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Chapter 1

Ain't no feeling in the world like free falling.

Nothing compares to the thrill of flying through the air, hundreds of feet above the world, watching the ground rush up to meet you. It's like tempting fate, like daring God. Every time we jump, we're gambling with our lives. So far, I've had a flush hand—knock on wood. I'm addicted to the gamble—like an addict with a wad of cash and no morals—I live for my next fix. To feel the wind burn my face, to feel the force of gravity peel my skin and lips back from my bones. To feel weightless; like I can fly, like I can drift away on the wind. Not many people get to see Earth from this angle. They don't get to fall through a cloud or soar higher than an eagle.

Only the lucky few, and the 82nd Airborne.

My chute opens, and my body snaps back violently as the drag kicks in, slowing my descent. Six more minutes till impact.

I glance to my right and see my buddy Biddell shooting me his pinky and forefinger—the universal hand signal for ‘rock on.'

I return it with another one—my middle finger.

From this height, I can practically see the entire state of North Carolina. The smoky peaks of the Blue Ridge mountains, the tops of towering pine trees, and the tallest buildings in Charlotte, Greensboro, and Durham. But the view fades fast the further I fall.

Two minutes till impact.

Every time I jump, I feel that familiar thrill—the rolling in my stomach, adrenaline igniting in my blood. Realistically, I know I can't jump forever, not with the toll it's taking on my ankles and knees. I'm going to miss the shit out of this when it finally comes to an end.

But for the next nine months, I'm gonna enjoy every minute I spend free falling, knowing they might be my last.

I'm out of time. The ground is less than fifty feet beneath me, and I prepare for impact. It's impossible to land gracefully. Even with a chute, you're basically crashing into the Earth at twenty-six miles per hour. Tomorrow, I'm gonna be sore everywhere , but today, today I'm fucking living.

My feet hit first, and I try to duck and roll with the momentum. My chute collapses around me, and the wind catches it, dragging my body across the rocky ground. Just as I come to a halt, a body lands on top of me, his boots digging into my back.

"Ow, fuck!" The initial impact my body absorbs is enough to rattle my fucking teeth, but the force of Biddell's hulking body crashing into me squeezes the air from my lungs.

I wheeze, coughing up the dust I kicked up on impact, and try to roll away from him. "Get the fuck off me, POG."

He struggles to roll to his knees, coughing up dust. "Like I can control… Where I fucking land."

"To some degree, yeah, you fuckin' can."

He spits to clear his mouth. "Stop your bitching and help me up."

"Help your fuckin' self, cockwomble." Rolling to my knees, I push to my feet, making my way to Biddell. He grabs the hand I offer, and I haul him to his feet, grinning along with him.

"Nice landing," Warren jokes, backslapping the both of us.

I can already hear the endless reel of jokes that will surely follow from now until forever. Fucking knuckleheads. The guys in my unit may not be the sharpest bullets in the magazine, but they're the best guys I know. My brothers and sisters. I would literally die to protect them.

The Sergeant First Class's voice rings out across the field. "Let's go, ladies! This ain't fucking playtime! Get your chutes and line the fuck up!"

"Keep your fuckin' boots on, Jesus Christ," I mumble under my breath. I hadn't seen his ass jump thirty thousand feet.

We scramble into formation, still coughing, waiting for our hearts to stop racing. The SFC paces the line. "That was mediocre. You know what happens when you have a mediocre jump in combat?"

He stops pacing right in front of me. "You die, sir!"

"That's right, Marsh. You fucking die. Do you want to die, Marsh?"

"Not today, sir!"

"Get back to the landing strip and do it again!"

Exhausted, thirsty, and sweating, we hike seven miles in full gear back to the airfield and board the C-17. Last week, we received our orders to deploy. Since then, it's been training, training, and more training from the ass-crack of dawn till sundown. Scratch that… we did two night jumps this week.

Eight more days till we deploy. I'd boxed up a few things I couldn't take with me—my gaming console, civvies, a box of photos, and paperwork, and stashed it in Army storage on base along with my car.

"Man, when this shit's over, we're going drinking tonight," Biddell calls. "Warren's the DD!"

"Bullshit," Warren coughs. "I designate Ormen."

"I designate your mother," Ormen shouts.

I chuff, shaking my head. It's always like this. Someone was dumber than dirt, someone's mother was knocked up by the entire battalion, and someone drew the short straw and life sucked extra hard for them.

Luckily, today it's not me or my mother.

The Footlocker is far from the nicest bar in town, but it's close to the base and has good drink specials after nine PM. We gathered a group of six guys, including myself, in two cars.

Our waitress places a platter of chicken wings and loaded nachos on the table, and you would think we were rabid pigs, the way we tear into the food. My buddies aren't the kind of guys that use a napkin to wipe their greasy fingers. No, their jeans suffice just fine.

I tip back my bottle, squeezing my eyes shut as the lager burns the back of my throat. "Damn, that tastes good after a long day in the field!"

"Shit, horse piss tastes good after a long day in the field," Ormen argues.

"He's not wrong," Biddell seconds.

"What do you think it's gonna be like over there?" Warren asks.

Villaro snorts. "Shit, my buddy came back, told me it's hot as donkey balls, and all you do is choke on the fucking sand."

"To donkey balls!" Mandell toasts.

I tune them out after that, scrolling through my phone. The less I think about what it's going to be like, the better chance I've got at keeping my cool and not freaking the fuck out. Am I nervous? Hell yeah. But I'm also excited. No doubt, I'll live to regret that sentiment—if I'm lucky.

A text from my mother makes my phone vibrate.

Mama:

Call me before you leave. Love you always, xoxo

She's the fucking best. If I ever meet a woman half as good as my mama, I'll marry her in a heartbeat, but it's not gonna happen. My mama has them all beat.

My buddies are usually a rowdy bunch, but they get louder suddenly, and it catches my attention, my head snapping up. Warren is flirting with a girl across the room. She's seated at the bar with her girlfriend, making come-fuck-me eyes at him.

Warren slaps a twenty on the table to cover his bill and pushes out his chair. "Shit, I don't know about all you losers, but this is my last chance to get laid before we deploy. I'm out. I'll catch you back at base."

Cue the peanut gallery and all their stale jokes.

Biddell smacks my arm. "She's got a friend, Marsh, and she's looking at you. What're you gonna do about it, my man?"

I glance over my shoulder to check her out, and sure enough, the cute blonde is staring back at me. "She ain't lookin' at me, man."

Truth be told, I'm more interested in the man sitting beside her, but he's obviously straight, talking to a woman. Not that I can show any interest in him in front of my buddies. The chick is cute, but she don't look like she's gonna offer much resistance, and I'm the type of guy who loves the thrill of the chase. Usually, men tend to put up more of a fight. They make you work for it, and that gets my dick hard.

"Hell yeah, she is," Biddell insists. "Look at you. Black hair, green eyes. Dimples."

"They're hazel."

"What the fuck ever. You gonna go talk to her? Or are you passing your sloppy seconds on to us?"

My mama would slap the taste right outta my mouth if she heard us talking about a girl like this. Thank God Mama isn't here. Like Warren had, I drop a twenty on the table and approach the bar.

"Evenin' doll. How's your night goin'?"

"Better now that I've got you to talk to." Her coy smile is framed by glossy peach lips. Damn, I want to know what that gloss tastes like.

"Is that right? I'm Rhett, by the way."

"Tamara. Let me guess, you're Army, aren't you?"

"What gave me away?" I ask, looking sheepish. It's all an act. Of course, I'm Army. The base is less than ten minutes down the road. Every man and woman in a fifteen-mile radius is Army.

"You've just got that look," she says, teasing her bottom lip with her teeth. "Is that your unit or squad?" Tamara looks over my shoulder at the guys.

"Yes ma'am, my battalion."

"Oh, does that mean you're Airborne?"

Tamara knows a thing or two about the Army herself, it seems. "That's right, eighty-second, at your service."

She does this little giggle thing that all girls do when they want to look cute. "Let me ask you a question," she starts. "What would make you want to go and jump out of a perfectly good airplane? Are you a daredevil?"

Tamara's got this twinkle in her pretty brown eyes, like she gets off on the fact that I might be a bad boy. I'm not. I hate to disappoint her, but I'm not the bad boy she's hoping for. Thrill seeker? Yes. Adrenaline junkie? Most definitely. But a bad boy? Nope. I'm as easygoing and rule-abiding as they come. My mama raised a good boy.

I lean in closer, catching a whiff of her sweet perfume. "You know that feelin' you get when you ride a roller coaster and your stomach flips over?" She nods, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Or when you meet a cute guy at the bar, and you can't help but stare at his mouth as he talks because you just want that first kiss so damn bad?" Her eyes grow round and she licks her lips. Tamara is definitely staring at my mouth now, just like I'd hoped. "And when you finally taste his kiss for the first time, all those butterflies take off in your stomach, making you feel all tingly and electric?"

"Yeah," she breathes, leaning closer.

"Well, that's why I jump out of airplanes. To chase that feeling." Smirking, I pull back, not giving her the kiss she's seeking. Gotta keep ‘em on the hook a little longer. Tamara sports a pretty little pout. "So, tell me, darlin', what feelin' are you chasin'?"

She doesn't answer, just wraps her manicured hand around the back of my head and pulls me in, planting her lips on mine, bold as can be.

"Do you want to get out of here?" She sounds all breathy, clearly turned on from the kiss. "My apartment isn't far from here."

"Well, what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn't escort you home?"

"I've got my car," she points out.

"That's all right. You lead and I'll follow, just to make sure you get home safe." Total fucking lie. If she doesn't invite me in, I'll be pissed. Well, disappointed, for sure.

True to her word, she doesn't live far, and I pull into the lot and park beside her. I hurry to grab her door for her, and she leans against the side of her car, snagging the belt loops on my jeans to pull me in close for a sweet kiss.

"Listen, just so we're clear, there're no strings attached here. No expectations. I don't want to be that kind of guy," I lie. "But in less than a week, I leave for the other side of the world."

"Well, in that case," she smiles, "let me give you a proper sendoff."

Hell yeah. Tamara definitely didn't disappoint.

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