Chapter One
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Mercer
THE HEAT FROMthe blazing sun kicks up the scent of asphalt on the landing strip. As I walk down the deplaning stairs into an Alabama day, I wince against the intense light. Inhaling a breath, I let the powerful sense of relief wash over me. Safety. American soil. Home. The million-pound weight that has been tied around my neck for the past six months lifts. No one is hunting, lurking, plotting against me or anyone else here. My feet meet solid ground. “Fuck yeah,” I whisper to myself, but even I hear the weary, hell beat tone in my voice. I need this furlough. Probably never needed a break more in my career as a Navy SEAL. I have three weeks to clear my head and rest before I have to go back to Europe for another six months—back to war.
Shielding my eyes against the sun, I walk toward the terminal where the airport employees are directing us. The whirring noise of the large jet behind me lowers as the engines shift modes. With a large duffle bag slung over one shoulder, I edge my way into the cool building. I called my parents when I reactivated my phone in Germany to give them flight details. They hold us in Germany for a day or two as a decompression period before they release us back into civilization. I wanted to fly straight to Alabama instead of going to Harbour Point, my base in Cape Cod where I’ve been stationed for a year and a half. I wanted sun, my buddies from high school, and the dive bar that I got kicked out of a half dozen times before I turned twenty-one. Distraction is what I crave and work is what I hope to avoid.
Even though I should know better, I’d glossed over the possibility my parents would bring the entire town of Greenton, Alabama with them. Striding around a corner, that’s exactly what I run into. Mom and Dad are standing in front of a crowd of around thirty people, waving American flags and as my gaze scans the familiar faces, I take in the posters and balloons and cheerful shouts. I startle, a slight jerk, because that will forever be my first reaction to the unexpected. It’s not a bad response, it’s why I’m still alive after countless combat deployments, but I can see how my initial reaction affects my mom. She paces quickly to close the distance between us, folding me in her arms. Her hair smells like apple cobbler and AquaNet. Home.
“Hey, Mom. Real subtle,” I say, chuckling under my breath. I’m annoyed, but not enough to bring it up in mixed company. Mom raised a good Southern boy. “I missed you something fierce,” I drawl, pulling her closer. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to them before I left for the war raging in London. It’s been a year and a half since I’ve seen my parents—or any of the people surrounding us. My dad is waiting patiently for my mom to release me from her clutches. Ever patient. Ever understanding. Ever the Southern gentleman. His dad, my grandpa, God bless his soul, owned a large tract of land he sold to the state when the Interstate went through. With those millions and smart investment decisions, my dad enjoys his true passion, his position as the Finance Director for Greenton, Alabama. He reports directly to Mayor Wellsley, and it’s been that way since as long as I can remember.
“You didn’t think I’d let the chance slip by to celebrate my schmoo baby boy finally coming home,” Mom snaps, her Southern accent thick. She swats my arm as she pulls away to get a better look at me. “Now give your mom some sugar. I didn’t know what to do with myself. This has been the longest you’ve been away since you started your career. Nothing felt the same this time. It was so hard not knowing.” Tears are streaking down the makeup on her cheeks, watery black drops cutting a path down her powdered face. I kiss her on unscathed skin.
“Don’t worry about me. I tried to get home sooner, but you know how that pesky ol’ war works. Doesn’t stop because I need some R and R and my mom needs some sugar.” It’s meant as a light-hearted joke, but again, she shifts uncomfortably away. I have a feeling there’s going to be a lot of that. I can pretend to be normal, but facts are, war changes people. My goal is to make sure it changes me for the best. “I’m happy to be back in ‘Bama. I’m home now. Right here in lovin’ distance.” She hugs me once again, tittering on about how I’ve gotten bigger since she last held me. My dad catches my eye. He hits me with that proud, side grin and opens his arms, an invitation that has always been one of my favorites ever since I was a child. His unwavering, unfaltering love for his son.
“My turn,” he says, swallowing hard. He’s a stoic man. The kind of man who wanted his only child to stay close by and follow in his small-town political footsteps. Not because he doesn’t think my career path isn’t honorable and respectable, but because he misses me and wants me nearby.
I clap him on the back as he hugs me tightly. “You couldn’t rein her in a bit, could ya, old man?” I nod and smile at a few familiar faces standing next to my family while I welcome the feeling of being in my father’s arms.
When I pull back there are tears in his eyes. He glances at my mom and back at me. “Not even God himself can rein that woman in, son. You’re lucky she didn’t bring a parade to the airport parking lot.” Grinning widely, he looks me from top to bottom. “I wouldn’t have stopped her either. I’m so proud of you.”
I widen my eyes. “No,” I say, swallowing hard, adjusting a strap on my bag as it cuts into my hand. “A parade? Here? You’re lying.”
Dad shakes his head. “Afraid not. She ran into a hiccup getting permits for horses and she took that as a divine sign to organize it for another day.”
I nod. “Thank you, horses,” I whisper. We both laugh to ourselves as Mom bustles in the crowd of people, chatting up our friends before I get to them.
“I’m happy you’re home, Son. It hasn’t been the same since you left.”
I can’t even remember life before I left for war. This time. I’ve seen so much in the past six months—been forced to use training that sounds cool to the average dude but is actually fucking scary as hell when it becomes reality. The terrorist attacks that warped our country have died down stateside, and that’s a great thing for the United States, for the rest of the world? Not so much. One group of extremists is extinguished and seven more pop up in another location. Forces overseas need our support and that’s where we’ll be, come hell or high-water.
“There’s so much I want to talk to you about, Dad. Later on tonight?” I ask, leaving my hands on his broad shoulders. “Or tomorrow morning over breakfast at the Slippy Egg?” It’s our tradition every Sunday after church. A diner that’s been there since Dad was a boy.
A smile touches his eyes. “I’d like that. I suspect you’ll be up late. I’ll make sure Mom knows you won’t be at the early service tomorrow.”
I give him a brisk nod and kiss his cheek. “Love you, Dad.”
He doesn’t release me easily. “I’m glad you’re okay, Son. I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I swallow hard. The emotion reflecting in his eyes is cloying. “And leave you to deal with Raelynn Ballentine on your own?” I reply grinning. “You’ll never know what you have to do without me.” I pray it’s a truth, but ain’t no one but God knows that for sure. I turn from my dad before anything comes to mind—before I start reliving every single time I almost died. My stomach rolls and I take a deep breath.
“Mercer Motherfucking Ballentine.” I’d recognize that voice anywhere. His accent is more accented than anyone else I know. My name has a lot of vowels and if you’re Southern, vowels are all drawn out. It takes him several seconds to say the nickname he’s called me since high school.
“Bentley,” I say, turning to my best friend. More relief cascades over my body—his presence a salve to my state of mind.
He smirks, shaking his head. “You son of a bitch. Only you go to war and come back with even more muscles than you left with. Look at you all Hollywood now. I can’t even believe it. Is my best friend even inside that body?” Bentley drawls, knocking his fists lightly on my arm, then my chest, then stomach. “Mercer Ballentine, are you in that big ass body somewhere? This alien beefcake eat you for supper? Don’t worry, brother. I’ll get you out. If you can hear me, talk like Chewbacca or start reciting the Greek alphabet backward.”
“Oh, shut up, you idiot,” I reply, swatting his hand away. “Someone has to save the rest of the world. You’ve got Greenton covered. You need bigger muscles overseas than here,” I joke, glancing sideways to make sure no one is listening. If they are, they are trying to look like they’re not. Typical.
Bentley presses his lips together and shakes his head again. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. The news, man, it’s not good. I hate that your biceps are bigger than mine, but I’m glad you’re home. We’re gonna drink and fish and drink and drink some more. I missed your ugly face in these parts.”
I clench and unclench my fists by my sides. This is as close to emotion as my friend will get. “I haven’t done the Chewbacca voice since I was twelve years old,” I say, avoiding that which I’m not familiar with. “What’s the drinking plan now?” I ask, shaking Glenda’s hand as she welcomes me home. Glenda owns the Dizzy Rocket and she’s a no-nonsense broad.
“I rented out DRs for us,” Bent says, looking at Glenda proudly. Glenda doesn’t look impressed as she strides away. I growl once and hoot in celebration. “Yes!” Bentley puffs out his chest. “That was my idea and my idea alone. Your mom wanted something more sophisticated, but I convinced her that a Navy SEAL wants to get drunk at his favorite bar with his best friends, not eat finger fairy cakes and drink minty tea. I was right. Wasn’t I?”
I nod. “I haven’t been to the Dizzy Rocket in forever. Remember the time we got kicked out for breaking the back wall down when you thought there were gold nuggets behind it?” As I say it, I realize how immature and insane we used to be. “We can’t be breaking down walls now that we’re adults.”
