Stolen September: A Military Romance

Elisa nudges me. “Don’t disrespect servicemen.”

I swallow my turkey. “I’m not—he broke up with me.”

“Does he have a place to go for dinner? I think you should call him back,” Mom encourages.

“Give him a second chance,” Elisa says.

“Looks like a good catch,” Doris taunts.

“He broke your heart?” Dad picks up the carver again, revving it, and I’m not sure who he’s decapitating, the turkey or Tank in his mind.

The comments and questions give me a headache and I can’t escape these people for the next few hours. Coming clean almost seems easier than enduring the inquisition another minute.

I shrug, spilling details between bites. “His parents live across town. He finished two years at a junior college and came home before enlisting. I met him at the pool hall and bowling alley with Hope and Kate. He had some of his friends there too. Jesus, please pass me the cranberry sauce and leave me alone,” I huff, letting the silverware clang in the awkward silence.

“Well, I made pumpkin pie.” Mom diffuses the situation while my cousin Evan smirks, passing me the cranberry sauce.

Boys are stupid.

2

Tank

I walk back to my car and get in, slamming the door. My brain runs through all the scenarios I pictured for our reunion. I hadn’t expected to miss Beatrice Brennan with a fierce yearning when I enlisted. I had so many things I wanted to say to her if she let me, but like most things in my life, she was difficult. Not quite the sweet girl I recalled during long bouts of training when I craved her most. Her warm brown eyes remind me of cinnamon: sweet and spicy, with a kick if you aren’t careful—like tonight. Her dark hair bounced with soft curls resting right above her perky tits each time she sassed right back at me. I thought she’d be happy to see me, maybe even run and jump into my arms.

My mother warned me she’d be upset, but I didn’t listen.

Now I might not even have a chance.

Part of me wanted to pick her up and cart her off like a caveman because she told me no and that I’d have to wait until she was good and ready. She was kind of cute, dictating to me when we would see each other again. Trouble is, my clock is ticking too fast, and since I got back yesterday and slept like the dead, I only have nine of my ten days of leave left to convince her to be mine. Sounds crazy, but I know Bea is worth it and I want her to see that I’m worth it too—that we’re worth it together.

When I replay our last few days together in my head, I know I gave Bea reasons to doubt my devotion to her. Heck, we hadn’t even defined what our relationship was besides exclusive. I pulled back, thinking it was best. Make a clean break. Move on. Focus on the goal, my career and getting through the training. Beatrice made it impossible to focus. My head and heart kept coming back to her once she was gone.

I pull into my parents’ driveway and get out of the car. My mom rushes out the door with my younger brother and dad hot on her heels. I see the hope in their faces fall when they realize my girl isn’t with me.

“Well, where is she?” Mom is over the moon knowing about Beatrice. When she realized the sweet girl from the coffee shop was my girl, she gave me hell for how I had ended things so abruptly.

“Leave the boy alone, Marylin,” Dad chides, squeezing her shoulder gently.

“So I got dressed up for nothing?” My younger brother Cole is fourteen and a carbon copy of me before I enlisted—still lanky and mouthy. I ruffle his full head of hair. He’s dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt. It’s not Sunday best, but I appreciate the effort he put in, considering it’s not a T-shirt he slept in.

“Mind your brother, Cole. Think she’ll come around, Henry?” Dad doesn’t force things but he frowns, looking about as hopeful as I feel right now.

“A little gun-shy maybe,” I mutter, following them into the house.

“Oh, she’ll come around. She’s bound to.” My mother is ever the optimist. She’d like nothing more than grandbabies and doesn’t care how young we are—it’s in her nature. I know I’m not ready for kids, but I want Beatrice in my life.

“Guessing she’ll make you pay the piper, eh?” Dad teases.

I place my car keys in the bowl we keep on a side table by the door. “She’s going to make me work for it, that’s for sure.”

Dad pats my shoulder and squeezes it hard before letting me go. He married my mom young too, and understands the draw of a good woman.

“I’m sure you’ll have another chance at the tree lighting to see her.” Mom smiles, and it’s the kind of smile that feels like a conspiracy—except I know her well, and two-plus decades of her machinations haven’t changed.

“Mom, you didn’t.” I have no idea what she’s done, but the humming and the grin creeping up her face is enough to indicate otherwise. Dad laughs with a loud bark and doesn’t seem the least bit fazed.

“I may or may not have Mrs. Brennan on speed dial from the church social.” Her shoulders shrug as she pushes me toward a dinner table filled with all of my favorite foods: roasted Turkey, mashed potatoes, roasted brussels sprouts, and cranberry jam. I should have known Mom would covertly find a way to meet Bea—or at least her mother.