Page 3 of All Along

“He can’t remain a soldier forever.”

He’s managed to remain a soldier for twelve years, which feels pretty darn close to forever.

I shrug. “He might not come home when he gets out of the Army.”

I’d be surprised if he did. He doesn’t return home for any of the holidays. And I know he gets thirty days of leave each year. He could easily come back to the island for at least a weeka year. But he doesn’t. He hasn’t stepped foot on Smuggler’s Hideaway in over a decade.

Sometimes I get the feeling he’s avoiding me, which is silly. We’re merely friends. He doesn’t make decisions based on little old me.

We reach the brewery. The bar, restaurant, and our offices are in a barn we restored. The actual brewing happens in a warehouse on the opposite side of the parking lot.

“I need to check on the beer,” Paisley says and makes a beeline for the warehouse.

My phone beeps in my pocket. I pull it out and frown when I notice it’s a message from the postal service. A package I sent to Caleb has been returned with a ‘sender unknown’ stamp. What in the world? I used the same address as I always do.

Is something wrong? Did Caleb move without telling me? Is it even called moving when you’re in the military? Despite being pen pals for a decade, I still don’t understand all the Army lingo.

I pace the parking lot as I consider what to do. Caleb doesn’t like it when I phone without prior notice but I have no choice. I need to phone him. I need to know if he’s okay.

I dial his number but the call doesn’t connect. Strange. I try again. This time it rings. Phew.

“The number you have dialed is not in service, please check the number and dial again, or ask the operator for assistance.”

I gasp. Not in service? How can Caleb’s number not be in service? It’s the same number he’s used for a decade.

I shove down the panic. There’s nothing to panic about. If Caleb was hurt or injured, the smuggler grapevine would have let me know by now.

He’s probably fine. He’s probably on some super secret mission he couldn’t tell me about.

Yep. That must be it.

Chapter 2

Caleb – a soldier who doesn’t know who he is if he isn’t a soldier anymore

Caleb

Iscowl at the ‘Welcome to Smuggler’s Hideaway’ sign as I drive onto the island. Welcome, my ass. I’m not here because I want to be.

I don’t have a choice. I need time to heal. Time to lick my wounds away from prying eyes and questions I can’t – won’t – answer. Which is why I’m keeping to myself until I’m better.

Once I’m healed, things will be different.

In the meantime, knowing Maya is here on the island – nearly within touching distance – will be torture. I have some experience with torture. But this won’t be similar to being in the sandbox. Those occurrences never touched my heart. Not the way Maya does.

I drive through Smuggler’s Rest but I don’t pay attention to the town or people or whatever crazy festival is going on now. There’s always some crazy festival happening on the island. Smugglers love to party.

I keep my eyes focused on the road and pray no one notices me. Although, I doubt anyone would recognize me anyway. It’s been twelve years since I stepped foot on the island. I’ve stayed away for one reason and one reason only – Maya.

Everything comes back to her.

When the town fades behind me, I blow out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. No one saw me. No one’s chasing after me. A twinge of regret pokes at me, but I ignore it. Maya doesn’t want to be around me now anyway.

I glance down at my legs. My legs are covered by a pair of jeans but in my mind, I see blood, gore, and bone sticking out of a gaping wound. I force those thoughts away. It’s the past.

I adjust my leg and pain shoots up my foot to my groin. I grit my teeth. Not as much in the past as it needs to be.

I follow the road from Smuggler’s Rest toward Rogue’s Landing.Hideaway Haven Resortshould be halfway between the towns.

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