since you'll need to keep taking naps between bouts. Because you're old," he added, just in case I didn't understand the insult.

  I decided that the high road would be to ignore him. Instead, I picked up my knife and fork and cut a big bite of the still-steaming steak in front of me. I popped it in my mouth, savoring the rush of fresh juices, that meaty umami taste of perfectly cooked medium rare meat. I chewed, looking at Sebastian, until it became clear that I wasn't going to rise to his bait.

  "Love these monthly Stone family dinners," Teddy muttered, apparently to himself. "Always so great to see you two again, catch up on all the wonderful goings-on in your lives. Really makes me feel even more tempted to move back into our parents' house with you two."

  "Like we'd take you back," Sebastian countered. "You're the one who chose to move out, go get that stupid little house. No rushing back to us when your only toilet gets clogged."

  "At least I know how to unclog it," Teddy replied. "Did your single tour in the Army teach you that, Seb? Or did you never make it past the scrubbing-the-toilets-clean-with-a-toothbrush phase of the Army before dropping out?"

  "Hell, I'll take that over having to be an egghead and having to do math every day," Seb said, the big mouthful of fried oyster in his mouth slightly muffling his words. "Going into the Air Force, but never getting to fly a plane? Sounds like hell."

  I ate my steak and did my best to tune out my brothers' arguing. Maybe it was a good thing that I was going to be talking with Dr. Linda again, I admitted reluctantly to myself. At first, the idea sounded exactly like how Sebastian had described it, but as I listened to my two closest family members – and really, my only friends – squabble with each other, I was starting to think that maybe therapy wasn't the worst idea for me to consider.

  And hell, maybe after Dr. Linda learned how fucked-up my family really was, she might be willing to just give me a prescription for all the pills that I needed.

  After dinner, after Teddy left the restaurant, Sebastian lingered, glancing over at me in a rather sneaky manner. "Hey, Rich," he called, from where he lurked near the valet station.

  I handed my ticket stub over to the valet before moving closer to my brother. "What, are you trying to sell me some shitty, low-grade weed?"

  "Not weed," he answered. "But look, if you need to get your hands on some painkillers, I might be able to help you out."

  "Really?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. "So Teddy's right, and you're dealing drugs, now?"

  "Not dealing, exactly," Sebastian answered, flicking his eyes back and forth, which only succeeded in making him look even shiftier. "But I know someone who can get you what you need, let's just leave it at that."

  "Thanks, Seb," I said, patting him on the shoulder and deciding to take this as a warm brotherly gesture, rather than an attempt to drum up more business. It wasn't like he needed the money, anyway. He had to just be doing it for the thrill. "But I think that maybe it will be okay for me to talk with this woman. Might actually help me."

  "Well, let me kn
ow if you need anything," he answered, and surprised me by giving me a pat on the back before heading out of the restaurant. "I'm here for you, bro."

  And then, halfway to the door, he ruined it, of course. "If you're out of the way, there's more barely legal girls for me," he called out, ducking out of the restaurant before I could throw a mint at his stupid face.

  Chapter Six

  LINDA

  *

  "Cheers to you, Linda!" Callie called out, holding up her glass so that she could clink it against my own. "Your very first client! This is huge!"

  "First independent client," I corrected her, although even this minor detail wasn't enough to dampen the smile on my face. "I worked with plenty of people through the hospital system before setting out to start my own practice, Callie."

  Rolling her eyes, my best friend waggled her hand first one direction, and then the other. "Yeah, whatever," she said, brushing this minor detail aside. "We're celebrating you, so don't ruin it – drink up, instead!"

  "Drinking up now," I answered, doing as commanded and taking a swallow of my mimosa.

  Callie, meanwhile, drained her glass and then held it up high above her head, apparently expecting a waiter to materialize out of thin air and refill it for her. "Oh, come on," she said in slightly more annoyed tones after a minute, lowering her hand back down. "I should be enjoying a second-"

  "Fourth," I murmured under my breath.

  "-drink right now! Linda, why do we keep on coming to this place to have our friend brunches on weekends?"

  "Because it's cheap?" I answered her. "Or because it's right near both of our apartments? Or because you always flirt with that handsome waiter who works here on the weekends to earn extra college money?"

  "Yeah, that's why," Callie murmured after a moment, her eyes focused on something behind me. "Good memory, bestie."

  I sighed. "The cute waiter's behind me, isn't he?"

  "Of course not! I'm totally listening to you- oh, wait, look cool! He's coming over here now." Quickly, Callie reached up and ran a hand over her head, not that her short, dark brown hair needed any corrections. A few years ago, she'd switched to a pixie cut, and I had to admit that, unlike most women, Callie had both the high cheekbones and the youthful features to make it really work for her.

  The waiter paused at our table, his eyes lingering first on Callie's empty champagne flute, and then on her beaming smile. "Another mimosa for you, miss?" he asked in a buttery baritone.

  "Yes, please!" Callie fluttered her lashes dramatically, and the waiter chuckled as he took her empty glass and walked away. My best friend then turned to watch him leave, not even bothering to disguise how blatantly she checked out the man's ass in his black pants.

  I wasn't sure if I was embarrassed for her, or envious of her self-confidence. "Try to not ruin one of our weekend brunches, would you?" I groaned.

  Callie finally turned back to face me after the waiter disappeared into the kitchen area. "Okay, I'm back in," she said, clearly having missed every word of my most recent sentence. "So, focus back on you – new client, huh? What's he like? Or is it a she? Give me all of the dirty details!"

  I raised my eyebrows back at her. "Callie, you know I can't tell you any of that," I pointed out. "Confidentiality exists between a doctor and a patient. How would you like it if your gynecologist started telling everyone about how your last pelvic exam turned out? How would you like it if he told that cute waiter about whether you shaved recently or not?"

  "Wouldn't be the end of the world if he was into it," Callie muttered, but I saw her face redden, and she looked down at her plate of eggs for a moment. "Okay, fine. But can you tell me anything about this client at all, then? Or can we return back to the topic of how I can convince that waiter to let me slip back into the stockroom with him?"

  "Anything but that!" I considered for a second. "Okay, well, this patient was referred because of a possible painkiller addiction, but even after one meeting, I think that there's something else going on. They were very confrontational, which is to be expected – but when I gave them a prescription for a week's worth of pills, they got even more upset."

  "Why's that unusual?" she asked.

  "Well, most addicts are happy to get their hands on anything, even if it's only a short-term fix," I explained. "I'm giving this patient a week's supply of pills – that's more than enough for them to get high, if the high was all they were after. But because they got upset instead, I suspect that they have something else eating away at them, something that they're simply not yet fully ready to confront."

  "Sounds like most men, to be honest," Callie said. "Are you sure that this guy needs therapy?" She paused, considering. "Or maybe all men need therapy," she added in considering tones.

  For Callie, that was pretty deep thinking. "If it's that second one, then hopefully I'll pick up some more clients in short order," I said lightly, taking advantage of the brief lull in conversation to grab another forkful of my eggs Benedict.

  Any other words from Callie were forestalled by the return of the sexy male waiter, bearing her refilled mimosa glass and a smile. "Here you are," he said, setting it down in front of Callie. "Anything else that I can get you?"

  "Yeah, hot stuff, how about your number?" Callie replied, and I choked loudly on my bite of eggs.

  Incredibly, neither Callie nor the waiter moved to help me! They both smiled at each other, eyes filled with smoldering attraction, even as I turned red and pounded on my chest, just feet away. "I'm pretty sure that I'm not supposed to hand my number out to customers," the waiter said, although he didn't seem to be in any hurry to move away from our table.

  "Oh, I can get around that," Callie fired back. "I'll leave my number for you, and you can just agree to call me!"

  Finally, my eyes watering, I managed to clear my airway. Only after I coughed a few more times, sucking in gasps of precious oxygen, did Callie finally look my way.

  "You okay?" she asked, as if people normally started hacking and gasping around her all the time.

  I just glared back at her, still not quite ready to speak. The waiter, perhaps sensing a bit of tension developing between us, gave Callie one last seductive smile before moving away to check on his other tables.

  "You're not upset that I asked him out before you, are you?" Callie asked, as I reached for my water glass and took a few sips to try and calm my still-spasming throat. "Because if you want him, I'm happy to let you take him instead, or we could share-"

  "No, I'm upset that you didn't check to see if I was okay!" I finally managed to answer, my eyes still narrowed. "And really, just asking him out without any other small talk? Do you even know his name?"

  "Sure I do – it's Carlton, it's on his name tag," she answered. "And come on, Lindy, it's the twenty-first century! Modern times! Now, women are empowered, and we don't need to hang back and wait for the man to always make the first move!"

  I didn't reply, but Callie must have seen something in my face. She leaned forward, a new spark of interest glinting in her eyes. "And speaking of which – how long has it been for you?" she asked.

  "How long since what?" I said guardedly, trying to dodge the question.

  She wasn't going to be put off, however. "You know exactly what I'm asking," Callie answered, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms across her shapely little chest. Both Callie and I weighed approximately the same, but my six inches of height over her meant that her fit and toned curves weren't present on my body. Instead, I sometimes thought in despair when I looked in the mirror, I looked more like a bunch of knobbly sticks that someone had stuffed into a pair of jeans that were a couple of years out of style. Where Callie had firm, round, surprisingly still perky breasts that peeked invitingly out of her necklines, I still felt, at age thirty, like I needed to stuff my bra with tissues. My metabolism still kept most of the unhealthy snack food off of my arms and hips, but I definitely didn't have Callie's toned arms and body. "When was the last time that someone asked you ou
t? Or even flirted with you?"

  The answer to that question, I knew, would be embarrassing – especially since I could never seem to lie to Callie. I tried to think back and recall any instance, no matter how small, when someone had flirted with me.

  One instance did spring to mind, but it wasn't exactly a fond memory. Just a couple days ago, when Richard Stone sat in my office, he'd lazily raked my body with his eyes, clearly stripping me naked in his mind and thinking about doing dirty things to me. I certainly hadn't welcomed that challenge to my professionalism at the time, but aside from that single, isolated instance...

  "Okay, maybe it's been a while," I reluctantly admitted. Richard's unwelcome examination of my figure didn't count, I figured, since he'd clearly meant to unnerve me, rather than to seduce me. "But I've got other things on my mind at the moment. I'm trying to get my business going, somehow start turning a profit before I run out of money to keep paying my lease..."

  Callie waved these totally valid concerns aside. "All of that can still happen if you've got a romantic life," she insisted. "And you know what? I think that some of my best ideas come just after an orgasm."

  "Callie!" My eyes widened in shock, and I frantically looked around to see if anyone else had overheard that last word. "That is definitely NOT what I need!"

  "Are you sure?" she insisted, smiling a little at how easily she'd wormed her way under my skin. "When was the last time you had one? Even on your own, flying solo?"

  Incredibly, I couldn't remember the last time I'd experienced anything like an orgasm, either. Over these last few months, I'd simply felt too tired, after long days of calling hospitals, searching for patients, desperately working to try and drum up business. When I arrived back at my cheap little apartment after these long days, I barely had the energy to crawl into my pajamas before flopping down on my bed.

  "Look, while I usually appreciate your advice," I said firmly, "but right now, I need to keep my mind focused on business, instead of trying to look for a guy who's interested in anything besides laying on my couch and pouring out his secrets so that I can help him get over his mental trauma."