Page 31 of The Soldier

Which just means, Marshall has broken me.

It’s his body I want lying over me. Those damn blue eyes bearing down on me as I link my arms around his neck and melt into his succulent mouth.

Goddamn. His annoyingly masculine scent seems to have seared itself into my stupid nostrils.

In my dreams I’ve heard his southern drawl calling me his wolf, and it’s so arousing I wake up wet and with my fingers in my pussy.

I need him to fuck me.

I’m so mad about that.

“Where is he?” I find myself asking.

Aidan twists his head twenty degrees. “Sorry, that’s classified.”

What?

My stomach twists into a knot at those words and I’m suddenly pulled back to my childhood and a stark reminder of why I need to stay the hell away from the handsome soldier.

“Mom, someone is at the door!” I yell from my bedroom, trying to focus on my homework. Well, it’s music but I’m not telling her that.

“You can answer it too, Trina Thomas. Your hands aren’t painted on.”

I roll my eyes and put my headphones back on.

When I hear mom scream I bolt back upright and rip them off, running out of my bedroom.

Two men in uniform are standing at the door. Which isn’t unusual as we live on an army base. When I take in their formal attire and facial expressions, dread rushes through me.

But it’s my mother, leaning on the door jamb and crumbling to the floor that has me rushing to her.

“Mom! Mom! What’s wrong?” But I know. I lift my eyes to the two officers and ask, “Where’s my father?”

“No! No. He said he would always come home.” Mom cries and tears start rolling down my face.

Two of the other moms from across the street run over and grab my mother, leading us both into the living room as the officers leave.

“He said he would come back to us.” Mom cries into Olive’s shoulder and reaches for me.

I stare at her blankly.

“Where is Dad?”

I won’t accept it until someone says it out loud.

“WHERE is DAD!?” I yell like a lunatic.

Mom pales further.

“Do they have him? Does the enemy have him?” I know I’m grasping at straws but if he is still alive there is hope.

“Honey,” Lisa Smith’s mom grabs me and pulls me into a tight hug. I’ve known her all my life. Her dad and mine seem to have always been stationed at the same places.

I stiffen and just let her hold me, waiting for the words to be said out loud.

When she releases me, I stare at Mom and she’s shaking.

“He’s gone, bubba.” She uses his nickname for me. “Daddy’s gone.”

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