Not A Hero
A Bad Boy Marine Romance
Sarah Robinson
Contents
Copyright
Read Other Books by Sarah Robinson
About the Author
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
BONUS CONTENT!
Stay Tuned
NOT A HERO © 2016
Editing by Katherine Tate, Author and Editor
Cover Design by Marianne Nowicki at PremadeEbookCoverShop.com
Represented by Literary Agent Nicole Resciniti, The Seymour Agency
Copyright © 2016.
All rights reserved. This document may not be reproduced in any way without the expressed written consent of the author. The ideas, characters, and situations presented in this story are strictly fictional and any unintentional likeness to real people or real situations is completely coincidental. Any mention of trademarked brands are not meant as copyright infringement.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please delete and support the author by purchasing the book from one of its many distributors. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is suggested for 18+ years of age due to containing graphic content, sensitive subject maters, and sexually explicit material.
Dedication
To every man and woman on the front lines, bravely defending our country.
Thank you.
Read Other Books by Sarah Robinson
The Photographer Trilogy – (Romantic Suspense)
Tainted Bodies
Tainted Pictures
Untainted
Or The Photographer Trilogy Boxset, including all 3 books and a deleted bonus scene
(Purchase any of The Photographer Trilogy, including the discounted boxset here)
Forbidden Rockers Series – (Rockstar Romance)
Logan’s Story: A Prequel Novella (included at the end of this book!)
Her Forbidden Rockstar
Rocker Christmas: A Logan & Caroline Holiday Novella
Her Dangerous Drummer (tentatively coming 2017/2018)
(Purchase any of the Forbidden Rockers here)
Kavanagh Legends – (MMA Fighter Romance)
Breaking a Legend
Saving a Legend
Becoming a Legend (coming Dec 13, 2016)
Chasing a Legend (coming 2017)
and more...
(Purchase any of the Kavanagh Legends here…also on audio!)
More books and series by Sarah Robinson are coming soon, check her website for the latest news and releases, or subscribe to her newsletter to never miss one!
Signed paperbacks are also available on the Author’s Website.
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About the Author
Photo Credit: Valerie Bey
Sarah Robinson is the Top 10 Barnes & Noble and Amazon Bestselling Author of multiple series, including The Photographer Trilogy, Kavanagh Legends, and the Forbidden Rockers series. A native of Washington, D.C., Robinson has both her bachelor’s and master’s degrees in criminal psychology. She is newly married to a wonderful man who is just as much of an animal rescue enthusiast as she is, and together they own way too many animals to be considered sane.
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For more information:
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[email protected] Prologue
“He’s dead, Miles! He’s dead!” A familiar voice called out to him, panic thundering through his screams. “We need to go. NOW!”
Someone grabbed his arm and roughly yanked him backwards.
Deafening gunshots rang in his ears, drowning out everything else.
His feet were concrete slabs, forcing him to stare at what he’d done. Everything inside him wanted to run for cover, find safety, and forget what had happened. The concrete pushed down, the ground swallowing his feet like quicksand, dragging him down into the dusty red clay as he scrambled to free himself. Greedy and unforgiving, the dirt had his knees and kept reaching for more, and he knew without a doubt this was it.
This is how it ends, Miles thought as he grabbed at the surrounding earth pulling him into a desert grave.
This is how I am punished.
Miles Kydd shot out of his bed like it was on fire, electricity pulsing through every nerve in his body. He swiveled around, blinking rapidly, and taking in his surroundings. He quickly realized he was not on fire, but rather, standing in his boxers in the middle of the barracks filled with rows of snoring Marines in bunk beds.
A few shifted in their cots and glanced at him through half-open eyes before rolling over and going back to sleep. The flash of understanding on their faces quickly went blank as they pretended to be oblivious.
They all know.
Miles’s face heated, and he rubbed his fists into his eyes, attempting to rid the images burned there. Raking his fingers through short, dirty blonde hair, the perspiration that coated his skin transferred to his hands. Taking a deep breath and then slowly exhaling, he wiped sweaty palms on his boxers and walked back to his cot.
Quietly, so as to avoid any more attention, he slid under the scratchy wool blanket almost eight years in the U.S. Marines had conditioned him to find comfortable.
Miles glanced to his right. A few cots over, the desert moon beaming through the windows reflected off the pale skin of Tobin’s shaved head, which was partially covered by the blankets pulled to his nose.
His best friend since childhood, Tobin Leach had enlisted with the United States Marines alongside Miles the day after their high school graduation. They had reenlisted an additional four years together, and now were only a few weeks from heading home.
Seeing him close by calmed Miles, easing the anxiety his nightmares and memories had left behind. He clenched his jaw, pushing down the sudden surge of familiar shame, a constant poison threatening to overtake him if he allowed it. He wouldn’t—Miles never lost control.
At least that’s what he told himself.
Taking a deep breath, he hid his demons in a dark corner of his heart. Ignoring them was the best option he had, or maybe the only one.
It’ll be
easier once I’m out of this hellhole. He needed to redirect his thoughts, to focus on his excitement about heading home, his discharge official in a few weeks.
Miles was most looking forward to seeing his father. Walter Kydd had recently been diagnosed with lymphoma, which was why Miles had decided not to reenlist again as he’d originally planned. He needed to be home as much as his father needed him there.
He bit down on the inside of his cheek as he considered his father’s illness—the last man on earth who deserved such a hardship. They were each other’s only family, and Walter had given Miles everything he’d ever needed and more. It was more than father-son, Walter was his everything.
A heaviness pressed on his chest, and he turned over on his cot, attempting to change his line of thinking to something positive, something to push the sadness away. His thoughts drifted to his mother—not a topic which could aid his melancholy state—and he pushed that away as well.
Miles squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling slowly. I can do this.
Only one more month in Afghanistan.
Only one more month until his feet would be back on American soil. Then a few weeks later, he’d be walking down those Pennsylvania roads he loved.
It was time to go home.
1
“You know what I’m most excited to see?” Tobin leaned across the plane aisle toward him, an excited grin plastered across his face and a glassy look in his eyes as he sloshed down his fourth mini-bottle of whiskey.
“What’s that?” Miles warily eyed his friend’s glass, taking note in case things got out of hand. He’d never known Tobin to understand boundaries, but his friend’s drinking had increased since Afghanistan. Not that Miles blamed him after what they’d seen over there.
Miles lifted his own glass, considered the whiskey inside for a minute before putting it back down on the tray table and pushing it away. At the rate Tobin was going, one of them would need to maintain a sense of control.
“Grass, Miles! When is the last time we saw a patch of grass, man? Whole meadows of grass and big trees everywhere you look?” Tobin had a distant look in his eyes as he leaned his head against the headrest. He lifted the mini-bottle of booze to his lips, only to realize it was empty. Frowning, Tobin reached above his head and pressed the call button to summon the flight attendant.
When she didn’t materialize in half a second, he pressed it again…and again…and again.
“Tobin, quit it!” Miles scowled. “She’s coming. Don’t you think you’ve had enough anyway? We’re landing soon, and you don’t need to be completely shit-faced when you see your mom again.”
Tobin scoffed, shaking the small plastic bottle in front of Miles’s face. “I’m going to need more than this kid-sized bottle if I’m going to see Janiiiice.” He grimaced as her name left his mouth.
“Kid-sized booze?” Miles rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I think you’ve had enough.”
“I just want to see a patch of grass, Miles.” Tobin’s voice was softer now, nostalgic.
Miles couldn’t help smiling and nodding his head. He knew exactly what Tobin meant. One of the many things their camp in Afghanistan had lacked was the lush green grass and trees they’d grown up with in their home town of Slipwick, Pennsylvania.
“I miss the lake.” Miles mused over fond memories of the woods near Lake Arthur where his family home was.
His father had built their house—it was really more of a cabin—from the ground up, right on the lake’s and completely off the beaten trail. It was farther from town than most of Miles’s friends when he’d been in school, but he’d never minded since spending every warm weather day on the water had been worth the trek. He’d practically lived for the hours spent in the old canoe, or equally ratty rowboat.
Tobin chuckled, rubbing his hand over his bare head. “You and that damn lake.” He rattled the ice in his cup, pressing the call button a few more times.
A snarl escaped Miles’s lips, swiveling in his seat to shoot his friend an angry glare, any sense of calm gone. “I swear on your fucking life, Tobin, if you press the damn button one more time, I will break your finger clean off,” he barked.
Tobin’s eyes widened, but Miles’s continued seething, his thoughts taking off at a sprint. The incessant ringing from the call button. The ringing in his head.
Ringing like the sound of the first explosion, knocking him to the ground.
“Damn, Miles.” Tobin put his hands up in defense. “Relax.”
Miles blinked and looked around, suddenly self-conscious. He’d drawn the attention of a few neighboring passengers. From the looks of concern on their faces, he’d be lucky if they didn’t call the Air Marshall on him.
Forcing a tight-lipped smile, he sat back in his seat and faced forward. Guilt washed over him when he noticed Tobin still staring at him with a look of suspicion.
“So grass, huh? What’s next after the greenery?” Miles asked.
An unspoken apology passed beneath his question, and Tobin grinned. All was forgiven. It had always been that simple between the two of them. “Hair. I can’t wait to let it grow out and finally meet some women. A lot of women—you remember how chicks loved my hair. I won’t be able to keep up with them all.”
“Yeah, right. Mr. Romantic suddenly becomes a player. That’ll be the day.” Miles chuckled, smoothing a hand over his own head, his short, dark blonde hair tickling the underside of his palm. “Bet you fifty bucks you’re in a relationship by the end of the month.”
“Hey, not my fault they keep coming back for more.” Tobin rubbed his thumb and index finger over the top of his lip. “I might even grow back my ’stache.”
“Oh, hell no.” Miles dropped his head back, laughing loudly. Several passengers turned to glare at his most recent outburst, but this time, he didn’t care. “No woman is going to go near you with that dirt on your face again.”
“Hey, I got no complaints.” Tobin huffed, pushing out his chest defensively. He took the next mini-bottle of whiskey from the flight attendant and swigged it down in a single chug. Belching, he pounded his fist to his chest. “At least I wasn’t the town kiss-ass.”
Miles lifted one brow. “Town kiss-ass?”
“You heard me,” Tobin continued. “Once a golden boy, always a golden boy.”
It’d been a while since Miles had thought about his reputation back in Slipwick. All-star high school quarterback, prom king, and class president—he’d been treated like royalty in the small town. Not to mention, he was the late Violet Kydd’s son, the elementary school teacher nearly every single person in town had adored.
His mother, or “Vi” as everyone called her, had been well loved for her sweet demeanor, generous heart, and the brilliant smile that seemed to find its way into even the coldest hearts. Miles had never officially met her since she’d died during childbirth due to complications, but her legacy lingered in every framed photograph at home and every person on the street who stopped to tell him how much they missed her. The Mayor back then had even elected to plant a tree in the main courtyard downtown with a bronze plaque at the base dedicated to her.
“I’ve never been a kiss-ass,” Miles clarified, lifting his chin. He couldn’t control how the town saw him, but he’d certainly never been an angel—especially with a best friend like Tobin. “What about the time I set off an M-80 in Mr. Fenton’s rowboat? Sunk that sucker in less than thirty seconds. Would a golden boy do that?”
“Only ’cause I gave you the firecracker to begin with!” Tobin laughed, a deep belly laugh that always made Miles smile, along with anyone else who heard its unique lilt. “You were so scared—you bolted the second you tossed it in.”
“What else would I do? Wait around for it to blow my eyebrows off?” Miles was laughing just as hard now. “Those things are illegal, you know. I wasn’t about to end up in jail thanks to you.”
“Hey, true friends do time together.” Tobin pointed a finger at him, one brow raised. “I regret nothing.”
“
I bet you regretted setting your arm on fire with bug spray,” Miles countered.
Tobin’s cheeks reddened slightly, but he shrugged. “Scientific research—plus now we know bug spray is flammable.”
“Yeah, reading that exact warning on the side of the can didn’t make it clear,” Miles said, laughter flowing easily between them.
“Trust but verify, my friend.” Tobin cocked one eyebrow as he opened his next mini-bottle, downing it in one go again. His face twisted at the taste, coughing until his throat cleared. “My life’s motto.”
“When your life motto leads to death, it’s time to pick a new one,” Miles said, shaking his head. “You’re reckless, man.”
“I prefer the term fearless.” Tobin crossed his arms over his chest. “And if I do kick the bucket, you better hope I don’t come back and haunt your ass.”
Miles tried to stretch out his legs into the aisle, feeling cramped in the tight plane seat. “There’s no such thing as ghosts, Tobin.”
Tobin didn’t respond right away.
Miles turned to see him staring out the tiny, square window, down at the landscape hundreds of miles below them.
“After what we did, you still believe that?” Tobin asked.
The reminder of the incident lashed out at Miles as if Tobin had slapped him across the face. He looked away, swallowing hard. There wasn’t anything to say about Afghanistan, or what they’d done over there—more accurately, what he’d done over there.
So, he said nothing.
“I’m just glad to be going home, Miles,” Tobin continued, his tone hushed and heavy now.
Miles opened his mouth to agree, but his voice caught in his throat as painful memories pushed into his mind. Finally, he cleared his throat and nodded.