Isla
The memories hit me like a sucker punch as I looked at Rolin. God, I hadn't thought about those days in forever. But here we were - in his stupidly expensive penthouse, married of all things - and suddenly it all came flooding back.
I was just a kid when we met. Nineteen, full of piss and vinegar. He was twenty-one, all sharp angles and colder than a Siberian winter. Same platoon, but I might as well have been invisible to him at first. Every morning I'd throw him a "hey," trying to chip away at that ice. Never got so much as a grunt in return.
So one day I stopped trying.
That's when the bastard finally noticed me.
Started finding him lurking nearby all the time after that. Close enough to watch, far enough to pretend he wasn't. Then came the snacks - chocolate bars, chips, all the contraband we weren't supposed to have. Thought he was messing with me at first. Tossed them right back.
The day I finally took one? His face lit up like Christmas morning. And damn if I didn't catch myself smiling too.
After that, we were thick as thieves. Training together, sneaking off base, sharing shitty MREs. Still an asshole to everyone else, mind you. But with me? Different. Real in a way nobody else had ever been.
Remember one night especially - dead on our feet after some hellish training exercise, sitting under this piss-poor excuse for moonlight. First time we ever really talked about why we were there.
"Always wanted this," I told him. "Since I was knee-high. Nana believed in me when nobody else did."
Then I asked why he joined.
"Didn't want to fight over Daddy's money," he said, voice rough. "Wanted to earn my own way."
Didn't think much of it then.
Standing here now, wearing his ring? Yeah. I get it.
"Hey. You still with me?" Rolin's voice snapped me back to reality. I blinked - apparently I'd been zoning out hard. He cocked his head, those hawk eyes of his boring into me.
"What's going on in that head of yours?"
I shrugged. "Just thinking about us, I guess."
His mouth curved into that stupid, self-satisfied smirk. "Told you marrying me was a good call."
I rolled my eyes so hard I saw my brain. "And there's the god complex."
He chuckled, then suddenly smacked his hands together. "Shit, almost forgot. Tour time. Can't have the lady of the house getting lost in her own damn penthouse."
I followed him through the ridiculous expanse of the place, expecting overpriced furniture and pretentious art. What I wasn't expecting was the room that stopped me dead in my tracks - an artist's wet dream. Easels, a baby grand piano, enough art supplies to open a Michaels.
I whirled on him. "When the hell did you put this together?"
Rolin just leaned against the doorframe like it was nothing. "Been working on it."
Since when? Since we bumped into each other again? Since before that? The questions burned my tongue, but I swallowed them and walked to the piano instead. Sunlight glinted off the polished keys, and for a second, time got all tangled up in my head.
On impulse, I turned. "You remember how to waltz?"
That got me another smirk. "After you drilled it into me? Hard to forget."
The memory hit me like a freight train.
[Memory Break - Years Earlier]
It started with some dickhead named Williams running his mouth where he shouldn't have.
"Shouldn't you be home baking cookies or some shit?" he'd sneered. "Military's no place for bitches."
I fired back, because of course I did. Didn't expect the bastard to go hands-on. Next thing I knew, his meaty paws were around my throat, cutting off my air. I clawed at him, but the fucker just grinned.
"See? This is why you don't belong here. Too weak to even—"
CRACK.
Suddenly I could breathe again. Williams was on the ground with Rolin on top of him, fists flying like a goddamn machine. I'd never seen him lose it like that.
By the time I dragged him off, Williams looked like ground beef. Rolin's knuckles were shredded, his chest heaving.
We bolted.
Didn't stop running until we hit our spot - this crumbling old chapel nobody used anymore. Silence hung thick between us while I tore strips from my undershirt to wrap his hand.
Then, because the universe has a sick sense of humor, I heard myself ask, "You know how to waltz?"
Rolin just stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "No."
Don't ask me why I did it, but I yanked him to his feet.
And there we were - two dumb kids covered in blood and bruises, dancing to no music in a forgotten church.