Faithful Valor Read online

  Sometimes danger isn’t found on a battleground—it’s sitting at your front door.

  Nic Caldwell is back Stateside, working the job she was supposed to have before her most recent deployment, and living her best life at home. At least she thought she would be, except her PTSD is always in the background, dragging her back to her tour in Afghanistan. As she struggles to control her demons privately, her public life with Claire is almost picture perfect. However, a picture can’t show everything hiding just under the surface.

  Claire Monroe has the love of her life back in one piece—almost. She’s trying to help Nic adjust to her new normal both physically and emotionally while also going back to school and raising their daughter, Grace. With all the difficulties Nic’s re-entry poses along with the new challenges of being an adult student, she wonders how she can guide them back to their old life while building a new one for herself.

  Cece Ramirez has decided that the Army has served its purpose and she is ready for a new chapter in her professional and personal life. Retiring from active duty and moving on to a new role as a police officer on a college campus, she realizes that she’s traded camo, discipline, and rifles for book bags, bikes, and rowdy post-adolescents. While she and the students at Cal State Monterey Bay might be the same age, their pasts are vastly different, and the transition from soldier to college cop may not be as smooth as she hopes.

  When a chance encounter at a near-base shopette challenges Nic’s authority and leaves her and her family in potential peril, Cece and Claire must pull together to back Nic up in peacetime, and right at home.

  Sapphire Books

  Salinas, california

  Faithful Valor

  Copyright © 2019 by Isabella. All rights reserved.

  ISBN EPUB- 978-1-948232-86-9

  This is a work of fiction - names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without written permission of the publisher.

  Editor - Heather Flournoy

  Book Design - LJ Reynolds

  Cover Design - Fineline Cover Design

  Sapphire Books Publishing, LLC

  P.O. Box 8142

  Salinas, CA 93912

  www.sapphirebooks.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition – December 2019

  This and other Sapphire Books titles can be found at

  www.sapphirebooks.com

  For Schileen, always for Schileen.

  This book is dedicated to all who serve and suffer in silence. You are my heros.

  It takes a team to get a book ready to go to publication. Thank you to my editor, Heather Flournoy. She is always amazing and knows just what I mean, even when I don’t.

  To the copy editors and proofers. They make me slap our heads and say, duh.

  LJ Reynolds, your hard work is amazing.

  To the readers. Thank you for ten years. You make it all worth it.

  Smells of gasoline, oil, and rubber permeated the air that swirled around Nic Caldwell. Flecks of dust danced in the diffused light streaming over her shoulder. She stood and stretched her back, then leaned against the workbench as she studied her motorcycle. It needed a good polish, the kind that took hours of concentration, silence, a toothbrush, and copious amounts of rubbing compound. The chrome had pitted in a few places, but nothing she couldn’t work out.

  The sound of children’s laughter floated in the breeze on the other side of the garage door. A palm slapping a rubber ball against the cement of the driveway echoed in the garage. Nic smiled, recognizing Grace’s giggle and then little Timmy’s voice beckoning her to try and hit him with the ball.

  On one side of the steel barrier, life was going on as usual. Nic rolled the mechanic’s stool closer to her motorcycle and rubbed the compound on a spot on the chrome. Circling her fingers wider, the swirl of chrome polish took on a haze as it started to dry. Snapping the red shop rag, she stuffed it into her back pocket, picked up the toothbrush, and caked on more compound and worked it into the fins of the engine. Detail work like this kept her focused and her mind busy. She told Claire it was her Zen time. More specifically, it was her way of escaping the outside world, hidden in her garage, away from the reality of day-to-day existence.

  Nic grasped the worn knot on the end of the gnarled cane. Her palm slid smoothly into place before she pushed off the bench. Putting her weight on the stick, she hobbled over to her motorcycle. She’d tried to straddle it a couple of weeks ago, but her hip had protested too loudly. She shielded her eyes from the afternoon sun as it pushed farther into the garage. The sunlight gave her a piercing headache without her sunglasses. Was it the temporary side effect of her ocular nerve being pinched, or was it the concussion? She couldn’t remember. Hell, she was lucky to be able to see at all. Rubbing her temple, her fingertips ran along the hairline scar from her operation. Lately she was feeling more like a troll that lived under a bridge, only venturing out when it was dark, her signature hoodie pulled over her face when she went jogging. Her routine had morphed into late nights and hours and hours spent in the garage. Slowly, she was trying to force herself to get back into a schedule that would mesh with her family’s life.

  Swirls. Lots of swirls covered the tank as she lost herself in the work of polishing.

  Silence. The glorious sound of nothingness. Pushing back the stool, she admired the symmetry of the lines of polish covering her bike.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Nic flew to the floor as screams erupted around her. She tucked her head to her chest and covered it with her hands, her knees drawn up as close as she could bring them.

  Nic glanced around her, but she couldn’t see anything in the pitch black. It was surreal. One minute she’s hearing Grace outside, the next she’s standing alone. Her body felt like it was on fire, coupled with the distinct smell of something burning. Nic turned to her right. The sergeant standing next to her was on fire.

  “Sergeant, you’re burning.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Sergeant, look.” Nic pointed to the sergeant’s arms. “Fire.”

  Blackness again.

  “Nic, honey?” Claire stood over Nic, smiling down at her.

  “What are you doing here, baby?” Nic touched Claire’s face. Her bloody fingers left a trail down the delicate pink skin of Claire’s neck. Turning her hands over, Nic saw the skin was broken, bleeding, and charred. The coppery smell assaulted her as she tried to wipe the blood off Claire’s face. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” The smudges only grew as she pushed her broken fingers across Claire’s skin and down her white dress.

  A piercing scream sliced the air. Nic covered her mouth, her throat tight.

  Something slammed against the garage door again, paralyzing Nic. Her body was frozen in place as she tried to take a deep breath. Her chest was so tight she could barely force air in, let alone out. She heard more screaming, and then laughing.

  A door slammed somewhere in the background.

  “Nic. Nic, are you okay?” Claire scooped Nic up into her arms and began rocking her. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I should have told Grace to stop with the ball and I didn’t get outside in time.”

  Nic lay cradled, unable to move, in Claire’s arms. Pain lanced through her head. She squeezed her eyes tight, blocking out the light in hopes that it would ease the sharpness. She buried herself in Claire’s embrace, hoping the touch of her lover would ease her suffering.

&nbsp
; It didn’t.

  Another bang against the door and Nic’s body began to shake uncontrollably.

  “Oh, sweetheart. Let’s get you in the house.”

  Claire struggled to lift Nic. Nic’s body was jelly as she struggled to push off the floor. Her brain was a fog bank and offered little help complying as the pain pierced through her head with every movement. Getting to her knees, she stopped Claire. She had a sudden urge to throw up. Her throat constricted. Swallowing hard, she rocked back and forth.

  “Give me a second.” She gripped Claire’s forearms to steady herself.

  “Take your time, sweetheart.”

  Nic shielded her eyes from the light streaming in. She’d had migraines before, but this was a headache on steroids. Her doctor had warned her that they could last for hours, or days. There was no rhyme or reason for the sudden onset, but Nic had noticed that when her PTSD raged, so did the pain in her head. The loud bang of the ball against the door was just the type of trigger she tried to avoid, but life was full of triggers. She’d have to learn to cope with them if she wanted to move forward in her career and not be a hermit.

  Pushing herself to standing, she wavered. Claire wrapped Nic’s arm around her shoulder and hefted Nic up. Nic couldn’t help but notice the unsubtle symbolism of Claire being her rock now, quite literally holding her up and helping her. She’d abdicated her role as the head of the family, but not willingly. She struggled with the idea that she wasn’t in a position to take care of her family. This was just another example of the abdication.

  “Come on, sweetheart.” Claire guided Nic toward the door, each step a struggle.

  “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “I’m the one that should be sorry. I was so busy in the house I didn’t even think about the kids playing outside.”

  “We can’t keep that little peanut cooped up in the house. She needs to be outside playing and being a kid.” Nic closed her eyes, trying to ease the pain. “It’s not her fault. Don’t say anything to her, please.”

  “I should probably just keep her busy with quiet playtime.”

  “Seriously, honey. There is no such thing as a quiet game if kids get rowdy, and they always do. It’s part of growing up. Relax, I’ll be fine. I just need to lie down for a while.”

  Her bedroom was dark, cool, and inviting. Claire gently set Nic on the bed, bent down and started to take off her boots. Nic lay back and let Claire undress her down to her underwear. If she wasn’t struggling so badly, she’d reach up and pull her lover down on top of her and ravish her. Unfortunately, her head had other plans.

  “Here, sweetheart. Take these.” Claire handed Nic the migraine meds the doctor had prescribed. They worked better if she took them at the onset, but this one had jumped on her like a wicked ex-lover with revenge on her mind.

  “Thanks.” Pain cut through her head as she cocked it back to swallow her meds. “Fuck.”

  “Oh, babe. Can I get you anything else? Maybe a cold cloth for your head, ice, anything?”

  Truth be told, she just wanted quiet, but she wouldn’t tell Claire. “I think I’ll just try and sleep. Do you mind?”

  Claire kissed her forehead. “I’ll try and keep the kids quiet.”

  “Thanks.”

  Nic wanted to cry. Lately she’d had more days like today than fewer. At least her physical injuries and ailments were visible and could be treated, however minimally. Mentally, on the other hand, she wasn’t as far along as she’d hoped despite great strides made in the treatment of PTSD. She didn’t want to become a statistic. She’d heard too many stories of servicemembers who couldn’t deal with the pain they brought home and took the only way out they could see.

  Suicide.

  She had to remind herself often that she had a family, career, and life that she wanted to hang on to for as long as possible. However, sometimes it was hard to focus on the long term and not look for relief in the bottom of a bottle of pills or alcohol…or worse.

  Claire rounded up the kids and walked down the street to Timmy’s house. His mom was outside spraying the freshly planted flowers. She waved at Claire and tossed the hose on the grass.

  “Oh, no. Did Timmy say something inappropriate again?” His mom glared at him, making him squirm.

  “Oh, gosh no. He’s been a little angel.”

  “Really?”

  “Nic is having a hard day, so I wanted to see if I could take the kids down to the park and then get some ice cream.”

  “She’s having a tough time still, huh?”

  Claire nodded. Some days they just sailed through, others they walked on eggshells around Nic. Not because she unleashed her venom on them, but because she carried her pain alone and often secluded herself away in a separate bedroom. Once she’d been holed up for days. Claire had cracked the door just enough to check in on her and received only a firm, “I’m fine. I’ll be out soon.”

  Two days later, Nic, worse for wear, finally came out and engaged with the world, but barely.

  “I’m so sorry, Claire. Is there anything I can do?”

  “I wish. It’s the migraines. They come on without any warning and she struggles just to get to bed. The doctor said it would take time. The head trauma was extensive.”

  “I saw her the other day, outside with Grace, and I couldn’t tell. Not like when she came home and had the stitches and everything.” Jill moved her hand around her face and then grimaced. “Poor thing.”

  “Yeah, that’s just it. Sometimes I forget ’cause she healed so quick and her scars are starting to fade.” Claire smiled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you with my stuff. I just wanted to come over and see if Timmy could come with us to the park and get ice cream later.”

  Jill looked at her watch. “You know what, dinner is almost ready, so why don’t I take this little hellion off your hands and you and Grace can have some quiet time?”

  Relieved, Claire conceded she could use a coffee and some quiet time with Grace. “Are you sure?”

  “Ah, Mom. Ice cream.” Timmy huffed.

  “We have ice cream here.”

  “Not like the ice cream store.”

  She reached for his hand and walked him to the gate. “It’s just like the ice cream store. I’ll talk to you later, Claire. Tell Nic I’m sorry she’s having a hard time.”

  “I will. Timmy, we’ll go another time, promise.”

  Timmy just waved as his mom scooted him toward the house.

  Claire knelt and looked at Grace. “Sorry Timmy couldn’t go.”

  “It’s okay.” She moved closer to Claire’s ear. “I was sorta sick of him. He’s a ball hog.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, how about we go get you a hot chocolate and me a coffee, and we’ll go to the beach and watch the ocean?”

  “With whip cream?” Grace grabbed her mom’s hand and skipped back to the house.

  “Yep, with whipped cream.”

  “Sure. Besides, we can give Momma time to rest. She needs her beauty sleep. Lately she’s been looking really tired.”

  Claire looked at her daughter in surprise. “Really?”

  “Yeah,” Grace said, climbing into the back seat and buckling in. “I heard her scream again last night.”

  “I’m sorry, honey. Did it scare you?”

  Grace looked out the window and shook her head, wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve. “No, I’m used to it. Is she in pain, Mommy?”

  “I don’t think so. I think she’s dreaming.”

  “You mean she’s having a nightmare? ’Cause I scream when I have a nightmare, not a dream. What does Momma nightmare about?”

  “You mean what causes her nightmares?”

  Grace gave Claire that look that always cracked her up. It was such a grown-up look she couldn’t handle it.

  “I think she’s having nightmares about her accident, honey.”

  “Maybe if I give her Matilda, she would stop nightmares about the accident.”

  Matilda was a soft cloth doll Nic had picked up a
t the airport in DC when she was finally allowed to leave the hospital. Nic had worried that Grace would be afraid of her with her stitches, bruises, and missing teeth, but it had gone better than either Claire or Nic had expected. Though she was wary of Nic and her bandages at first, once they established some sense of normalcy after a few days Grace had crawled up into Nic’s lap and offered to kiss her boo-boos. Claire wished she’d had a camera to capture the special moment. Her daughter never ceased to surprise her with her loving, gentle nature.

  “Could I have coffee, Mommy?”

  That came out of left field. “Uh, no. You’re too young for coffee, sweetie.”

  “Timmy’s mom lets him have coffee. His dad says it will put hair on his chest.”

  “Do you want hair on your chest?” She looked at her daughter in the rearview mirror. Grace vehemently shook her head. “Okay, no hair on the chest then. Hot chocolate it is.”

  “With whip cream.”

  “With whipped cream. Deal.”

  Claire and Nic had discussed at length things like lattes, cell phones, and video games when it came to Grace. They’d agreed that she was too young, even if everyone else had them, and they were leery about the internet, too. So far, they had been able to distract her with outdoor activities, books, trips to the library, and chores. Limiting their own computer use made it easier to enforce the rules. Claire wasn’t sure how much longer they would be able to keep the technology bug at bay, but they were willing to do it for as long as possible.

  “Envision parking, sweetie,” Claire said. It was a mantra she always invoked when she was praying to the parking gods. Monterey in general was notorious for the lack of parking, and downtown was worse. As “tourist season” had become a fiction in favor of a year-round reality, residents had to battle for parking on a daily basis with the ever-increasing swell of visitors.