by M. Robinson
“Alright, only cuz you asked so nicely.”
I smiled, thinking I’d won. I couldn’t have been more wrong. All of a sudden he lifted me up by my waist, tearing my arms off of him, and hurling me into the air. I landed in the lake, submerged in water. My whole body going under.
“You asshole!” I shouted, coming up from under the water, swimming back over to him. Stumbling to my feet, once I was standing in knee-deep water. I looked down with my hands out at my sides. “Look! Look what you did to my pretty white dress! It’s ruined now!”
I peered up, glaring, ready to give him hell, but the expression on his face rendered me speechless. His eyes roamed my soaking wet body. Starting from my hips to my chest and up to my face with a predatory regard. Our eyes locked for a split second, and he reached up, wiping a droplet of water from my cheek. His warm thumb stirred emotions deep inside of me, causing my lips to part and my body to shudder. I swear I could see his walls slowly crumbling down, revealing a look I had never seen from him before.
As fast as it happened, it was gone. He shook it off, clearing his throat, stepping back and looking away from me. Lost in his own thoughts. He rubbed the back of his head while an uncomfortable silence filled the air between us.
I didn’t understand what had just happened, or what earned me that look, all I knew was…
I liked it.
A lot.
I followed the wake of his stare, looking down at my dress again. Finally realizing the white flowy cotton clung to my body like a second skin. Accentuating my curves and breasts. The outline of my cream bra and panties showed through the very see-through fabric.
I swallowed hard.
Suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable, but I didn’t move to cover myself up. For the first time in my life, I felt as though someone was looking at me as the woman I was becoming, and not the baby girl everyone kept saying I still was.
It wasn’t just anyone…
It was Creed.
And I loved that more than anything.
“My dress—” He took off his cut, throwing it on the shore beside my things. Reaching for the hem of his white shirt next, pulling it over his head and taking it off.
“Here,” he interrupted, throwing it at me. Still looking away.
I grinned. Bringing it up to my nose for a second before slipping it on. Wanting to memorize his scent. Giggling as I took in my appearance, “I look like I’m wearing a potato sack.”
He turned, facing me again, crossing his arms over his chest. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any more uncomfortable, this added a whole new spin on the awkwardness.
My mouth almost dropped open at the sight of the man standing in front of me. His body was so tense from what just happened between us, showing off every sleek muscle and tattoo. He was covered in ink, from his sculpted chest, down to his carved abs, emphasizing his eight-pack.
His boots were submerged in the lake, soaking the bottom of his jeans. The heaviness of the water dragged them down his slender waist, showing off a V right above his happy trail. Which, that in itself, did all sorts of things to me. His tattooed arms were defined, toned, and bulky, only adding to his tall, husky frame.
He was a real life bad boy.
I. Couldn’t. Breathe.
He followed my stare down to his exposed body, exactly the way I just did moments ago when he was peering at me. Looking back up to my face, he pursed his lips, trying not to grin. It was my turn to look away from him, even though I didn’t want to. My cheeks were flushed, my heart raced, rapidly beating hard against my chest, making me weak in the knees. His silence only made things more awkward between us.
I hated it as much as I loved it.
“Don’t look bad wearin’ my shirt, potato sack and all,” he remarked, finally breaking the silence.
I blushed, looking back over at him. Smirking, I replied, “You make it a habit of following girls out to the lake?”
“Not since I was twelve,” he drawled out, placing his hands in his pockets, accentuating his strong build.
It was baffling how a grown man could look bigger every time he came around. I didn’t see him or my brother very often, even though they were only stationed in Fort Bragg, two hours away from Oak Island. Both of them held high positions in the army which had them deployed on missions or in training a lot. Creed was Mason’s sergeant in their special forces unit. He was a weapons specialist, and Mason was an engineer who blew shit up.
I would always count down the days for their return, even if I only saw them for a few hours. Mason would come home on leave for a few weeks, but I never saw Creed when he did.
Things hadn’t been the same since Mason left over two-and-a-half years ago. My momma and Stacey were a nervous wreck on most days, worrying if their baby boy was okay. Especially when they were off on missions or deployed. Momma jumped every time the phone rang, thinking bad news was waiting for her on the other end.
Dad busied himself with work and acted like nothing had changed. But we all knew he was just as worried, he was good about keeping his emotions in check. Momma, on the other hand, was not. Life at home just wasn’t the same without Mason. It was definitely quieter, though.
We all missed him and prayed every night he was safe. Looking forward to his next letter he’d send monthly, whenever he could.
Not much had changed with me, except my body, which only had my dad implementing more rules. Adding to the never-ending list of things I couldn’t do. I was suffocating in my own home, more so than ever before. No one understood where I was coming from, it was a battle I’d never win, but I refused to stop fighting. I drowned myself in school, work, and surfing, when all I really wanted was to feel like I belonged.
“I didn’t know you were coming to visit with Mason. When did you guys get in? Wait… how did you know I was down here?” I asked, putting my hands on my hips, cocking my head to the side. Giving him a questioning glare.
He cleared his throat again, rasping in a hoarse tone, “Was sittin’ up at the diner, saw you rollin’ by.”
“Ah, so you did follow me.”
“Why the sad song, Pippin’?” he asked, ignoring my question. “Boy break your heart? I’ll break his fuckin’ legs.”
I laughed for what felt like the first time in months. “You need boys to talk to you before they can break your heart,” I confessed, walking to my stuff by the shoreline.
I sat down, leaning back on my hands, leaving my feet dangling in the lake. Creed followed, sitting beside me, putting his cut back on. He pulled out his cigarettes.
“Look what you did.” He nodded, throwing the wet pack of smokes in between us.
“Serves you right. They’re bad for you anyway.”
“Is that right?” he drawled out, sarcastically. “Never heard that one before.”
“Fine.” I shrugged. “I’ll start smoking too then.”
“The fuck you are,” he scoffed out, chuckling. “So what’s this about boys not talkin’ to ya?” Staring at the side of my face.
I shrugged again not knowing what to say.
“Don’t need boys to talk to ya anyway. Got enough men in your life to make up for those little shits.”
I rolled my eyes. “You sound like my dad. Between him and my uncles, no guys have even made it to the front door. I’m almost fifteen, Creed, and I’ve never even been kissed. Do you know what it’s like to be the only girl in ninth grade who’s never been on a date or been kissed?” I questioned, looking up at him. “All my friends have, it’s all they talk about when we hang out, which isn’t often anymore. Most of them already have boyfriends who they spend every waking moment with.” Sighing, I took a deep breath.
“Never said a thing about it in your letters.”
“You want to hear about my love life or lack thereof?” I arched an eyebrow. “You know how my dad is… you think that’s changed? Hell no. It’s only gotten worse, especially since Mason took off. Bo doesn’t cause half of the trouble he did. They h
ave nothing to do but focus on me.”
“You’re a baby girl,” he simply stated.
“Is that why you never write me back?”
He placed his hands on his knees. “Don’t think your daddy would appreciate that.”
“Ugh!” I blurted, knowing he was right. He would lose his shit if a letter from Creed came addressed to me. “It’s so frustrating. I can’t date. I can barely leave my house without my dad on my ass, asking me where I’m going. He’s never going to let me grow up. There’s a dance at school next week and I didn’t even get asked, nor am I allowed to go. I’m going to end up alone with twenty cats, wearing shirts that say ‘Meow’s it going.’”
He let out a throaty laugh from deep within his chest.
My eyes widened, caught off guard by his reaction. “It’s not funny! I’m gonna be the cat lady, and you’re laughing!”
“I’ll lay it out for you, Pippin,” he muttered through his laughter, shaking his head. “Boys your age just wanna get laid. Shit… men in general just wanna piece of ass. They don’t care about anythin’ but your legs spreadin’, especially when their balls just dropped. And the bullshit they feed is just so you’ll let ‘em in.”
“Oh…” I jerked back, glancing over at him. “Were you… I mean… you know… did you… do stuff… you know, like that too?”
“Naw, sweetheart. I’m an honest asshole.”
“What about Autumn? I thought she was your girlfriend. I mean… she was… gorgeous. I wish I looked like her.”
He narrowed his eyes at me, contemplating what he was going to say. “Don’t ever try to be somethin’ you ain’t. You’re perfect the way you are, yeah?”
My belly fluttered, but I warily nodded, looking back out at the water.
“To hell with those little shits who won’t stand up for you. You’ll meet a man one day who’ll love ya and show ya. Takin’ names for whoever steps in his fuckin’ way. And he’ll be one lucky bastard to have you as his woman by his side.”
“You really think so?”
“I know so. You’re only gonna be fifteen, sweetheart, got your whole life ahead of ya.”
I smiled, big and wide.
I knew I was still young. I knew Creed was a lot older than I was, always would be. I knew we were from opposite sides of the tracks, always had been. Probably always would be. But I also knew right then and there, I wanted him to be that man in my life. The one he just described with so much sincerity and love in his voice.
Knowing with every last beat of my still young heart…
I always had.
EIGHTEEN
CREED
I walked into the debriefing tent just after zero-four-hundred in the morning to receive instructions on our next mission. It was the tail-end of my third deployment to Afghanistan since entering the military for over three years prior. I hadn’t been home in six months.
The debriefing tents were like classrooms, with rows of desks and folding chairs. All situated around white boards with instructions and notes. Pictures of enemies, territories, and intelligence projected up on a screen. Who needed to be found and taken down.
Dead or fucking alive.
The last four months of this deployment had been pure Hell on earth.
The same old bullshit every single day on repeat. Embarking on endless foot-patrol missions that would last for two to three weeks at a time. Literally eating shit, having no clue what it really was. It was either choke it down or fucking starve. We took turns sleeping in ditches or in the mud with one eye open, waiting for the insurgents to emerge from the goddamn hills. Always feeling like we were being watched. Our finger on the trigger of our guns at all times, ready to unleash on the enemies at any given moment.
Days were long and the nights even longer.
We climbed every fucking mountain. Searching every cave for a man I started to believe didn’t fucking exist to begin with. Raiding villages, gaining intel that led us nowhere but chasing our own fucking asses. Sniffing out insurgents like fucking rabid dogs. Using any measures necessary to get the cocksuckers to fucking talk.
The crazy part about all of it was being back in Afghanistan, almost felt like home. We all felt that way. Being a civilian was much harder than being a solider. War will fuck you up to the point where nothing would make sense when you came back to the states. Our minds always on the battlefield along with the souls we’d fucking taken. That was another thing the military didn’t prepare you for.
Real life.
Readjusting to normal life was the hardest fucking pill to swallow. It was so fucking difficult to switch your normalcy back on, and turn off the ‘kill or be killed’ mentality at all times of the day. The littlest things like a lawn mower starting, or a ceiling fan spinning around could trigger things in my mind that I didn’t even fucking know were there. A momentary lapse in judgment would occur between not knowing where you were, or how you should react.
I lived and breathed war for months at a time. We were under constant attack—car bombs, suicide bombers, roadside bombs, mortars, motherfuckers looking at you like they fucking hated you, day in and day out.
I killed enemies.
I lost brothers.
Exactly like the MC.
The long periods of violence were a psychological beating. In the real world, I was suspicious, tightly wound, and easily angered. If I thought my temper was bad before, well I couldn’t have been more wrong about that. I'd wake up several times throughout the night, freaking the fuck out that I couldn’t find my gun. The fight or flight mentality I had, became just fight.
It now became my life.
Always waiting for the other shoe to fucking drop, always on alert, always waiting to kill what I couldn't fucking see.
These missions all required the same thing, finesse and stealth-like abilities, which only a hand full of special operations teams could pull off. My team, the one I was in charge of, was the best of the fucking best, a group of ruthless motherfuckers who feared nothing. Dropped into the shittiest conditions imaginable, enduring the worst possible situations known to man.
And coming back for more.
We headed into the drop zone that day, active combat duty. About fifteen miles out we were informed to get ready. A group of assholes was already spotted heading in our direction by another U.S. team of soldiers. My unit bunked down in a wooded area about two miles from some local villages and started scouting the area. Rifles loaded and fucking ready to shoot, stepping one foot in front of the other, listening all around for any sign of the fuckers.
I put my left hand up, signaling to continue. “All clear,” I informed through my radio.
Looking through my scope, turning right and left. We trucked through the woods, trying to be as invisible as possible. Blending in with nature. Not even my breathing could get out of sync. The more treacherous the situation, the calmer I was.
See, my worst nightmares had already come true, there was nothing left for me to fear but fear itself.
My adrenaline worked overtime, knowing the enemy was close, but I had no visual at all. All my actions and orders needed to be calculated and precise. My hearing only heightened with every step I took toward the direction of danger.
Suddenly, screams echoed in the distance, halting our descent. I signaled my team to stop, pointing to my ear and then out front of me. More commotion just outside the village we were approaching filled the wooded area. A whizzing noise sounded to my right, instantly followed by a hard thud. My initial instinct was to fall to the ground, but I ignored that feeling.
“Fuck! Get down!” I bellowed through my radio. Looking over to find Andrews, laying on his back a few feet away, not moving. Blood ran down his face, into the earth. My team took cover, ducking behind trees, lying on their stomachs in the mud. Scoping the area to find the motherfucker who opened fire. Four or five Afghani militants were coming upon us fast.
There was no time to think.
No time to breathe.
No time to get the fuck out of there.
“Take those motherfuckers out! Now!” I shouted over the noise of bullets flying inches away from taking my life. Women screaming, shots blaring with open fire all around as I made my way to him.
“Andrews! You stay with us! Do you hear me? Fight. Motherfucker! Today is not your day to die!” I screamed, wading through the mud, ducking left and right. Dodging the copper rounds from the enemies and my own men, trying to get over to him. Another bullet flew past me, this time grazing my left shoulder.
“Ughhhhh…Fuck!” I gritted, bringing my right hand up to the wound, feeling how bad I was hit. Blood came oozing out of my arm onto my fingers. “Fucking cocksucker!”
Grabbing my rifle, I aimed right at the asshole responsible, shooting his ass down dead in his tracks. Falling to my knees next to Andrews who was still unresponsive. I didn’t have to check for a pulse, I knew by the gaping hole in his forehead he was gone. I stripped him of his gun and ammo, grabbing his helmet that had a picture of his wife Deb and their brand-new baby girl secured in it. A letter peeking out through his pocket.
I did the sign of the cross over his body, muttering, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and all that fucking shit.”
The first time we lost one of our own in the line of duty I didn’t know how to send off the soldier, so I found myself doing the exact same sentiment I had seen my father do too many goddamn times to count. I was never a religious man, and that seemed better than saying nothing at all.
“I’m so sorry, brother… we will take every last one of these bastards down.”
“Creed!” Mason yelled, bringing my attention to him, pointing north.
I looked up through the clearing, revealing a scene of complete horror unfolding in the village. Insurgents dragging girls out of the village school by their hair, kicking and screaming. I knew what was in the cards for these girls, and it took every last fiber of my being not to rush in there and take down every last son of a bitch.
Mason came running over, dodging bullets and falling next to us. Breaking me away from the scene. “Creed, you hit?”
