Soldiers of Love

by N'TYSE, Untamed

Genres: African American Romance; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

Profoundly moving and nostalgic, Soldiers of Love: Beautiful Scars is a searing exploration of soul ties, love scars, second-chance romance, and the healing power of forgiveness. Inspired by real events, Soldiers is soul-stirring and perfect for fans of Seven Days in June and Before I Let Go.
Liberty Mae Banks was her birth name, yet Zion called her Mrs. Forever …
It took years and fistfuls of tears for Liberty to convince herself that Zion Malik Mitchell had been a figment of her imagination. She’d suppressed every memory to lessen the burn—and because it’s the proper thing to do once you’ve become another man’s wife. Now the mother, wife, and #SoldiersofLove relationship columnist for Love Lifestyle magazine finds herself in a heartfelt tug of war when her childhood sweetheart, Zion, resurfaces.
For Zion, Liberty had always been his peace and the one who got away. He needed her more than he was ever willing to admit, and while it’s often said that time heals all wounds, all time had done for Zion was rob him of a future with the love of his life. When tragedy strikes, Zion’s freedom is left hanging in the balance
as he awaits sentencing. Plagued with guilt and fear, there’s only one person he trusts to help him through his most arduous battle ever—Liberty.
Will Liberty sacrifice her picture-perfect life and rush to Zion’s side in hopes of healing and setting them both free, or will resurrecting their war-torn past open a Pandora’s box neither will be able to close?

Release date: June 27, 2023

Publisher: Black Odyssey Media

Print pages: 288

Sample

Prologue

Quincy’s head fell back as he brought his hands upward and dragged them down his face before looking back at me. “Liberty,” he breathed out.

Instantly, my chest heaved up and down and my skin felt flush. It was the way he’d said my name that made every nerve ending in my body stand at attention. Although I was suddenly fearful of the next words that seemed to dance on his lips, I had to hear this. I had to know if I had some merit to cuss this woman out. Surely, if he admitted some wrongdoing, Eva’s tongue-lashing wouldn’t even scratch the surface of what I’d implode onto Quincy.

“Don’t you ‘Liberty’ me. Who is Eva, and why the hell is she calling your phone—rather comfortably—in the wee hours of the morning, looking for some quote unquote, friendly advice?”

Quincy exhaled nervously. Still, his voice must have been stolen because all he could do was stare at me, not fully awake. Leaning back, my face turned into a deep scowl. I crossed my legs and unlocked my phone. “Since you’re on mute, let me help you out.” In a matter of minutes, I had everything I needed in the palms of my hands.

Eva Marie Campbell, thirty-six years old, no kids, no husband, nurse, lived in Dallas, Texas then moved to New York City, and is now back in Dallas, Texas, formerly a member of Mount Olive Baptist Church—your childhood church, mother’s name is Vanessa Benedict-Campbell, father is Everett Ignacio Campbell, one sister, Victoria Inez Campbell-Wright, no criminal background, drives a smoke-gray Acura, lives in Cedar Hill, and works out at Z Fitness. Should we take a drive over to ask her in person what you obviously can’t seem to answer?” With a hair toss, I placed my phone on the TV stand after displaying my investigative journalistic skills, then folded my arms with my legs crossed, awaiting his response.

Quincy brought his steepled hands to his face. “It’s not what you think, Liberty.” He rested his hands on his waist, eyeing me momentarily. When he seemed to resolve within himself that I wasn’t going to let this go, he tossed his hands in the air and slowly took a seat on the edge of our bed. “She’s an old friend. We did grow up in the same church together, and yes, she used to work at Bainstone years ago.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know, Quincy! Like why the hell she’s calling you at two in the morning!”

“Babe, please calm down,” he said, and quickly shifted gears when he saw the steam that seemed to be visibly floating from me. “She has cancer.”

“But you’re no doctor!” I didn’t mean to sound so insensitive, but this woman had infiltrated my marriage.

His forehead crinkled with his face turned up, visibly touched by my words before he could catch himself. Enraged, I threw on my lounge pants and a tank top that lay across the chaise as if I were preparing to go to war. Because I was.

Quincy ran over to me, gently grabbing my arm. “I’m sorry, baby. It’s not like that—”

“Are you fucking her, Quincy?” My words sprayed like bullets and seared into him.

“What? No. No!” he declared, trying his best to keep me pinned in place.

“Liar!” I seethed with vibrato as my lips quivered. Emotion consumed me as the possibility that my husband had been unfaithful hit me like a ton of bricks. “Let me go, Quincy. I’m not stupid. Let me go!”

“No, baby, not until you calm down,” he said sternly. He lightly gripped my chin with the cup of his thumb and index finger, forcing me to look up at him. “I’m not cheating on you. I’ve never cheated on you. And I never will cheat on you. Come on… I’m not that kind of man, Liberty. I love you.”

“Does Ms. Body Party know that you don’t cheat on your wife?” My eyes zeroed in on him for answers. I folded my arms, giving up my momentary efforts to flee since he wouldn’t move out of my way.

Quincy’s head fell forward as he placed his hands on my arms. “I will tell you everything if you promise to calm down and allow me the opportunity to explain.”

Momentarily, I considered his request and against my better judgment, I sat down on the chaise and nodded for him to continue. “I’m listening.”

“Okay, Eva is a woman I’ve known since childhood. We did go to the same church. She did used to work at Bainstone. When Carlos had his cookout, she was there. We caught up on old times, she confided in me about the cancer, and we exchanged numbers so she could keep me up to date on what was going on with her health. I didn’t really believe she would call, but she did. Somewhere along the way, it became two friends talking and keeping each other lifted. I swear that’s all it was.”

“If that is all it was then why is she calling you only while she believes you’re at work? Why does it sound like these ‘talks’ are a lot more intimate than they should be? Why don’t I know anything about her, or this? And why was she at your friend’s Carlos’s cookout?” I pressed.

Quincy slid his hands down his face. “She knows somebody Carlos knows. I’m not a hundred percent sure. I didn’t invite her, and it wasn’t my business why she was there. All I know is that she was there.”

I took a beat.

Allowed him to gather his truths.

Rearrange his lies.

Quincy groaned before exhaling deeply. “Deep down, baby, I knew you might have an issue with Eva calling me. And please believe me, I didn’t want to disrupt my household, and at the same time, I wanted to be there for her as a friend.”

“If you knew I’d have an issue with it, then why didn’t you come to me yourself, instead of waiting for me to find out like this? Because then it looks like you’re hiding something.” He cast his eyes downward. That’s when it dawned on me. “Wait. You knew she had a thing for you, didn’t you?”

He cupped his mouth with his hand and shook his head, his eyes filled with regret.

“Quincy!”

“Okay! Yes! I knew she did, but I knew I wasn’t going to let it go any further than friendship, and I knew you’d see right through her if I told you. We’ve been friends since kids, and I wanted to be there for her during her time of need. I thought as long as I kept the other stuff at bay that I could handle it. But I swear to you, I don’t have feelings for her. Eva is nothing more than a friend.”

So many thoughts swirled through my mind as I stood there engulfed in Quincy’s arms. Although there had been no physical betrayal—if I took his word for it—there was still the emotional betrayal. It wasn’t the fact that he didn’t allow it to go further or even the possibility that he was feeling her in a way that he felt for me, but there was still a tie, a bond, that I wasn’t privy to. There was some type of pull that this woman, whom I didn’t even know, had over my husband that had forced him to hide their relationship from me. That in itself was still a betrayal.

“But you let her in. You gave her access. She has had a part of your time and attention that I did not have, and it’s gotta be more than cancer. Don’t insult my intelligence, Quincy!”

He turned away before facing me again. “Baby. We dated briefly. I’m talking freshmen year in high school, and it didn’t even last a month. We just weren’t a good fit and were better off as friends. And when she told me about the diagnosis, I only wanted to be there for moral support. Nothing more. I swear.”

And there it was.

The truth.

It hurt to hear, but it hurt worse not knowing. As odd as it was, his admission gave me a bit of relief because it meant that he was being truthful. If he’d hidden it, then I would’ve known that he felt more than what he’d let on. Still, it did something to my soul to know that he had carved out time for his ex.

Not just any old ex.

An ex who was battling cancer.

“Liberty,” he said, eying me lovingly. “I love you. I’m sorry, and I was wrong.” He pulled me in close to him. “Please say you forgive me.”

I swiped at the tears that flowed down my face. “I need time to think about this.”

“I love—”

I put my hand up. “Don’t,” I warned. “Not right now. I need to rest.”

He gave me a slight bob of his head. “Okay, baby.”

I walked to our bed and instead of sliding inside, I lifted both of his pillows and handed them to him. “Guest room.”

“You’re kicking me out of our bedroom?”

“Do you prefer the house?”

He grabbed the pillows willingly. “Liberty, I swear nothing happened.”

I walked past him to our bedroom door and opened it. “Oh no, something happened. My husband kept a secret friendship with an ex-girlfriend behind my back. Now I need you to go while I rest and consider what I want to do next. You owe me that much.”

Conceding, Quincy threw the pillows under his arms and walked through the door. He stopped when he was next to me and leaned over. “I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.”

His kiss landed on my cheek, and he walked out toward the guest bedroom as I shut and locked our bedroom door.

That was typically how all affairs began.

Innocent intentions.

An emotional connection.

A convenient truth.

Then enter the lies.

My soul felt betrayed.

Chapter 1

September 28, 2014

“Mommy, can I have those pleeeasssseeeeee… Mommy!” 

Milk, eggs, spaghetti, tissue— 

“MOMMY, ARE YOU LISTENING? I SAID I WANT THOSE CHIPPPSSS!” 

The sudden yank of my blouse startled the hell out of me. I immediately stopped checking off the grocery list in my head and brought the shopping cart to a halt, dead in the middle of aisle seven. The miniature bright-eyed look-alike that strolled alongside me was not the child I’d spent twelve hours, thirty-two minutes, and forty-seven seconds—waiting on my doctor—to bring into this world via our scheduled C-section. Couldn’t have been. I coolly looked around to see if anyone had witnessed the tantrum. For her sake, apparently, no one had. 

“Queenie Chenell Bridges,” I began as I leaned into her, “why on earth are you catching that tone with me, little girl?” Her radiant cocoa complexion glistened from a shea butter cocktail while her naturally smiling eyes sparkled like chocolate pearls under the bright shopping lights. There was no denying it. Queenie had eyes like mine. Eyes that spoke in free verse with a little rhythm and a whole lot of soul. That was our secret weapon. And since birth, Queenie knew precisely how to use them. 

On me. 

On her father. 

On everyone. 

Her bottom lip curled into a pout. “I’m sorry, Mommy.” 

“I’ll accept your apology, Queenie, but you have to understand that in life, crying won’t get you—”

“There y’all go!”

“Daddy!” 

Queenie jetted down the aisle. Her long cornrows danced and the pink and white beads on the ends clanked harmoniously against one another. I knew what was next. Still, I watched on as she outstretched her right arm and her favorite index finger pointed to the glorious tower of Doritos on the endcap. As if on cue, my husband, Quincy, grabbed two bags before scooping her up in his muscular arms. As they walked my way, I instantly shot him the look.

“Uh-oh. What I do, babe?”

My eyes darted to our number one household vice—chips.

“It’s my cheat day.” A sheepish grin spread across Quincy’s face as he placed the snacks in the cart.

Queenie gushed and batted her eyes. “Mine, too.”

“You see that?” I directed toward Quincy. “You’re mollycoddling again.”

“Anything for my princess.” He leaned in and stole a kiss. “And my beautiful queen,” he finished before cuffing my derriere with one hand and giving it an energetic squeeze.

This time I gushed.

“You ’bout ready to go so we can wind down before the game?” he asked.

“I am. But I feel like I’m forgetting something.” I scanned everything in the cart a fourth time. 

“Don’t worry about it. I can get back out later if you need me to.” 

I smiled. “Okay.”

“Mommy, I have to potty.” 

Before Queenie could get the last word out, Quincy quickly placed her back on her feet. 

“I’ll take care of this and meet y’all in the car,” he said. 

“All right.” I grabbed Queenie’s hand, and we trotted down the aisle. We zigzagged past several shoppers and made a beeline straight for the ladies’ room. 



“Well, I’ll be damned! Liberty Banks. Is that really you, gurl?” 

I cautiously turned around from drying my hands at the reference to my entire maiden name. Wasn’t long before Queenie found her position next to me. I strained my eyes to make out the individual, but it was impossible through the blue and white face paint. Their hair was trimmed low with a white star plastered on the left side. It was obvious they were a Dallas Cowboys fan sporting a Dez Bryant football jersey—modeling the spirit Quincy and I were in for that night’s football game. 

“Libby B, don’t stand there and act brand new!” 

“Terica!” I shrieked. I rushed over to my childhood best friend and swaddled her in a teddy bear hug. “Oh my God! It’s been what… fourteen years. Look at you!” I was caught between disbelief and amazement. Had it not been for the face paint, the bald fade, the slightly deeper voice, and the peach fuzz that covered her chin, I would have recognized Terica in a heartbeat. 

“You haven’t changed one bit,” Terica said, looking me up and down with the same shock. Her eyes bounced from me to Queenie. “I can see this here is your little twin.” She smiled as she reached out to shake Queenie’s hand. “I’m T. An old friend of your mom’s.” 

“Hi. My name is Queenie.” 

“Beautiful name. How old are you, Queenie?” 

“Four.” 

“Wow! Sounds like I have some belated birthday gifting to do.” 

Queenie and I both smiled at the gesture. 

“Wait, is that a wedding ring?” Terica lifted my left hand to inspect the ring more closely. An approving smile crossed her lips. “I see bro finally came to his senses and put a ring on it.” 

My brows furrowed in confusion. “Oh no, not Zi—” I tried to correct her before her cell phone started ringing. 

“Hold that thought. This my wife.” 

I nodded with a smile. 

“What’s up, baby? All right. I’ll swing by and pick him up before the game. Love you, too.” Terica ended the call. “Yo, this is wild! Never in a million years would I have thought I’d get a chance to see my best friend again. Like maybe on television or something, but not in Tarjay of all places,” she said, manufacturing her best faux French accent to pronounce the supercenter’s nickname.  

“Well, let’s not leave out this scenic backdrop,” I added at the sound of a toilet flushing.

“Definitely one for the Gram!”  

We collapsed into giggles. Back in the day, we used to refer to one another as being “goofy” whenever we found the same thing funny—even when others weren’t dialed into our comicality. 

“Nah, but on a serious note, I thought for sure you’d be living it up somewhere in New York or California, enjoying the high life and those fancy donuts you love every morning. Man, what were they called again?” I parted my lips to speak. “Nah, don’t tell me… ummm… beignets. Yeah, that’s them. I imagined you in your executive C-suite with lavish furniture, a few assistants, sipping on a latte, eating beignets, and taking over the music industry.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you remember all that.” 

“How could I not? It was all you ever talked about when we were kids; getting the heck up out of the hood, starting an all-female hip-hop label, getting married, and having babies.” She paused. “You had a dream, Liberty. And I always knew your gifts and your passion for music would take you as far as you wanted to go.”

Our childhood conversations and that entire 90s era swirled like a cyclone in my mind, and before I knew it, I was back on that roller coaster of sweet teenage fantasies, wrapped in tall tales, smoking on pipe dreams laced with trap beats, and chasing an American dream cloaked in designer fashions that never came in my size. 

“Well, let’s just say I had to remix that plan,” I admitted. 

Terica nodded. “I feel where you’re coming from.” 

I began to wonder if she’d suppressed her childhood pain like I had. Or if she was constantly reliving the trauma. I was too afraid to inquire. Besides, some things were better left unsaid.

There was an awkward drift between us. 

“When I joined the military, sis, hell, I didn’t bother looking back. Couldn’t face those demons then.” 

Terica had read my mind. I wanted to hug my friend because I knew the demons she spoke of. She hung her head briefly before clearing her throat and looking me dead in the eye. 

“It’s all good, though. Our past doesn’t define us.” 

Another moment of silence hung between us. 

“Now let’s talk about how you definitely seem to have a better grip on these thirties than I do,” Terica said, switching the subject. 

“I don’t know about all that, T.” I now addressed her by the nickname she’d given Queenie. “Despite this twelve-pound struggle, I try. And I don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t look too shabby yourself.” 

“This here, my friend, is called an illusion.” 

We broke into a fit of laughter. Queenie, however, didn’t mask her boredom. 

“I remember a time when my metabolism and knee joints were the last thing I had to worry about going to the doctor for,” she continued, motioning for us to take the conversation outside of the restroom. Queenie and I followed. 

I quickly covered Queenie’s ears and packaged my greatest confession in a hushed tone.

“Well, imagine the reality check I was served once I discovered platinum-colored hairs in places that I can’t apply a flat iron or jet-black hair dye.” 

I pulled my hands back. Queenie looked up at me in sheer confusion with her face wrinkled up. 

Terica’s mouth hung open. “You playing, right?”

I pursed my lips and shook my head slowly.

“Awwww mannnnn, I sooooo thought that would skip our generation.” 

“My friend, I’m here to warn you that it didn’t.” 

We fell into another round of laughter, this time at my vagina’s expense.

“The privileges of youth,” Terica conceded. 

“I share the sentiment.” 

My smile widened. It felt like old times. 

“We gotta catch up!” 

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” I said. I reached into my purse and fished out my cell phone. We exchanged numbers. 

“We can never lose contact again.” 

“Definitely not happening,” I added. I leaned in, and we hugged each other tightly before saying our goodbyes and parting ways. However, before Queenie and I could make it ten steps, Terica hollered out my name once more. 

“Be sure to tell my boy, Zion, I said ‘what’s up’!” she said before turning her Chuck Taylor’s in the opposite direction. 

“Mommy, who’s Zion?” 

My heart skipped a few beats and my chest tightened. I pretended not to hear Queenie, but that didn’t stop his name from ringing like fire horns in both of my ears. I knew the feeling rushing me all too well. 

I couldn’t hide. 

Zion had found me.

Just like he’d said he would.

Chapter 2

Running into Terica was like being transported in time. It placed me in an awkward balance in the time continuum of the past and the present. How could it be that someone who’d impacted my life for years, underwent a life changing transition and returned as someone I barely even recognized? It was difficult to accept the truth, which was that we all seemed to abandon each other as time went on. I used to believe it was out of selfishness, when truthfully, it was really out of self-survival. It was as though, despite the love our old crew had for one another, that bond was steeped in the realities of our struggles and shortcomings. As the nostalgia of those times engulfed me, I couldn’t help but think back to the moment our entire crew came together my fourth-grade year. The day I met the one and only—Zion Malik Mitchell. 



December 2, 1991

“Attention class!” our homeroom teacher, Mrs. Dexter, announced. “We have a new student joining us today,” she informed before stepping outside of the classroom to usher them into the room. We sat forward in anticipation. Some of us groaned because Mrs. Dexter always tried to force someone to be the new person’s friend. I was one of the groaners. It wasn’t hard for me to make friends at all because once we clicked, we clicked. I only detested Mrs. Dexter’s approach. She seemingly didn’t understand that, like with nature, there was an organic process to a real friendship connection.

Mrs. Dexter walked back inside with the new student trailing behind her with his head down. Yes! A boy. That meant one of the other knuckleheaded boys could be his fake new friend until he went through the process and made some of his own. 

“Class, this is Zion Mitchell,” Mrs. Dexter introduced. “Say hello, everyone.” 

“Hello everyone!” Pac-Man blurted. The entire class burst into laughter. 

Mrs. Dexter gave him the warning eye. “All right, Mr. Johnson. Keep it up, and you’ll be working on a trip to the principal’s office.” With her focus back on the class, she started up again. “Now everyone say hello to Zion.” Her words accompanied a daring raised eye in Pac-Man’s direction. 

Zion slowly raised his head, and I thought I’d died and gone to Heaven the second we made eye contact. He was tall and slim with golden brown skin, and his dreamy honey-hazel eyes were like magnets. He was so fresh to death rocking a black Run-D.M.C. T-shirt, acid-wash jeans, and black Chucks with a black Members Only jacket. He looked as if he had stepped off the set of Yo! MTV Raps. 

“Hello, Zion!” the rest of the class forcefully greeted at once.

“Heyyy, Zion,” I dragged out.

He looked dead at me. “What’s up,” he replied with a single head bounce. I blushed so hard my cheeks hurt. 

“So, guess what class?” Mrs. Dexter interceded. “This is a very special moment for Zion because today is December 2nd, the first Monday of the month, and you all know what we do for the first Monday, right?” 

“Birthday shoutouts!” the class roared.

“That’s right, birthday shoutouts!” Mrs. Dexter repeated with excitement, then turned to Zion. “And Zion gets to be celebrated because his birthday is this month, too.” She turned to face the class and looked directly at me. “Come on up, Liberty!” She waved me over. 

Normally, I would’ve loved to prance to the front of the class to get my birthday recognition, but not that day. Not in the presence of the finest boy at Truett Elementary. Suddenly, butterflies swarmed my stomach. I second-guessed my outfit, my hair, and my hygiene—which on an ordinary day, was always on point.

The entire class shifted their attention to me. I moved slower than a turtle, my nerves getting the best of me. And it didn’t help that Zion was staring at me like I had a third eye. Once I reached the front of the class, Mrs. Dexter placed me right beside Zion and directed everyone to sing the “Happy Birthday” song to us. When they were finished, I almost grew wings and fl. . .