There are times I miss the Army.

And other times, I hate with everything that I am what it did to me.

Most of the time, though, I try to just get through the soul-crushing days at school without stabbing someone.

Which is why I do yoga. Lots of it.

And doing yoga is after I count to one hundred, do some deep ujjayi breathing, and remind myself that I am working on non-violence these days.

Today might be a breaking point, though.

"You're serious?" I'm breathing. I promise I'm breathing. "What the hell can I teach a bunch of brainiac cadets about being an officer? I was enlisted, remember?"

Professor Blake leans back behind her wide mahogany desk and steeples her hands in front of her. There is something serene about this woman that drew me to her the first day we met.

Granted, I was in full-blown crisis mode that day, trying to get all my paperwork sorted out so I could start classes and not have to mortgage my firstborn child as payment. Still.

She’s one of those people who are just naturally calming, polished and poised in a way I will never be. I’ve been surrounding myself with those people these days. Trying to chain up the chaos Muppet in my head.

"I think you have a tremendous amount to offer the cadets in our program. After all, NCOs train lieutenants. And this is about more than just the cadets. This is a deliberate effort to span the civil military divide.”

I twist my fingers into a calming mudra and breathe. Just breathe. “Why me?”

“Nalini King can't do it this semester because she’s finalizing a program to get her yoga studio certified by the campus wellness center.”

“She’d be perfect for the cadets.” Nalini is a West Point grad-turned-yogini businesswoman. I swear she’s got to be ADHD with as much shit as she gets done on an everyday basis. She makes us mere mortals look rather mundane.

“She has been. And she recommended you as a replacement for her this semester.”

“I’m probably not the best fit for this.” I can’t get up in front of cadets, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and blow smoke up their asses about how great the Army is.

Even if I miss it every fucking day.

Professor Blake slides a sheet of paper toward me. “You get teaching credit out of it. Which will make your application to grad school that much more competitive."

"I'm not sure I'm the best person for this.” I can barely get myself out of bed some days. Don’t make me tell the cadets that the Army will do this to them. That it will ask them to give up everything, then cast them aside when it’s over. But I say none of those things. “There are a bunch of guys out at The Pint; why don't you hit them up?"

She arches one perfect brow. "What makes you think I haven't?"

That catches my attention. "Who else signed on?" My stomach is tight because I'm willing to bet I already know the answer.

"Deacon Hunter."

I clear my throat. "It's definitely not a good idea for us to work together on this. We have a history together." On a tour to Iraq that marked the beginning of the end of any semblance of normality in my life, but no one needs to see me pick those scabs in public.

She motions toward the sheet of paper that I tried to ignore. "You're already approved by the university. And you get a stipend."

“‘Stipend’ sounds like beer money,” I say, leaning forward. "Visiting Assistant Professor of Military Science? I don't even have a master's degree." It’s hard not to be impressed with that fancy-sounding title. I’ve certainly come a long way from sweeping up spilled diesel in the motor pool.

"Yet," she says. "This is an excellent opportunity for you. The cadets need your experience and they need to hear from women veterans just as much as they need to hear from men. They need to know what they're getting into when they get out into the force." She pauses. "I wish my son had had an opportunity like this."

My throat tightens at her words. Her son Mike died in Iraq a few years ago. His death is part of why she's so active with the student vets on campus.

"Well, when you put it that way," I finally say. I don’t want to work with Deacon. We’ve had a strange truce the last few months since I got here and I’d like to keep it that way. It’s only worked because we’re so busy at The Pint that he hasn’t had time to rip the bandage off the still raw wound between us. “Guess I’m going to have to watch my swearing, huh?”

“Just be yourself. Be the amazing Sergeant Ryder that you’ve always been.” She smiles and it’s hard to ignore the quiet pride I see looking back at me from her eyes. I’ve done nothing to earn it. And if she knew everything, she wouldn’t let me within ten feet of the cadets. When I don’t argue further, she takes my silence for agreement. "Thank you. I think you're underestimating how valuable what you have to offer them really is."

"Yeah, well, let's hope I don't scar them for life first, okay?" But I could use the money and the teaching experience.

“I’m not worried about that in the least,” she says in a way that seems to suggest everything will work out. I head out, a little disjointed from our meeting. I don't know how she can be so damn calm all the time. I've never even seen her do more than lift that one eyebrow in reaction to whatever else is going on around her.

I'm envious of her serenity.

I head out of the old Wilson building and cross the quad toward the library and my own personal lord and savior The Grind, where one can find the strongest coffee on campus. Whoever decided to put a cool, hipster coffee shop in the middle of the main library should get a speed pass to sainthood.

And given that I’m used to some pretty strong stuff, that’s saying something. I order my coffee and then weave my way through the tables to take one near the door where I can keep an eye on who is coming and going while I try to wrap my head around the proposed syllabus that Professor Blake sent me.

"Hey you."

I glance up at the familiar voice as Nalini claims the chair across from me. "You don’t look very happy."

She was also in the Army once upon a time, and now she's a small business owner who’s dedicated her life to yoga and her fellow fucked-up vets like me.

If I believed in reincarnation, I would think that I must have been kind to animals in a previous life to be as fortunate as I am to have her in my current one. It's amazing how having someone around who speaks the same language as you can be so reassuring. It’s like a physical reminder that your experience wasn’t just a figment of your imagination.

"Nah. I just found out I have to teach your cadets this semester."

"And you're not happy about it because…?"

"Because…" Why? I don't have a reason. It's just that something about it makes me uncomfortable. But I’m not ready to go there. "Because I haven't had enough coffee yet."

Nalini grins and flips open her iPad. "Yeah, well, I can't help you, unfortunately. I’m fighting with the wellness center bureaucracy this semester, otherwise I would." She frowns a little and looks up at me. "Why are you so hesitant to do this?"

I narrow my eyes at my friend’s apparent mind-reading skill. I'm reasonably certain she's probing for a specific answer or that she already knows the answer. But I'm not going to call her out. Because I'm working on not being an asshole.

"Because I really don’t think my war stories are the ones the cadets need to hear.” I sip my coffee. “I think Professor Blake likes doing this. I'm not the only one she's made take on classes that push our boundaries."

Nalini laughs. "Oh yeah, I heard about Josh's incident. He almost got arrested after the Violence and Society class, didn't he?"

"That's the rumor." I stretch my arms over my head. Being around Nalini reminds me I need to go to yoga, seeing how it’s her studio that I attend regularly. Haven't been to a session in a couple of days, for no really good reason. "What’s going on with the wellness center?"

"Well, they’re claiming that I need a certification from a specific yoga certification organization in order for them to allow me to officially teach classes there. Every time I explain to them that the certification they want is the equivalent of a diploma mill, they send me to another person. It’s rather frustrating. This is taking up an extraordinary amount of time."

"Why do you get to do the fun stuff?"

She beams and I am jealous of her smooth, amber skin. "Because I'm not a student, I just work here. Trust me, it is more than enough to keep me up at night."

"Completely not fair." I wouldn't mind taking that class. Teaching the cadets… I'm sure I'll figure out in about thirty minutes what's bothering me about it but until I actually set foot inside that classroom, all I can do is quietly panic.

"Yeah, well, life's not fair. And speaking of not fair, here comes a tall drink of water with your name on it. Someday you’re going to tell me the rest of the story about why you avoid Deacon Hunter so completely." Her lips twitch. “Otherwise, I might start thinking it’s a case of ‘the lady doth protest’ and all that.”

She motions with her head toward the archway that leads into the library but I’ve already seen him.

Deacon Hunter is walking up.

Not really walking, though.

Strolling, his eyes always searching, looking as if he’s scanning the horizon.

It's hard not to appreciate how he owns the room as he walks in. He doesn't stand out because of how he's dressed or what he's carrying.

He stands out from the raw power that radiates off him. There's something about the stiffness in his spine, the strength in his shoulders, that draws people to him. It’s a quiet power. The kind of power that’s confident in its own skin.

It’s what drew me to him when we were deployed, even if neither of us had our shit together in any meaningful way back then.

It drew me, once upon a time. But those days are long gone. No matter how much I’ve suddenly realized there may be a party starting in my panties, begging him to come over and play.

Yeah, in the library coffee shop. Because who doesn't have illicit fantasies about doing dirty things on the large tables meant for textbooks and study groups, right?

I wish I could duck down and hide.

I don't want to see him. I don't want to talk to him about the cadets.

I can't.

It's hard enough being around him at The Pint when we have a shift together. When the music is pulsing and the liquor is flowing and I can almost forget all the bad shit that split my life into Before and After.

I'm not sure how to deal with him out in broad daylight when I haven't started drinking for the day yet. Especially since I’ve been drinking less these days.

And I probably should have figured out how to be around him by now but well, no one is perfect, right?

Unpack one trauma at a time, right?

Nalini waves at him before I can stop her. She must hate me. "What are you doing up this early?" she asks as he walks up.

"I’m teaching a class today, oddly enough. Pretending I’m an adult." I slouch down in my chair as he walks up. His gaze flicks over me briefly. I don’t look away from the challenge in his eyes because I refuse to cede the territory to him.

I wish I didn’t notice everything about him in the brilliant fall sunlight slashing through the library windows.

He hasn't shaved. There's a line of stubble along his jaw, edging the rim of his bottom lip. Gah, I wish I didn't know how he felt when he touched those lips to my skin.

He looks back at Nalini, but the heat from his dark blue gaze has settled over my skin like heat from a fire. Making me wish for things I cannot have.

Things I should not still want.

"Coffee. Pep talk," my traitorous friend says, then nods in my direction. "Then work."

"Pep talk? Why?"

"Oh, you're about to find out," she says and stands to go.

I stand, too, letting my far-too-perky-to-have-ever-been-in-the-Army friend know that her attempt to leave me alone with Deacon has failed. I scoop up my notebook and coffee. "Got to head out."

I go to pass him but he doesn't move. Standing there, he's a brick wall, immovable.

I sigh and slip by him, saying nothing. My chest brushes against his upper arm, my entire body tightening in response to the briefest contact.

"Coward," he whispers as I slip past, leaving Nalini and Deacon standing together.

I keep walking.

Hating the fact that he's right.

I let her go. I probably should stop fucking with her but with Kelsey, everything is complicated. And in the six months that she's been back in my life, it's only gotten more so.

"She's fine, you know," Nalini says softly. Her eyes are always bright and calm. I love Nalini like a sister and I love that she’s looking out for Kelsey because I no longer can.

I've known Nalini a while now, ever since I started grad school. She's a magnet to other vets on campus, kind of like Eli is over at The Pint. Between the two of them, they're the sun and the moon. The rest of us are caught in their orbit.

"I know."

She smiles warmly and pats my cheek. "But you're not sure. If you were, you wouldn't watch her like that every time she walks away."

I grin and lean against the broad table behind me. I love that The Grind has broad, wide tables as well as smaller ones and comfy overstuffed chairs. "How much trouble are you causing on campus today?"

"As much as I need to," she says. She folds her arms over her chest. "When are you going to stop pining after her and do something about this awkward standoff you two have going on? I feel like I’m caught in no man's land between the French and the Germans in World War I."

"That is a terrible analogy."

"Yeah, well, you should try being caught between you two once in a while. Take pity on the rest of us who have to deal with your sexual frustration. You can practically touch it."

She follows for a few steps while I laugh and move to the line for coffee. "I don't even know what to say to that." I place my order. “Large latte, extra shot of espresso.”

"Well, that'll put hair on your chest," she says dryly.

I shake my head. "What are you poking at, Nalini?" Because she always pokes until she gets around to what she needs to say.

"Nothing much. Just wondering how things are out at The Pint?"

"They're good. I mean, I know you don't drink but you really should come out some time. There's a whole bunch of us out there, even a couple of new guys who came by last week who used to be in First Cav. You could come by and just hang out, swap war stories about Stetsons or whatever you Cav people do."

She grins and glances down at her watch. "I'm good, thanks. Though it's awful tempting. You 82d Airborne guys think you're all that with your raspberry berets."

"Bite your tongue." Damn, sometimes it feels good to walk back over familiar ground, harassing each other because of the units we've both served in. "I chewed the same dirt as you did in First Cav."

"Well, use that common ground to make some damn progress with her, why don't you?"

I sip my coffee and instantly, my blood cells are more awake than they were a moment before. "Does she say anything?" I want to add in about me. But I don't.

Because I'm a coward when it comes to Kelsey.

"You wish. And even if she did, I wouldn't break her confidence."

"I hate playing games. You know that, right?"

"No games, Deacon." Nalini turns suddenly serious. "I worry about her. About the things she doesn't talk about."

I glance toward the door that Kelsey disappeared through. "Yeah, me too."

I know the things she doesn't talk about, at least some of them.

I know what things keep her up at night.

I know how good things used to be between us, once upon a war.

And I know exactly the moment things got screwed up.

I can't fix any of those things now, no matter how much I might want to. Kelsey has to want to unpack that stuff herself. In the few months she's been back in my life, she's given me no indication that she wants to go anywhere near our shared memories of sand and dust and war.

Not that I blame her.

I leave Nalini at The Grind and head to the old Wilson building for my graduate seminar. I’ve got a relatively light load this semester. At some point, I have to stop avoiding my thesis and actually start typing.

I've become a master of procrastination, among other things. Funny how leaving the war and the Army behind makes you find other things to keep you occupied.

My old first sergeant would kick my ass if he knew how much I was avoiding this work. I grin, thinking of him. I should shoot him a note one of these days.

But I won't.

Lately it's been like I'm running some kind of test with myself or something. How long can I stay away from the lure of the familiar? The good memories.

And yeah, even the bad ones are good when you're talking to someone who speaks the same language. There's something comfortable about just talking to someone who's been there. Bullshitting about the stupid shit we or one of our soldiers did.

I'm pretty sure America would have kittens if she knew the kind of shenanigans her soldiers pulled on guard duty in the middle of the desert.

But I won’t make the call. I can’t. It’s like I’m trying to prove to myself that I can cut the cord between me and the Army, that I can truly function out here as a civilian and not constantly be reaching back to the guys I left behind when I left Fort Hood.

Besides, it’s not like I don’t have enough Army around me with Eli and the rest of the gang at The Pint.

I smile down at my phone, double-checking the room number for the class Professor Blake asked me to assist with. She was pretty vague about who I was going to be teaching with this semester.

I probably should have asked for more details but she's pretty much been my fairy godmother since I decided to go to grad school and get my master’s in public administration, so I figure I owe her whatever she needs.

The classroom is just inside of the old Wilson building. You can practically smell the history in this place, along with the chill from the stone walls and ancient windows. There’s too much history here for a working class kid like me. I suppose people who are used to this kind of place aren’t really awestruck by it like I still am.

I still have no idea how I got accepted here. Or how I haven't managed to be politely asked to leave.

Ah well.

I push open the door to the classroom, tucking my phone into my back pocket, and then stop short. The classroom isn’t empty.

"You've got to be shitting me." What's that they say about fiction? It's supposed to be believable, right? You can't make this shit up because no shit, there is Kelsey Ryder sitting in a corner, her back to the wall.

And she looks ready for war.