Southern Sunshine by Natasha Madison

Chapter 1

Reed

Six years later

After parking the Jeep in the same spot I always park in, I turn it off and open the door. A hiss leaves my mouth when I stretch my leg and pull the stitches tight. "Motherfucker,” I say, getting out of the truck and slamming the door.

I walk slower than I want to, but the fact that I’m walking without a cane right now is a big deal. Even though they pushed it on me, I refused it every time. I was just going to push myself harder.

Eight weeks and three days ago, we were ambushed in our convoy. I close my eyes, and all I can hear is the sound of whizzing as the bomb came straight for us. I was pinned under the truck. I felt the metal pieces all the way down to my bone and knew I should have stayed put. I also knew that if I did stay put, I would die, so I ripped my leg from under the truck. I felt the bullets whizz by all of us, and I could call for close air support to assist in pushing back the assault. I would do what I needed to do to make sure we all left here together.

Heading up the concrete walkway, I pull open the glass door. I nod to a couple of the guys while I make my way down the white corridor. My heart beats erratically in my chest. I feel like I did when I first joined six years ago. I had no idea what or how long I would be in the military, but I fell in love with it and knew this is where I was meant to be. In ninety days, I’ll sign on for another four years.

I get to my commander's door and raise my hand to knock. “Enter." When I hear him speak, I open the door. He looks up, and a smile spreads across his face. “Staff Sergeant Barnes." He gets up from his chair and comes over to me, holding out his hand for me to shake.

"Lieutenant Colonel Rizzotto." I say his name, shaking his hand since he extended his hand to me first.

"You’re looking good." He looks down at my leg. “I heard it was tough."

"I’m fine," I say, and he gestures to the empty chair in front of his desk. I sit down, and my good leg starts to bounce as I wait for him to round his desk and have a seat. "Like I told the doctors in Germany, I’m good to go." I look at him.

"From what I read, you and your squad were all accounted for with zero casualties." He leans back in his chair. “And from the pictures I’ve seen, it’s a miracle." I nod at him, not adding anything else to it.

"I’m ready to get back to duty," I say. My leg clenches at the same time as I say it, but I push it back.

"I read that, too.” He puts his hands on his desk and entwines his fingers. “But I also got the report from the doctors."

I sit up. “All I need is some extra physical therapy, and I’ll be all good."

"And that is what you are going to get,” he says. “I’m not going to beat around the bush. You know better than anyone that I also have my orders. And as per the doctors, you aren’t as ready as you want to be."

"I might be a bit slow," I say. Deep down, I know I’m not ready, but admitting it will be harder to do.

"You are going on convalescent leave.” He says the two words I’ve been dreading. "Come back in thirty days, and we’ll assess you again. I have no doubt you’ll be good to go, and you can sign that next contract with us." He smiles, and I nod. One thing I know is that you never go against the doctor's orders.

"Yes sir,” I say even though my heart is breaking. For the past six years, this is all I’ve known. This is all I’ve wanted.

"I’m looking forward to having you back." We stand, and I shake his hand.

"I’ll be back better than ever," I tell him, walking out of the room and shutting the door behind me softly.

The phone rings in my back pocket. Taking it out, I see it’s my father. “Hello,” I say, answering him as I walk out of the building.

"Hey," he says. “I was wondering if you were going to send me to voice mail," he jokes.

“I did that one time, Dad,” I say. “One time three years ago."

"And I’m still holding it over your head." He laughs now. “How did the meeting go?"

"I’m on convalescent leave,” I say, and the words are bitter in my mouth. It’s going to be a tough pill to swallow.

"What are you going to do?" he asks as I open my truck door.

"What do you mean?"

"Why don’t you come home?” His voice goes soft. “I’ll set everything up here for a physical therapist to work with you. You can even stay in the white house. You know that no one will bother you there." I laugh, knowing he is right. No one likes going there because it’s like a museum. He’s bargaining with me because I haven’t been home since I left all those years ago. Not once. "You know Grandma and Grandpa have been asking for you."

Starting my truck, I look out at the green trees and hear honking in the distance. "You have thirty days," he says, and I close my eyes.

"Fine,” I say, and I can hear him cheer from here. "Let me get my shit together, and then I’ll message you when I land."

"You call me when your shit is ready," my father says. “I’ll get you a plane."

"Fine,” I say, knowing I won’t be able to argue with him, and if I do, he’ll get on the plane and come and get me himself. I hang up the phone and make my way over to the house I share with five other fellow soldiers.

We are never here all at the same time, so it works out for us. I walk up the steps one at a time because my leg burns. Opening my door, I grab my green duffel bag and put my clothes in it. My phone rings again, and looking down, I see it’s my brother.

"Dad call you?" I ask, laughing. It’s good to hear his voice.

"No,” he says. “I was with him when he called you. Gotta say I thought he was going to cry."

"I’ve been telling you this my whole life." I grab my T-shirts. “I’m his favorite."

"Harlow is his favorite," he says. “Only because she won’t move out of the house."

"What the fuck is she still doing living at home?" I ask, shocked.

"Why don’t you ask her when you get here?" he says. “You need anything?"

"Nah, I think I’ll be good,” I say. “Are you with Dad?"

"He’s in the barn, why?" he asks.

"Tell him I’ll be ready in ten minutes,” I say, and he laughs.

"The plane was ready five seconds after you hung up on him. I’ll send you the information."

"Figures,” I say, turning now to sit on my bed. “See you soon."

"Fly safe,” he says and disconnects. The ping of a text comes through right after with the address of the private airfield.

I exhale, looking around the bare room. I haven’t really done much to it, the only personal things I have are the pictures on my dresser of some of the places I’ve visited.

Getting up, I take one more look around. “Be back in twenty-nine days," I tell the bare walls. As I’m leaving, I run into one of my roommates.

"Hey, where are you off to?" he asks, looking at my bag slung over my shoulder.

"Home,” I say, and his eyes go big. “It’s been a while."

"When are you coming back?" he asks.

"Not sure yet. But by next month,” I say. “See you then.” I look down when I get a text from my father.

Dad: Car is out waiting for you. No rush.

"My car is here,” I say. “Take care."

"Stay safe." I salute him as I walk out of the house. The car is parked out front, and the driver gets out to grab my bag.

"I got it,” I say, and he waits for me to put the bag in the trunk. He holds the door open for me, and I get in. We don’t chitchat as he drives to the airfield where the private plane is waiting for me. My heartbeat speeds up as I get closer, and I want to tell the driver to take me back. Maybe going to visit right now isn’t a good idea.

I get out and meet the driver at the trunk, but someone is already there to grab my bag. “Welcome, Mr. Barnes,” he says, and not hearing my rank of staff sergeant in front is weird.

I walk up the five little stairs and duck down to get into the plane, and the flight attendant is there smiling at me. “Welcome aboard,” she says. “We’ll get off the ground as soon as you’re seated."

I walk to the chair with a nod, then sit down and look out the little window. The plane prepares for takeoff, and I see the car drive away. I look out the window as we take off, and when she comes back with a tray of fruit, I just smile at her and ask for water.

My whole body is tight with nerves. I roll my neck, but my stomach gets tighter. As we get closer and closer to landing, my whole body trembles. My leg bounces, and when the wheels touch down, I feel like I’m going to vomit. "It’s just for a month," I remind myself, mentally preparing for the guilt and the questions on why I haven’t come back. Because the only answer I have will make me feel like an asshole.

I wait for the door to open before I get up. After thanking her, I walk out of the plane, and the humidity hits me right away. I walk down the five steps and see a black Range Rover waiting off to the side.

When the driver's side opens, and I see dirty cowboy boots, I smile. Only my father can pull this shit off. His jeans are even worse than his boots. His whole fucking face lights up when he sees me. He walks over to me with tears in his eyes. Grabbing my shoulder in his hand, he pulls me to him, giving me the biggest hug he’s ever given me in my life. He puts his hand on the back of my head, letting me go from the hug. Gazing into his blue eyes is like looking in a mirror. “Welcome home, son."