Home Front: The Long Road Home

By Cat Johnson and Binge Read Babes

When ranking his rotten luck, it was hard to decide which was the most craptastic. 

The injury that could end his SEAL career.

The storm that stranded him in Atlanta Airport.

The naked man on top of his girlfriend.

He thought things couldn't get much worse. Then he met her…

 

Super star.

Super stuck up.

Super sexy.

Super engaged.

 

It was just an odd job to tide him over while he waited to see if he'd heal enough to get back on the team. Close personal protection for a singer so famous even he'd heard of her. He was supposed to be her body guard. And guard her body he did. Day . . . and night. His new boss probably didn't have protection that close or that personal in mind.

 

He wasn't supposed to fall for her.

Then again, she wasn't supposed to be so smart, and funny, and wounded, and in need of saving.

 

Now he has a decision to make.

Quit the military career he'd worked half his life for and take the job as her permanent head of security, just to be near her.

Forget about her and take any job his command would give him in his current broken condition.

Or do the craziest thing of all. Confess his feelings and hope to make it work. With her. As a normal couple. A real couple, if that was even possible given who she was.

 

It's an impossible decision, but he'll be damned if he'll let her stalker or his bullet make it for him.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cat Johnson
• Release date: Oct 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201053079

Cat Johnson

New York Times & USA Today bestselling contemporary romance author Cat Johnson. Sign up at catjohnson.net/news to get new release and sale alerts.

Book preview

one

Balancing on his crutches, Kyle stood by the baggage claim and tried not to look as pissed off as he felt as it seemed like everyone and their brother bumped into him.

They were all in such a hurry.

He supposed after months deployed, he would have been in a rush too if circumstances were different and he was able to, you know, walk.

But it was more than the brand-new plate and pins surgically holding his broken ankle bones together slowing him down.

The truth he didn’t want to admit was that crossing the airport in San Diego on crutches from the gate to the baggage claim area had wiped him the hell out.

The other thing he didn’t want to admit was that he’d never been so scared in his life as he was right now. That the fear that his splintered ankle being held together now by a plate, seven pins and one nauseatingly long bolt might cost him everything he’d worked for. Everything he cared about.

One snapped fibula could knock him right out of the teams, a thought that made him ill right down to his soul.

That main reason for his nausea was followed closely by the knowledge that the rest of his team was still over there and now one man short.

And through it all was the undercurrent of anxiety caused by Gretchen’s absence. All he’d asked his girlfriend to do was be here to pick him up at the airport when he got home.

Not that he’d actually asked. He hadn’t spoken to her, but he figured the email, plus the three text messages and an equal amount of voicemails delivered over the last twenty-four hours would suffice.

Apparently not. He glanced around him, at a loss. He had just called her—again—the moment he’d landed.

The call had gone right to voicemail. He supposed he could try again and hope for a different result. But he was running a little short on hope right now.

He hated being dependent on other people. Not the team, of course. But the guys on his team weren’t here. And an entire country stretched between him here in California and his family on the other coast in New York. So they were no help.

For the first time since earning that Navy SEAL trident, he felt alone.

Hey, Chief Jones.

Kyle turned at the sound of his name and rank and came face to face with two fresh-faced sailors he couldn’t identify by name.

Hey. Do I know you? he asked.

One bobbed his head to the side with a smirk. Kind of. You heckled me once on the O-course during BUD/S. You probably just don’t recognize me now that I’m not wearing a brown shirt.

The kid grinned so wide, Kyle had to assume the candidate had made it through the SEAL training at Coronado and had graduated rather than ringing out.

I take it you made it, he commented.

I did. So did my buddy here. No more brown trainee shirts for us. Now it’s navy blue and gold all the way. The fresh-faced young SEAL grinned and tipped his head to the young guy with him, who was also wearing a Navy shirt.

God, had he ever been that young? Bubbling over with so much excitement and potential?

With a possible three-month medical leave facing him, it was hard to remember.

Hey, did you need a lift? The young SEAL asked, eyeing Kyle’s crutches. We’re heading back to the base.

I think I do need a lift actually. Must have got the signals crossed with my ride. But I was going to head to my girl’s apartment in Coronado. Not to the base.

He’d given up his base housing for the months he’d been gone.

When he realized he was being sent back stateside to recuperate after the surgery, he’d called about getting housing in the bachelor barracks and had been put on the waitlist. Until that came through, he would be dependent on his girlfriend for short-term housing.

The same girlfriend he hadn’t been able to reach for days.

What the hell was that about? Had she dropped her cell in the toilet or something?

Knowing her addiction to her damn phone, he was having trouble believing she wouldn’t have replaced it immediately. Like the same day.

That’s no problem. We can drop you off at her place. I never say no to a good excuse to stop by McP’s Pub. The kid grinned.

Kyle let out a snort. He’d spent some quality hours imbibing there himself when he was a newly minted SEAL. Some things never changed.

Thanks. Her place is just a few blocks from there.

Sounds like a plan. Let me get that for you. The SEAL grabbed the overstuffed backpack on the floor at Kyle’s feet and swung it onto one shoulder. And as much as he hated being dependent on anyone, Kyle let him.

After an hour of battling traffic in the passenger seat of the kid’s jeep, Kyle was finally standing outside the door he hadn’t stood at in months.

A nagging fear tugged at the back of his mind as he unzipped the backpack and fished around inside for his keyring.

Finally finding it, he dropped the bag to the floor. Leaning heavily on the crutches, he slid his key into the lock. When it turned and the door opened, he breathed again.

Of course, the door opened. Why would she have changed the locks? That thought was crazy.

Everything was fine, in spite of the nagging doubt he couldn’t shake that something was wrong. He’d have the answer to why she hadn’t been responding to his texts and calls in a minute.

It was probably something simple and he was being silly worrying.

Balancing on the crutches, he leaned down, grabbed the backpack’s strap and hobbled inside. He dumped the pack on the floor again just inside the door and managed to get out of the way so he could close it behind him.

Meanwhile, his brain was still puzzling out reasons why she hadn’t met him at the airport.

The times he’d gotten through to Gretchen by phone over the past month were far fewer than the times he’d had to leave a message. She obviously hadn’t retrieved his latest messages or she would have picked him up.

By all indications, she wasn’t here at the apartment to greet him either.

Gretchen wasn’t here, but a stink bug was, crawling up the wall by the front door.

He’d told her before he’d left, she needed to call an exterminator or the landlord or somebody to take care of the invasion.

Obviously, she hadn’t.

That was okay. He could take care of it now that he was back and had absolutely nothing to do while his damn bone healed. If it healed.

Scowling at that thought, he bent and reached into the open backpack to pull out his charger. His cell was nearly dead. Best to plug it in now in case she called.

Carrying the charger and the phone over to the outlet on the kitchen counter, he stopped dead when he saw two phones already plugged in there.

Frowning, he picked up the one he recognized. It was powered completely off, which explained her lack of response the past couple of days.

He picked up the other cell. It was a Samsung. Not hers. That was for sure. His girl had only wanted an iPhone—the most expensive model—when he’d offered to buy her a new one.

Hitting the button on the side, the Samsung’s screen sprung to life. He was greeted by a picture of a man he didn’t recognize, with his arms around Gretchen.

What the hell?

His skull tingled. He could feel the blood rushing to his head. Like a cartoon character who was about to blow his top.

Instinct or maybe training had him shoving his own cell and charger into his pants pocket so his hands were free as he spun to take in the apartment.

The bedroom door was closed.

Was she in there? A second question echoed in his head. Was she with someone?

He headed in that direction, cursing the crutches as he made his way awkwardly across the room.

Reaching out, he turned the doorknob and pushed the door wide.

The naked ass pumping fast was all he needed to see. But just in case he’d missed the obvious, his girl peered around the guy on top of her and made direct eye contact with him.

At least she had the decency to gasp.

Kyle didn’t say anything. He didn’t trust himself to stay in the room.

Just as she swung her legs down from where she’d had her feet braced on the guy’s shoulders, Kyle turned and headed back the way he’d come.

Damned crutches. He couldn’t even storm out of a room properly. But he did move as quick as the crutches allowed.

He wanted out that door before Gretchen got herself dressed and decided to run after him. Not that he was all that certain she would even come after him. It was pretty obvious he meant nothing to her.

Crap. He’d just lost the one bright spot in his convalescence.

The one thing he’d convinced himself wouldn’t be too bad about this time off to recuperate was being able to hang with Gretchen whenever she wasn’t at work.

That was off.

Although there was a new bright spot. The upside of him being currently broken was that he hadn’t pulled that guy off her and beat him to a pulp, which definitely would have put his career and his freedom in jeopardy.

Yup. If he’d been healthy, he might have done just that before he thought better of it. His broken ankle had saved him from himself. He tried to appreciate that, but it was hard to see the bright side.

He needed to get out of this apartment. More, he needed to get out of this city. This state, preferably.

There was no way he going to hang out in Coronado or anywhere near here—or her—for the next three months with nothing to do.

Reaching the door, he leaned down to grab the strap of his bag. The stink bug chose that exact moment to lose his footing on the wall and plummet down. It fell and made a perfect landing inside his bag.

He stared into the dark depths of the bag, packed tight with the jumble of items that had been his life since deploying.

Fuck it. He was not taking the time here and now to empty it and search for the stowaway. The bug was just going to have to come with him. But come with him where?

That was the question. He’d figure that out later.

He grabbed the bag and managed to hold on to the strap and the crutches just as Gretchen came rushing out of the bedroom, wearing Kyle’s US NAVY T-shirt, no less.

The answer to his question came to him. He was going anywhere that was far from her. And the sooner the better.

Hopping out of the way of the door, he managed to open it and maneuver through the doorway, all without losing his balance.

In the one act of angry rebellion he was still capable of, he shot her a glare and then slammed the apartment door, hard and loud, behind him.

That left him staring down the long ugly apartment building hallway lined with metal doors, their gray paint chipped by time. Though the doors had fared better than the threadbare and stained carpeting. Sporadic burned-out bulbs in the fixtures made it all look even more dreary than it normally would.

It was depressing even on a good day.

Between her place and the bachelor barracks, it had been a long time since he’d slept in a real house. Someplace without cement block walls. Someplace warm that didn’t look and feel like an institution. A real home.

Home. The word echoed in his head.

With all the things that annoyed him back home in New York, he’d never imagined he’d miss it.

His mom’s doting as she tried to feed him all the damned time. His brothers’ lame jokes and teasing. His perfect sister who was impossible to live up to. His grandmother who’d taken over the TV room after being widowed.

There were too many people in one house. That had spurred epic battles over bathroom time and power over the remote control.

Then there was his dad’s philosophical commentary for every single situation. And the old friends Kyle had graduated high school with who’d never made it over the town line or out of the shitty townie bar he used to sneak into underage. They still couldn’t understand why he’d left town. He guessed they never would.

And he couldn’t forget the brutal winter weather in the Catskills of New York… Enough said about that.

Strangely, a house packed full of family and familiar surroundings—things that had sent him running to the recruitment office straight from high school graduation and then all the way across the country to Coronado—all seemed really good right now.

When was the last time he’d had a home-cooked meal? He couldn’t remember, which was proof it was time to head home.

Opening his cell phone’s ride share app, he ordered a car back to the airport he’d just left.

He didn’t care if he had to sit there at the gate and wait until he could get on a standby flight. All that mattered was that he had a destination to look forward to at the end of his already long journey.

Home.

two

Hurricane Helen.

Of course the hurricane that was about to cost him a day of his life was named after a woman. It was just one more female responsible for turning his life upside down.

He’d gotten out of San Diego with no problem. Faster than he’d anticipated. The issue arose with his layover in Atlanta and that was thanks to Helen, the hurricane battering the East Coast.

Torrential rain and gale-force winds had grounded air travel throughout much of the country. No flights were coming in and none were going out of Atlanta, including his connection to New York.

It was with a sick kind of fascination that he had watched the status for every single one of the many flights listed on the big board change to Cancelled. That was when he had abandoned all hope of getting home today.

The gate agent, once it was his turn to speak with her after the long wait, was able to reschedule him a flight for the final leg home, but not until tomorrow morning.

So it looked like he’d be spending the night at good old ATL. He supposed if he had to be trapped somewhere overnight, Atlanta Airport wasn’t the worst place to get stuck. Not that it mattered. He could have been anywhere in the world and he’d be just as miserable, thanks to his current life situation.

Broken ankle. Broken relationship. Broken spirit…

At least he was currently about as far away as he could get from his cheating ex-girlfriend while still being in the continental US.

He pushed thoughts of her out of his head before his blood pressure rose to be off the charts and glanced around at the place he’d settled into for his long wait.

Thank goodness there was a USO here. It would supply food, water, WIFI and a comfortable place to relax and elevate his bad leg while he waited out the hurricane.

Not quite all the comforts of home but close, right down to the big leather sofa where he currently reclined with his foot propped up on the low table in front of him.

The one thing severely lacking in this place was even a modicum of privacy.

After the day he’d had, he really hadn’t been in the mood to talk to anyone. But silence wasn’t an option in the packed facility that had to accommodate more stranded travelers than it was designed to.

It didn’t help that the volunteer manning the front desk insisted on making personal in-depth introductions with each new arrival. Of the four guys sitting with him, he knew their names, destinations, branch, rank and MOS. And that put on the pressure for him to socialize.

Unfortunately, sharing hadn’t been on his agenda today. Not now. Maybe not ever when it came to the details of his love life.

Make that loveless life.

With each new arrival, there was a lot of conversation about his broken ankle. He put up with that. Even managed to put on a brave