Man of Honor

Book 3: Battle Scars

by Diana Gardin

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Military Romance; New Adult Romance

Synopsis

"A sexy, brooding hero and a feisty, fierce heroine make for undeniable chemistry and scorching heat." --Jay Crownover, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author The best rules are the ones worth breaking . . . After his mother's funeral, ex-Army Ranger Drake Sullivan wants only to disappear and drown his sorrows in whiskey. Then he sees her: Mea Jones. An untamed, sexy-as-hell whirlwind of energy. A few years ago, she showed him the best-and hottest-night of his life, then walked away without a backward glance. But he's never stopped wanting more. When it comes to guys, Mea has rules. One night. No dating. Whatever it takes to have control and keep it. With Drake, it's all heat and hurt and hunger, and pretty much the opposite of control. And that makes him dangerous as hell. Mea has her own demons, and falling in love-or even in lust-is strictly a no-go proposition. But she soon finds out Drake is incredibly single-minded when it comes to getting what he wants. And he's determined to be the exception to all her rules. Reader advisory: The heroine's past deals with dark elements some readers may find disturbing. Recommended for mature audiences only." Man of Honor is sweet and sexy in all the right places." -- New York Times bestselling author J.B. Salsbury "Top Pick! Intense, passionate, and gritty...If you love your heroines strong, your heroes even stronger, and want a book that will keep you reading past your bedtime, Man of Honor is for you!" --Harlequin Junkie "Drake and Mea set the pages on fire! I was hooked from the very start!" --J.L. Berg, USA Today bestselling author"A heart wrenching story of the healing power of love. Gardin handles tough issues with sensitivity and poignant storytelling. Man of Honor will have you rooting for Drake and Mia and reaching for the tissues." --Marie Meyer, author of The Turning Point "An emotional, sexy, and touching read with two unforgettable and amazingly resilient characters. Man of Honor is an utterly devour-able book and I loved every second!" --Jillian Stein, READ-LOVE-BLOG

Release date: August 2, 2016

Publisher: Forever Yours

Print pages: 306

Sample

1

My 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.

 

2

Order up!” Boozer barks as his bald head appears above the food window in the kitchen of See Food.

“Got it!” I put down my glass of Sprite and pick up my plates of food, balancing a large tray while arranging the four heaping platters of seafood on top, then push through the swinging kitchen door backward and enter the bar area. I’ve only been working here for about a week. I’m still thanking my lucky stars that Lenny and Boozer hired me without any experience. I need all the money I can stockpile if I ever want to get my yoga studio up and running.

In this century.

Breezing past Lenny, I bump her hip gently with mine where she stands rinsing glasses at the sink behind the bar. “You good?”

She smirks at me. “I should probably be asking you that, doll.”

Shooting her a sassy wink, my tray wobbles slightly, and Lenny catches one mug of beer just before it tips off the edge. Groaning, she grabs my shoulders to steady me. “Lord, girl. You might be the death of this place.”

I scoff. “Please. Berkeley did it, and she’s ten times clumsier than I am.”

Lenny smiles, half-moon wrinkles forming around her lips. “Berkeley had years of practice. You’re meant for greater things than this old place. Just like she was.”

I glance down. “Maybe. But for now, this place is saving my ass. And so are you.” I lean over and kiss her cheek before brushing past her toward the high-top tables surrounding the bar. Hearing a throaty giggle, I whirl around. My chocolate brown curls slap me in the face as I zero in on the curvy blonde poured into her clothes at the bar. Yep, she’s the source of the giggle. Rolling my eyes, I start back on my path.

But something catches my eye and my steps stutter, then freeze.

The blond chick has large, spectacular, and most likely fake, breasts. They’re currently squished up against a solid brick wall of a man. First my eyes follow the veins in his muscular forearms, exposed by the white collared shirt he’s wearing, sleeves rolled up. Then my gaze wanders to the open collar, where the thick, winding lines of ink swirl up toward his neck. And that neck…muscular and thick, just like the rest of his perfectly sculpted body.

A body I know very, very well.

Lastly, my eyes land on a face that simultaneously makes my blood boil and my toes curl. Olive skin, mostly smooth except for the scar near his left temple. Short brown hair so dark it’s nearly raven. Square chin, covered in perfectly rough scruff. Straight nose with a slight rise in the top. Deep-set eyes the color of the warmest caramel.

Perfect male beauty. Rough and deep and dark. There’s so much story behind those eyes that I never learned. Eyes that are currently, hazily focused on the tits rubbing against his muscled arm.

Goddammit.

Drake Sullivan.

It’s not like I never run into him. I see him quite often actually, because my best friend and his are getting married in two months. We cross paths because we have to, not because I want to.

My past with Drake? It’s complicated. When a man gives you the best one-night stand of your life and you ruin everything by running out on him and never speaking to him about it again, things are bound to get tricky. Every time I see him, a slow burn of attraction sizzles just beneath the surface, and I do everything I can to pretend it isn’t so.

Because I’m not in the market for a boyfriend. It’s the last thing I need in my life.

It’s not like I didn’t know that See Food is his favorite hangout. He only lives right down the beach, for Pete’s sake. I just wasn’t expecting to see him now. And certainly not with that slut pressed against him like white on rice.

Dammit. I don’t want seeing him with another woman to affect me like this. I don’t want it to affect me at all!

My heartbeat thumps wildly in my chest as I watch him. I want so badly to tear my eyes away, but I just can’t. He’s clearly tanked. His eyes are glassy, and he’s tilting slightly sideways on his stool. Which is completely at odds with everything I know about Drake. He’s always calm, cool, and collected. He’s always in control.

The dude is a freaking ex-army Ranger. He’s someone others can depend on.

Well, most others.

Suddenly, Lenny’s face is directly in front of me, replacing my view of Drake and the Blonde Bombshell.

“Um, hello…Mea? What the hell is wrong with you, girl? You’re about to drop that tray!” Her voice is more concerned than angry, and that’s just so typically Lenny that a lump suddenly forms in my throat.

Horrified at the thought that I might actually cry for no reason and in front of anyone else, I blink rapidly and swallow hard.

“Oh, uh…right. I’m on my way to table twenty-three with these. Just…sorry.”

“I’ve gotta run to the office for a minute.” Her last sentence pulls me back around to face her. “After you drop that off, can you hang behind the bar for a few until I get back?”

Slowly nodding my agreement, I turn on my heel, and doing everything I can to avoid dropping the tray of not-quite-hot food, I scurry in the opposite direction of the bar. I drop off the food at my table and then take a second to gather myself.

This is where I work. I have a job to do, and I’m not going to let the sight of Drake Sullivan and some flavor-of-the-week stop me from helping Lenny when she needs it.

They both glance up as my rag swirls the bar top in front of them. “Everything okay here?”

Drake’s bleary gaze meets mine, and then his eyes widen in surprise. “Mea? What…what are you doing here?”

I prop my hip up against the bar and send him a smirk. All the while, my heart beats like the wings of a trapped butterfly inside my chest.

Drake looks…hell, he looks damn good. He’s traded in his usual T-shirt for a white button-up, and the dark ink winding around his forearms catches my eye.

“I work here, Drake.” I’m proud of how well I’m able to keep the tremble out of my voice.

Why is he affecting me so much? Maybe it’s because of the woman. My gaze slides to her.

“We’re fine here.” Her high-pitched voice sends me a very clear signal. Step off. He’s mine.

Which, of course, only makes my smirk grow wider as my eyes slide back to Drake. “Y’all let me know if you need anything, k? I’ll be behind the bar until Lenny gets back.”

His eyes drinking me in, Drake lifts his chin once in acknowledgment.

The fact that he hasn’t looked at his drinking buddy once since I’ve been standing here makes me smile as I move on down the bar to check in with other customers.

I can feel his eyes burning into me as I chat and refill drinks. When Lenny returns, I take the opportunity to head for the front door. A quick breather is all I need. A chance to catch my breath and gather my thoughts.

For just a minute, I need to be as far away from Drake fucking Sullivan as possible.

  

The night drags by. Despite my best intentions to keep my head down, serve my tables, and get through the night without snatching the blonde off her barstool or elbowing Drake off of his, my eyes continue to track their movements from wherever I am in the restaurant. Drake’s been different than his usual self—he seems almost down in the dumps—oblivious to everything, including the blonde for the most part. I can tell from the time she’s invested in him that she thinks he’s taking her home tonight. But, watching Drake way more closely than I should, I’m not so sure he’s on the same game plan as she is.

He accepts her attention, but he doesn’t dish out any of his own. Mostly, Drake’s eyes are trained on the drinks that he keeps slugging down like they’re going out of style.

Except for the occasions I can feel their searing gaze on me.

Blondie’s getting impatient with his lack of attention despite all her efforts.

A small smile quirks at my lips when she literally begins to pout. That’s the moment when Drake decides to glance up from his drink. His dark gaze nails me to the spot, instantly freezing my movements as I’m caught up in his stare.

Do you know that expression time stands still? You know, the one they only use in chick flicks and romance novels?

Yeah, I now understand what it means. It doesn’t mean that the second hand on your watch stops ticking. It doesn’t mean that everyone around you pauses, grotesquely frozen in whatever activity they were engaging in. No, it’s not like that at all.

When time stands still for me at that moment, it happens because Drake’s gaze meets mine, and the intensity of it as recognition dawns on his face levels me. Flattens me. Roots me to the spot where I stand. And even though everyone and everything continue their normal goings-on around us, the thread that holds us together at that moment stretches taut, and I can’t tell how much time passes.

Do seconds tick by? Minutes? An hour?

Hell if I know.

Drake’s previously watery gaze sharpens in that moment, perfect clarity reflecting in his eyes. Awareness sizzles along my skin, tracing the path that my nerve endings draw, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about the effect he’s having on me.

Not a damn thing.

I hold my ground. Neither of us moves a muscle for at least ten seconds, and I have the uncontrollable urge to move toward him. He blinks, and I take that moment to flee. I don’t want him to see me so unraveled. I don’t want him to know that seeing him liquefies my insides, turning me into mush. Escaping through the high-top tables in the bar area and around the long wooden high-top where Lenny is filling a glass with something dark and frothy, the kitchen door swishes shut behind me and I lean against the wall. My chest rises and falls with my heavy breaths, and there’s only one thought running through my mind at top speed.

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

Because if I’m honest with myself—and it’s not very often that I allow that to happen, not when it comes to this—Drake Sullivan has had this effect. . .