Man of Honor (Battle Scars)

Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

Through Christ I can do all things.

To my superman, Tyson. True love isn’t a fairy tale. It’s a battle every day, and I’m blessed to be fighting through it with someone as strong and steady as you. Thank you for picking up my slack around the house and with the kiddos when I’m a crazy woman on a deadline. I will always love you.

To my busy bees, Carrington and Raleigh. Thank you for being patient with Mommy when I am just letting you run around like maniacs while I type away on this computer. You’re always in my thoughts and I do it all for you.

To my mama, Inez. Thank you so much for passing on your love of books. It meant everything. You are and have always been my inspiration.

To my crew, the Fab Five: Crystal, Emilee, Beth, Christy, and Maria. Without you hot mamas and our girls’ nights, our girls’ trips, and our group texts, I would go stark raving mad. I’m infinitely blessed to have you in my life, and I hope Dare keeps your hubbies happy for a while! Love and kisses, Kitty.

To my BFF of the South, Natalee, you are truly one of my favorite people on this planet. Thank you so much for being the first one in line to buy each and every book, and for your unwavering love and support. With each new hero I write, I can’t wait to see what you’ll think of him. I heart you.

To Stacey Donaghy. What a lucky day it was when you agreed to be my agent. I’m still not sure how it happened, but I’m so thankful it did! Your hard work and positive words, especially about this book, are incomparable. I would not want to navigate this publishing world without you, because what I’ve learned with you by my side can’t be traded. Every time I write something new, I can’t wait until you read it, because you’re my biggest cheerleader. Thank you!

To my editor, Leah. You were the first traditional publishing editor to believe in my work, and this has turned into such a wonderful working relationship. Your expertise only makes my work better, and I’m so glad to have you in my corner.

To my Forever Publicity Team. Thanks for helping to get the word out about my books. We will keep climbing!

To the rest of the team at Forever Romance. Thank you for all the hard work you do in order to make authors look good. You are all so spectacular to work with!

To Tracy Comerford. You are a one-woman wrecking team. You were one of the earliest reviewers to love my books, and I’m lucky enough now to be able to call you so many things: friend, reviewer, publicist, and even my trusty PA from time to time. Your time is so valuable, and the fact that you spend some of it on me and getting the word out there about my books blows my mind. You’re uber talented and knowledgeable about the book world. Can’t wait to see where BMBB goes from here!

To my critique partner for MOH: Marie Meyer. We share so many things: a writing group, a publisher, and a genre. I admire you and the beauty that is your writing so very much! Thank you for your advice and the encouragement you gave me on this book. Love you, girl!

To my warm and fuzzy writing group, the NAC. Kate, Ara, Marie, Bindu, Meredith, Jamie, Jessica, Sophia, Marnee, Missy, Laura, and Amanda. I found you guys when I was already well into this biz, and now I don’t know what I ever did without you. I wouldn’t trade any of you, and I can’t wait for the day when we can all have dinner together. Remember, I would cut a bitch for any one of you.

To my mentor, Rachel van Dyken. All I can say about you, love, is that I’m learning from the best. You probably don’t even know what your advice and friendship mean to me, but you are invaluable. I love you to pieces!

To the Dolls…Best. Reader. Group. Ever. You guys are so awesome, and I love sharing snippets and pics with you on a daily basis! I hope that one day I get to meet each and every one of you.

To the Diana Gardin Review Team. Thank you for willing to read and review my books early. Your effort means so much, and I appreciate you all for your time and effort!

To the bloggers and readers who find this book: THANK YOU. Thank you so much for reading, purchasing, reviewing, and spreading the word about the Battle Scars series. Without you, what would I be? You make this possible, and I want to hear from each and every one of you soon!

M
y palms itch, and I clench my hands into tight fists, trying to force the uncomfortable sensation away. The tingling merely changes course, shooting up my arms and giving my entire upper torso the sensation of being eaten alive by pissed-off fire ants.

I hate this fucking place. I hate this fucking
day.

My eyes are grainy. I dig my fists into them, trying hard to root out the tiny granules of sand I know aren’t there. It’s just what happens when you’ve been up for a solid thirty-six hours. I sigh, my chest swelling with the pent-up air before I force it back out of my lungs with a loud
whoosh.

Blinking a few times, I stare around me. Sitting in the pews surrounding mine is a sea of faces. Some I recognize from another lifetime, some I don’t. They’re all wearing the perfunctory look of extreme sadness one is supposed to express at a time like this. But I can probably count on one hand the number of people who truly loved her.

Because she was so goddamned hard to love.

For me, it was obligatory. She was my mother.

After the short service, in which the minister said a few words about the woman everyone in this small Georgia hole knew as the town drunk, I stood at the front of the church beside the closed casket. A long line of people waited to greet me. I nodded at each person who slugged by. There were some, like old Ms. Ebbie, who used to babysit me when my mom was on a bender, and Jim Tucker, who owns the grocery store, who wrapped their arms around me.

Fuck. Did I ever even tell Jim how grateful I am for all those times he let me clean up aisles in his store just so I could take home a meal for me and Ma?

From the kind and sympathetic look in both Jim’s and Ms. Ebbie’s eyes, I realize it doesn’t matter whether I ever actually said it.

They knew.

Everyone in this tiny godforsaken town knew. Without their help—the handouts that they gave me and the times they’d peel my mother off the floor at Boondock’s bar—I wouldn’t have made it out of here alive. They saved me first.

The army did the rest.

I hadn’t even noticed the fact that my eyes had glazed over until my vision clears as there’s a timid tap on my shoulder. I focus on the wizened, kind face of my high school shop teacher. The lines around his eyes are more pronounced, but other than that he looks exactly the same as he did the day I graduated eight years ago.

“Mr. Harris. Thank you for coming.” My voice sounds as though I haven’t used it in years.

His knowing gaze is enough to place an enormous lump in my throat, but I swallow it down like a shot of hard liquor. There’s no room for weakness in my life. I learned that a long time ago.

“You doing okay, Drake? I’m sorry that it took something like this to bring you back to town.”

Nodding, I bow my head in shame. “I should have visited. Sorry, Mr. Harris. Everything you did for me back then…”

He pats my shoulder, clearing his throat and looking me straight in the eye. “Did what needed to be done, son. Every kid deserves some lookin’ after.”

He did more than that. He was the first person to put a wrench in my hand. The first man in my life who ever gave a shit. He gave me goals, put the army on my radar as a chance to break free from here.

I owe the man my life.

“You stayin’ or goin’?” he asks gruffly.

I glance at the coffin and cringe. “Going. Right after she’s in the ground.”

He releases a heavy sigh before nodding. “Can’t say I blame ya. Imagine you got a life wherever you are now. Carolina, is it?”

A small smile touches my lips. “Keepin’ tabs on me, Mr. Harris?”

Patting my shoulder again before he begins to walk away, he grunts. “Somebody has to. Maybe use a phone every now and again this time. You hear me, boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

He pauses and then looks back at me. “I’m proud of ya, Drake. The hand you got dealt? No-count daddy who ran when you was just a baby, mama who drank herself silly…” Mr. Harris shakes his head, scowling. “Wasn’t fair for a good kid like you to have to deal with it. But you done good, boy. Despite it all.”

The lump is back.

Tenfold.

He shuffles off, leaving just a few more townsfolk to greet me and give me their condolences. It’s so strange to accept them. Although I’d been sending my mother a percentage of my income ever since I first left home, I never could bring myself to come back and face it all again. Looking down at the shiny, cherrywood casket brings all kinds of regret bubbling to the surface. I should have come home. I should have done more than just send her money. I knew that she was drinking herself into the ground. I should have done more for her.

Should.

Should.

Should.

Too late now. She’s gone. All I have left is the life I’ve built for myself back in Lone Sands, North Carolina. Small cottage on the beach. Full-service auto shop I started and built from the ground up. A few friends I call family.

I have to move forward with my life.

I know that. But then why do I feel so empty?

The Challenger races up the interstate, seemingly just as charged up and ready to unwind as I am. Rather than sorting through Ma’s things and packing up her house to sell myself, I hired a packing company. Dredging up those memories and digging around in that part of my soul would accomplish nothing. I’m done with Blythe, Georgia.

From its spot in the cup holder, my phone catches my eye as the screen lights up.
Guess I never turned the sound back up after the funeral. Just as well. I don’t feel like talking to anyone.

Curiosity forces me to check the caller ID.

Dare. Dude’s been blowing up my phone all day.

But today…I can’t even force myself to check in with the one man who’s like a brother to me. Dare Conners and whatever he has to say can wait until I’m back in the right headspace. I know he’ll understand.

I place my phone back in the cup holder and continue driving, way too fast, back to North Carolina.

A couple of hours later I’m breezing into the town limits past the old wooden
WELCOME
sign and breathing an enormous sigh of relief. But I bypass the turnoff that’ll take me to my house and instead head for one of my favorite places in the world. The day of my ma’s funeral has come and gone, and night has fallen. Pulling into a parking spot, I shut off the Challenger’s ignition and step out into the night. Even in late January, the air here is moist, if also chilly. I take a deep breath, letting salty oxygen fill my lungs again. Exhaling, I stride up to See Food and let myself inside the restaurant.

Bypassing my usual table, I pull up a stool at the bar and focus my gaze on the plentiful choice of bottles behind Lenny. The middle-aged restaurant owner lifts a brow. “Rough day, Drake?”

Grunting, I nod. “The roughest.”

“Hungry?” Her eyes are kind as they search my face.

“Could always put away a basket of your coconut shrimp, Lenny.” I find a smile somewhere deep inside and lay it on her. “And why don’t you go ahead and pour me a stiff whiskey. Neat.”

Now her eyebrows pull together and lift toward her hairline. “Must have been a really bad day.”

She busies herself with a bottle of Jack and I take a minute to glance around me. On a Friday night in the middle of winter, See Food isn’t as packed as it would be during tourist season. But it’s busy with the local crowd, and the few waitresses are bustling around in jeans and boots. See Food’s laid-back atmosphere is what draws me here, and the second-to-none seafood is what keeps me coming back. It’s warm, it’s familiar, and right now it has the ability to make me forget for a little while.

The crowd tonight is easy, not rowdy. Full of men who want to drink and girls who want a good time. There’s no live music at See Food in the winter, so the notes floating out from the speakers is a playlist of low-key Southern rock mixed in with country hits.

I’m almost desperate with the need to get lost. Burying my mother dredged up all kinds of darkness I thought I’d buried a long time ago. It’s swirling around inside me now like silt in the ocean.

Churning, churning, churning.

When Lenny slides my drink toward me, I grip the glass in one hand and take a long, burning swallow. As the amber liquid slides down my throat I close my eyes and grimace.

Never wanted to be like her. And having a drink right now doesn’t mean I’m turning into her. It’s just been a rough day.

“I’ll have what he’s having.”

The sugary sweet voice comes from right beside me, and when I open my eyes I see that its owner is anything but. A bleached blonde dressed to impress has sidled up next to me at the bar. She leans over the shiny wood, her enormous tits nearly falling out of her low-cut top. My eyes slip down her body to take in the tight black leather pants and spiky heels. When I meet her eyes, the bright blue irises are sparkling with knowing allure.

“Hey there. Mind if I have a seat?” She puffs her red lips out in a pout. “Doesn’t seem to be anywhere else to sit.”

Out of the corner of my eye I see Lenny roll both of hers. I nod toward the empty stool beside me, indicating that she should sit if she wants to.

The blonde’s lips curve into a seductive smile as she hops up. Her thigh brushes mine and my dick springs to attention.
My body responds to hers like it knows exactly what comes next, and it’s eager to get to the finish line.

I glance at the blonde again, and she bats her lashes at me. Making up my mind, I nod to Lenny.

“Her drinks are on me.”

Lenny tries and fails to hold in her sigh. “Sure thing, Drake.”

“Drake?” The blonde leans over my arm, dragging a long fingernail across my inked skin. “Nice name.”

I down the rest of my drink and shove my glass back toward Lenny, wordlessly asking for another. Shaking her head while giving me the side eye, Lenny obliges.

It’s going to be a long night.