Loved by a Soldier: A Military Romance Collection

by Alison Mello

  Zachary grimaced. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Well I did, and they are about to send me a brochure. Somebody needed to do something before your kids lost a father. How do you expect them to think of you? The drunk that abused their mother? Is that the kind of legacy you want to leave behind?”

  “Whatever, dude, you can check yourself in.” Zachary headed for the door.

  “You’ll fix this, Zach. I’ll make sure of it!” Corey yelled after him.

  Half of the funds from his parents’ estate was used to purchase the home his wife and kids lived in. There was sufficient money left from an investment Zachary put away for a rainy day that was more than enough to provide shelter over his head. Alison could take the house, but he was not willing to have the entire rug pulled from under his feet. At least Corey understood that in his dealings with Alison and the bloodsucking lawyers she’d hired. Her unwillingness to compromise her demands shook his core. He understood he’d abused her in many forms, but in his defense, he was sick, suffered blackouts that were out of his control. Anything done under that condition must be pardoned, right?

  ***

  The composed sound of gentle wind whistled in Zachary’s ears as he threw his luggage into the back of his Jeep. A beautiful fall morning, the air was cool and crisp, and the smell was pleasantly revitalizing. He sensed optimism. He beamed. It was an amazing feeling he rarely experienced. He hopped into his 2015 Jeep Wrangler and drove off. He accepted Corey’s help and took up his offer to live in his abandoned bachelor pad until he figured out what to do next. His first group session was this afternoon, and while he was clueless about what to expect, he remained positive. A counter offer was presented to Alison and her lawyers at Corey’s persistence, their response yet to be received. Zachary wanted no involvement in the process. In a peculiar manner, he saw himself as the victim, not her. He was abandoned and left for dead. He was sick, and the person he trusted the most betrayed him. His ego and control over her banned him from fully acknowledging the pain he caused her.

  As he took the exit off I-705, heading into downtown Tacoma, he thought of retreating. Why was he so nervous about these meetings? It was for the greater good, especially for his kids. If Corey’s plan fell through, he’d be expected to prove himself. Why was he so quick to abandon his kids and forego his duties? Was it perhaps due to the strange relationship he had with his father? These were issues that needed to be addressed on a one-on-one basis with Dr. Clark.

  He wandered through the hallway in search of the right room. There were many rooms with the doors closed, active sessions, he deduced. His assigned room was room six, located at the end of the hallway. He sighed deeply before twisting the doorknob.

  “Here goes nothing,” he mumbled to himself. The meeting was already in session when he arrived. The leader, who was actively showering the group with positive words, paused at the sight of Zachary. He stood up to greet him.

  “Mr. Reid, welcome. I’m glad you made it.” He stretched his hand for a handshake.

  Zachary took his hand. The group was small, five frantic individuals.

  “Please take a seat and join in. I’m Joshua, by the way.”

  Joshua’s salt and pepper hair was cut low, thick bushy eyebrows, pale yellow skin, and alert blue eyes. He walked with a slight limp, favoring his right leg.

  The tense atmosphere was awkward, as though he’d walked into something official. He sat down in an empty seat across from the leader, shying away from all six sets of eyes on him. It was moments like these that produced his panic attacks. He tried to avoid eye contact with Joshua, who seemed eager to hear him speak. Just as he feared, Joshua addressed him directly.

  “Since you are new to the group, Zachary…I can call you Zachary, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “Please introduce yourself. A few things, nothing major, like how long you served, your battalion, and the location of your last tour.” He crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair.

  “Zachary Reid, Third Battalion, served eight years, three in active and five in reserve, my last tour lasted about eighteen months before I was discharged.” He barely made eye contact with anyone in the room.

  “Semper fi,” a few muffled responses echoed around the room.

  “Semper fi,” he repeated with a light grin.

  “Thank you, Zachary. I am Dr. Joshua Hoffman, and I specialize in clinical and counseling psychology. As the rest already know, I have been doing this for fifteen years and am quite knowledgeable in this field. I am a veteran myself.”

  “Yeah? Where did you serve?” Zachary asked.

  “Vietnam 1973 to ’75.” He gave a knowing nod. “Feel free to call anytime you need to talk or find yourself in a tough spot. I’m flexible.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Zachary responded with the utmost respect. He rubbed the back of his neck, and his tensed muscles began to loosen. Being in the midst of these heroes was exactly what he needed. It was like his long-lost family. He unwound even more when Dr. Hoffman clarified the benefits of the sessions. Dr. Hoffman turned his focus to the man to his left and urged him to continue sharing his story.

  “As most of you may already know, my name is Eric Sadoff. I gave the Marines five years of my life before my dishonorable discharge. My depression began when I accidentally shot and killed a woman and her two sons. It was tough back then. You could hardly tell the difference between an enemy and a harmless civilian. One fateful night, we received intelligence that the militia was headed toward our base. Our job was to protect the villagers from these savages. The information we received was accurate, and we were engaged in a bloody gunfight with them hours later. One of their methods of operation was to use kids and women to lure us into the open. That night, that tactic was successfully used, and I fell prey. Half of my team was slaughtered alongside a few French soldiers posted with us. I lost all confidence in humanity after that night. Everyone was a threat in my eyes. One day, a mother was carrying her two young sons and came to us for aid. She was running from the rebels who had killed her husband and her eldest son. Unluckily for her, I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. My tunnel vision barred me from protecting this family. I sought help after the massacre, yet I did not receive the adequate care I needed. I killed the woman and her sons. You see, in my mind, they were the enemy. What my eyes and brains saw weren’t victims. I saw danger, and I eliminated it. My life hasn’t been the same since. My hands are soiled with innocent blood. I don’t deserve to be alive. Each month I receive letters of my fate saying my case is under review. It’s not about money or my benefits. What I need is help, real help. I suffer from hallucinations and anxiety attacks. I see the shadows of the two boys lurking in the dark. I hear the cries of their mother in my head.”

  When he stopped talking, the room quieted. The atmosphere was pensive. Eric rubbed his elbow vigorously, a habit he demonstrated when under extreme distress. In that moment, Zachary was anything but alone. The chilling story took a piece of him as he ruminated about his own demons.

  CHAPTER 6

  Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering could the soul be strengthened, vision cleared, ambition inspired, and success achieved.

  ~Helen Keller

  2:15 p.m.-William:

  Where are you? Doctor’s appointments do not take a whole day. You better not be cheating on me. Call me back!

  2:52 p.m.-William:

  Why haven’t you answered any of my calls and messages? Where are you, Courtney?

  4:48 p.m.-William:

  You better be dead. That’s the only acceptable excuse for your insolence.

  6:27 p.m.-William:

  I am home and you are not here. I am worried, Courtney. Where are you?

  10:18 p.m.-William:

  I checked the hospitals and called the police. I can’t file a missing person’s report until morning since it hasn’t been 24 hours. If you are seeing this and you are alright, just l
et me know. Your phone is obviously on. I know you haven’t left me because your possessions are intact. Courtney, call me!

  5:56 a.m.-William:

  I am on my way to the police station, if you are reading this, call me before I get there.

  From William J. Peterson

  10:12 a.m.–Email:

  Subject: WHERE ARE YOU!!!???!

  A report has been filed though somewhere deep down I doubt you’ve been taken or dead. I do hope you are, because this is the most stupid thing you’ve ever done. How dare you actually think you can walk away from me, you slut? I took you from the gutter and made an honest woman out of you and this is how you repay me? You better run and hide like the coward you are because when I catch you, you’ll wish you never knew me.

  Courtney laid rigid at the bottom of a bunk bed in the corner of the room, staring in horror at her phone. Nothing about his conduct stunned her. William was quite predictable. Today would be her first day of restoration, and she was prepared to face whatever the day brought. The night before was a tough one, and she continuously questioned her decision. There were many instances where she was tempted to submit to William’s orders, but she managed to control her fears. She thought it was a great start. She thought about the luxurious life she’d lived over the last five years, the expensive clothing, cars, food she delighted in, all at the expense of her peace. She was deeply concerned about how she was going to survive without the extravagant lifestyle she was accustomed to. What a fool she had been to sign that prenuptial. For years, that was the weapon William had used to intimidate her. And it worked. As much as she tried to convince herself to leave him over the last few years, she was terrified of the future and weak to her vain desires.

  Her first meeting was in an hour, and she was ready to get it over with. She reached into her duffle bag for a t-shirt and threw it over the same jeans she wore the day before. Once again, she was a struggling artist, living in a tiny apartment before her prosperous knight swept her off her feet. Her life had turned upside-down in twenty-four hours right before her eyes.

  As the cab she sat in took a turn off the street she now resided on, she noticed a diner and thought of picking up an application after the meeting. She needed to save some money and fast in order to flee the state and be able to afford a decent place to live. She might have come from nothing, but she knew her worth, and it was more than this.

  “Down the hallway to your right,” a stranger guided her to her assigned meeting room. She passed by a couple of closed doors before she found hers. Timidly, she made her way to an unoccupied seat. She was right on time. It seemed as though they were waiting on a couple more to show up. The three women present welcomed her with pitiful stares that only lasted a few seconds before they all returned to their melancholy moods.

  “Hi, you must be Courtney.” A middle-aged woman with bright blonde highlights grinned at her. Courtney hesitated for a few seconds before giving the woman a light nod. “I am Renee, the therapist. We spoke on the phone.”

  “Yes, of course. Nice to meet you.” Courtney shook her hand.

  “Hello, ladies. I’m sure you’ve all met Courtney,” Renee announced, and the response in the room was lukewarm. She set a briefcase on the floor beside her seat and returned her attention to Courtney. “This is a small, intimate group. We are all here not to judge or ridicule, but to help and empower each other. Do not feel overwhelmed or anxious. What we do is share our stories, listen to others, and offer each other emotional support. Since this is your first class, you can just listen in and contribute in the next if you are not comfortable yet. We understand.”

  All four women regarded her in anticipation of her answer. Courtney hated the surge of anxiety filling her gut and decided to break the ice and get it over with. She cleared her throat, keeping her focus on Renee, a trick she taught herself when speaking in public. Concentrating on just one person always pacified her nerves.

  “I’d like to share a little bit about myself today, if y’all don’t mind.”

  “That’s good!” Renee praised.

  “I won’t bore everyone with the details. I am here today because I have been a victim of all kinds of abuse you can imagine. From physical, to verbal, to emotional, and a multiple rape victim.” She paused as the women moaned in pity. Some seemed relieved when they realized she had it worse than them. Courtney disregarded the pitiful stares and continued. “After a while, the abuse began to feel normal, and I accepted it as the norm, convincing myself I deserved it. I shouldn’t have spoken to him in that manner, I didn’t cook his meal at the right temperature, he told me not to wear that dress and I disobeyed…He punished me by physically causing damage to my body. He’d buy flowers and jewelry the next day and apologize. I accepted them, I always accepted, and agreed with him that I was in the wrong. I’d apology for defying him. It went on for four years. Technically our marriage lasted a year, and the rest of the years, I was his slave to do as he pleased. I…” She hitched a breath, allowing her emotions to conquer her. Tears tumbled down her cheeks. She accepted a tissue from the lady on her right and cleared her throat before proceeding. “I am here because I realize I need to do better for myself. I deserve much more, so here I am.” She sniffled and dropped her head.

  “Thank you, Courtney. That was extremely brave, and believe it or not, you are on the right path to a fresh start.”

  ***

  She fidgeted with her engagement ring on her left ring finger while she waited anxiously for the manager. She had asked a server if they were hiring and decided to see the manager based on the waitress’s optimistic feedback.

  “Yes, ma’am?” A fragile old man in a wrinkled blue shirt and khaki pants regarded her through narrowed eyes. He seemed out of place, as if he’d just woken up in a dumpster. Appalled by his appearance, Courtney shied away.

  “Searching for work?” He stopped in front of her.

  “Yes!” she responded enthusiastically after realizing he was the manager.

  “When can you start?”

  What? That’s it? she thought.

  “Anytime you want me to.”

  His eyes judged her as he stared down at her diamond-encrusted ring, her expensive shoes and purse. “Well, it’s nothing fancy. If you want the job, you got it. Get here at seven in the morning. You must always be in uniform—they are in the back—and do not fraternize with the customers. It’s a six-hour shift, and it pays $3.25.”

  “An hour?” she exclaimed.

  “Yes, my lady, a full hour.” He shot her a get off your high horse look. “Do you think you could manage it? If not, don’t waste my time. I have work to do.”

  “Yes, I can, thank you.”

  “See you tomorrow.” He walked away, calling back, “Oh, and be here by 6:30am with your ID to complete some paperwork.”

  “You got it.”

  As she walked out of the diner, she second-guessed her decision to leave her luxurious life for this crappy life yet again.

  CHAPTER 7

  What lies behind you and what lies in front of you, pales in comparison to what lies inside of you.

  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

  Zachary grabbed a beer from the fridge and twisted the top off. He took it to the head, gulped, and set the half-empty bottle on the kitchen island of the plush apartment he temporarily resided in. Corey did manage to convince Alison and her lawyers to agree on joint custody in exchange for the house and for Zachary to get the help he desperately needed. Zachary had stayed away from the last meeting, since he wasn’t sure how he’d react if he saw Alison. The betrayal was like a dagger in the heart, and he was not prepared to stop the bleeding. He sulked and blamed anyone and everyone with the exception of himself. He’d been attending the group sessions religiously, which pleased Dr. Clark, who began to see a slight improvement in his attitude toward life. He maintained his weekly appointments with her and opened up a little more. He wasn’t certain what he wanted to do for the rest of his life in terms of career. Money w
asn’t a factor due to his parents’ estate. He figured he had time to figure that out.

  He snatched the keys to the Jeep off the key rack by the front door and headed for his group session. He sang along to Aerosmith’s “Janie’s Got a Gun,” driving sixty miles per hour on SR 509 toward Tacoma. He embraced these brief merry moments, as he usually found his moods easily shifting between several levels of depression and euphoric. Dr. Clark did increase his dosage of Paxil, which helped suppress his depression. His nightmares and blackouts had subsided since he joined the treatment program, but he figured it was only a matter of time before he woke up in the middle of the night and hurt someone.

  He walked into the common room where other patients from diverse groups came in to relax before, after, or during meetings. He sat on a stool by the window and blankly gazed out. The sky was cloudless, and the sun shone brightly against the windowpane. An image caught his attention through the glass. He glanced over his shoulder and stared at her as she gracefully walked to the seat behind him. There was a coyness to her when she met his gaze. She averted her eyes with a slight scowl, and he did the same. He bobbed his head in amusement. He wondered what a beautiful girl like her would be doing in such a place. Probably suffering from low self-esteem. Most women like her did. Since he met Alison eight years ago, he hadn’t noticed another woman. The thought never crossed his mind, so it thrilled him that amid his crisis, one managed to grasp his attention. This was a terrible place to meet someone. What would Dr. Clark think if he told her he met someone at the cuckoo’s nest? Chuckling at the thought, he slipped off the stool and walked away.

  The meeting went as smooth as it had been over the past three weeks. The group welcomed a new member today. Zachary thought he looked as nervous as he himself did on his first day. The newcomer suffered from similar anxieties. Zachary’s stomach growled a couple of times during the session. What did he expect when he opted for a half bottle of beer rather than breakfast?