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"Read it out loud!" another pipes up, but Jenkins tucks the treasure close to his chest, shaking his head with a laugh.
"Get your own love letters, assholes," he fires back, but the light in his eyes tells a different story—one of a man who's got something worth more than all the ammunition in this godforsaken place.
I can't help but smirk at their antics, but inside there's this gnawing emptiness, like I've been running on fumes and didn't even know it. All these years commanding respect, keeping the gears turning smoothly, and what do I have to show for it? A bunk and a locker that scream ‘bachelor’ louder than a neon sign at a Vegas chapel.
"Hey, Sarge," Jenkins calls over, catching me off guard. "You ever get any mail from a special someone?"
"Special someone?" I scoff dryly, scratching the stubble that's taken permanent residence on my jaw. "Only if you count requisition forms and supply requests."
"Damn, that's harsh," he chuckles, but there's sympathy in his eyes—sympathy I don’t fucking need.
"Harsh is life, kid. Get used to it," I retort, but the words taste bitter in my mouth.
The laughter fades and the soldiers disperse, clutching their own pieces of home like lifelines. I push off from the doorframe, feeling suddenly out of place, like an old relic left behind while the world spins forward. My boots echo down the empty hall, each step a reminder that I'm walking a solitary path.
Frank Donovan doesn't need anyone. I've told myself that a thousand times, but the lie is wearing thin, threadbare like the worn-out sheets on my bunk.
As I flop onto my bed, the springs groaning in protest, it hits me like a mortar round. I'm fucking tired of being alone, of playing the stoic soldier while my heart rattles around like loose change in an empty ammo can.
I'm no Romeo, but I've read enough of those sappy romance novels stashed under my bed—for research purposes, obviously—to know a thing or two about wooing. Not that I'm looking to sweep anyone off their feet with roses and poetry. No, what I want is raw, unadulterated connection—the kind that ignites wildfires and burns down barriers.
My thoughts wander to what she would be like. Someone strong, confident, with a fire in her belly and eyes that don't shy away from mine. My mind imagines golden hair and blue eyes that challenge instead of submit, but I shove the thought aside.
That's a road lined with landmines, and I’m not looking to get blown to smitherines.
CHAPTER
THREE
Frank
I stride down the center aisle of the barracks, clipboard in hand. Boots echo on the concrete floor, a rhythmic beat that matches the tick-tick-tick of the clock hanging above the exit. It's another day, and I'm doing what I do best—making sure everything's squared away. The beds are tight enough to bounce a quarter off of, personal items stowed with military precision. It's like they know I won't stand for anything less. Routine, discipline, order. That's my world.
"Morning, Sarge," a voice calls out, one amongst many. They're all the same in their uniformity, but I give a nod anyway, acknowledging the respect.
"Carry on," I say, my eyes scanning the last row. That's when she walks in.
I can’t take my eyes off her. Holy fuck, it’s like she was conjured straight from my daydreams yesterday.
Damn, she's a sight.
"Good morning, Sergeant Donovan," she greets, her voice smooth as silk.
"Private," I reply, trying to keep my tone even, but hell, it's tough. She passes by me, golden locks falling over her shoulders like a cascade of pure sunshine. It's a stark contrast to the olive drab and steel surroundings. For a moment, I forget about the damn inspection.
I quickly scan my list to find her name. How the hell have I never noticed her before?
Private Caroline Caldwell.
Caroline.
Her piercing blue eyes meet mine, just for a second, and it's like someone sucker-punched me right in the gut. She's got this look, fierce and confident, like she can take on the world and come out on top without breaking a sweat. And those eyes..they're not just blue. They're like the heart of a glacier, deep and mesmerizing.
"Everything in order here?" Her question pulls me back to the present.
"Uh, yeah. Of course." Smooth, Donovan. Real smooth.
But she's already moving past me, a purpose in her step that says she's here to do more than just exist. She's here to conquer.
