We Said Never: A Taboo Romance

A sea of bright blue and yellow flags are waving, I can see them from my peripheral as the plane lands and my breath hitches. This is the exact moment I’ve been dreading these past four months, ever since I woke up from the coma and was told of all the praises being sung of my name back home.

“The queen will be awarding you the blue heart, Sergeant Matthews,” my commander informed me a week after I woke, it was the first time I ever saw him smile. “It is the highest honor an Airman could ever receive in Hazalu.”

“Yes sir,” I answered, trying to remain standing at attention as the ache in my leg worsened.

“At ease, Nolan. Sit.”

“Yes, sir.” I exhaled, lowering myself to the chair with a tremble. Commander Johnson stepped forward and put a hand on my shoulder.

“You won us this war. Brought it to an end. There is no way the queen can avoid doing was is expected of her. I know you don’t want the public spectacle, but can you manage?”

“Yes, sir.”

He sat in the chair opposite me. “I think you should see a psychiatrist, Nolan.”

I shook my head lightly. “No, sir.”

“They tell me you’re seeing ghosts. You’re sleepwalking. You scream and fight no one at night. You need help, Nolan. There is nothing to be ashamed of. After what you did, no one would judge you for seeking help. Please, do this. Let us pay you back in whatever little way we can.”

“It was my duty to my kingdom, Sir. I do not need to be repaid.”

“Maybe. But this institution broke you, it is our duty to fix you back up.”

I lifted my gaze to his, the first time in six years I had ever held his eyes, and all I found was sincerity and earnest care. The walls I had put up from the moment I woke came crashing down.

We were trained to bottle it in, hold back, and shove it all down, pretending our weaknesses did not exist. Before that day, I hadn’t cried in seven years. Not since the day I ran away from home and joined the force. It came through like a waterfall while my commander sat and consoled me.

I got the therapy. Then I got the psychiatrist, and yes all of it did help—or so I thought.

The minute I heard I was finally being discharged from the rehabilitation facility, I knew this moment was near and I’ve been a nervous wreck ever since. The anxiety, the panic attacks, and the violent heart palpitations have all returned as though I haven’t sat in a psychiatric ward for four months fighting to fix my mind so I can face this particular day without crumbling.

The plane’s descent is smooth and steady, with minimal turbulence, yet I grip the arm rest and squeeze my eyes shut, my body shivering under the heavy coat I wore in preparation for the winter dust of the capital city of Bisari. All I hear is that ringing noise in my head that booms when things get bad, the sweating sets in, then the loss of breath and I fight to hold on, wishing I could take more medication.

They work, but only for about an hour or two these days. It is as though my body has grown accustomed to it. This is going to be one hell of a day to get through.

Something grazes my hand and I jerk, snapping my eyes wide open as I gasp for air. The flight attendant startles, taking a step backward.

“I’m sorry, Sergeant, didn’t mean to scare you,” she stutters, trying at a smile but it is weak and withering. “We’ve arrived. The Queen is waiting for you.”

It is now I hear the chants, the crowd roaring cheers of my name as they clap. I turn to the window and see the flashing lights, cameras shuttering and a wave of nausea hits me. I was so lost in the panic of returning home that I hadn’t realized when the plane landed.

“Excuse me.” I grab my walking stick and sprint as fast as I can with a limp to the toilet and for minutes, I’m spewing my entire breakfast and dinner in the small toilet bowl, my body shivering in the tight space as a headache splits my brain into ten different places.

There is not much room, but I move as much as the small space allows which is a bit more difficult with the pain in my knee. I splash some cool water against my face, rinse my mouth, and then sit back on the toilet and bury my face in my head, trying to get myself mentally ready for them.

It isn’t just the crowd that is frightening, is seeing my family again, my father, a retired Marine, who I know is waiting for his hero of a son. The man who does not stutter when he speaks, doesn’t have a limp, isn’t afraid of heights, isn’t triggered by sudden sounds and flashing lights. Pops never wanted an omega for a son, and I have spent my entire life trying to make up for it. But that son no longer exists. That son died in that plane crash and what is left is now a shadow.

I know what I will see when I look into his eyes. The disappointment, maybe even disgust, and I’m not sure how much of it I can take, seeing as I will be living with him over the next week as the psychiatrist insisted on writing me up for a chaperone, taking away my independence until I prove I am capable of being reintroduced into society without being a danger to anyone.

And then, of course, there is her.

My gut twists. I am far from ready to see her again. But there is time to prepare. Time to look stronger—be stronger. For weeks I have wondered what it would be like have her eyes on me again, and each time my guts reacts the same. The panic sets in, and I shatter.

It isn’t until twenty minutes later that I’m able to leave the bathroom and start down the aisle heading straight for the door. The only way through is to get this over and done with, else the fear will cripple me in front of the entire kingdom.

As I step off the plane, a gust of chilly winter dust brushes against my skin as the cacophony of cheers and applauses washes over me like a tidal wave. The flashing lights blind me momentarily and I squint through the brightness, swallowing hard before continuing down the stairs, and onto the red carpet laid out in front of me. The sea of faces before me blurs together—reporters, military officials, politicians. I’m fighting to stay pointed, focused, to not pass out, or even worse, vomit in their faces.

Every flash, every shuttering sound, every cheer, brings me back to war, and I’m fighting to not slip away into a place I know will only embarrass my father. He is here somewhere. Looking at me with pride. I want him to believe that part of me hasn’t completely been dissipated.

The queen stands at the end of the carpet, a warm smile on her face as she extends her hand towards me. I take it, both of us exchanging a strong handshake that is quickly captured by a million cameras.

“Your kingdom is forever indebted to you for your service, Sergeant.” She pins the blue heart on my pocket and the crowd roars, the applause and cheers making me dizzy as I struggle to smile. Once again, I’m hit by the nausea and I swallow hard.

Once the pinning is done, more pictures are taken, more unfamiliar faces are shaking my hand, I hear the voices expressing gratitude but it all sounds like I’m underwater struggling to swim.

I keep waiting for it to be over, it feels like it’s taking a million years when suddenly, through the blur of faces, I catch a glimpse of a familiar pair of brown eyes, and my heart sinks. Pops is standing at the far end, his face stern and tight like it always is.

As I make my way towards him, the cheers fade into the background, replaced by the sound of my heartbeat thundering in my ears, a multitude of emotions warring inside me. He steps forward, arms open wide, and for a moment, all my fears dissipate. It’s so damn good to see his face, a sweet reminder of all I have fought for, of why I had to sacrifice so much. To keep him safe. To keep my family safe.

I finally reach him, and without a word, he envelops me in a tight embrace, squeezing me so tight as though he’d never let go. It takes me a minute before I realize he’s sobbing. My cold stoic alpha of a father is sobbing. I’m uncertain about what to do with that, so I let myself go, I let the tears run free too, realizing that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t see the disappointment I was dreading when he looks at me.

I’m not sure why I ever thought he’d be disappointed in me. He served in the Marines. He knows what it is to lose yourself for your kingdom.

“I’m so proud of you, Nolan. So proud,” he says into my neck, squeezing me a little harder before pulling away, letting his eyes meet mine.

Both of us laugh through the tears, and though I can feel the cameras flashing in our direction, they suddenly are not as triggering. I’m home. I’m safe. This is real.

“Missed your cooking, Pops.”

“Shut the fuck up, boy,” we laugh, “don’t make jabs at your old man. Besides,” he cups my cheeks and kisses my forehead. “I’ve gotten better.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Took cooking classes and all. Anna threatened to divorce me, and well, you know I already have too many of those, can’t lose this one.”

“Don’t listen to him.” My head shoots up at the sound of Anna’s voice. My father’s seventh and hopefully last wife. I swear the man loves weddings more than marriages. “He is still a terrible cook.” She smiles, soft eyes burrowing into mine.

“Hi, Anna.” We share a hug.

“Welcome home,” she says with deep, warm compassion. “You are the bravest man I have ever known.”

“Why don’t we get you away from all the press and the cold, hmm?” Pops says.

I nod. “Thank you.”

A few more pictures are taken, and then Pops and Anna are leading me out of the airport, through the departure gates when a familiar woody, sweet scent wafts across my nose and instantly my body tenses, the breath is sucked out of my lungs and before I can form the thought, I’m quivering in my stand.

“Nolan, is everything okay?” Anna asks.

I part my lips as my eyes search the airport crowd. No, she can’t be here, there is no way she’d—

“There she is,” Pops says, turning away from me, and my eyes follow him to the left. I watch as she and Pops share a hug, her tall elegant figure wrapping around him.

Everything in me goes limp at the sight of her as if every drop of strength has been drained from me. My heart sinks, my gut twists, this cannot be happening.

Anna goes over and shares a hug with her too, and for a few seconds, they remain standing sharing pleasantries and giggling. Something about the sight makes me feel trapped. Like I’m sixteen again, trying to get away from Pops and his battalion of ex-wives, how he has been able to get them to all get along through the years is an enigma to me.

Her blood-red eyes locks on me after a few minutes and with a broad smile they all begin to approach, her pheromones strengthening its hold on my senses. I swallow, hard, fighting to keep myself from falling to pieces right where I stand.

Seven years. I haven’t laid my eyes on her in seven years, not since I shut the door in her face and ran into the rain, away from her, and right into the arms of the Air force. The war was the only way I thought I could get away from her after what I had done, and now—now that she is here, it is as though, I never left. It is as though I’m eighteen again, begging the alpha I could never have to mark me.

“Nolan,” she calls in that sweet deep voice that has carried me through the roughest years and every hair on my skin stands, a slight shiver traveling through me. It’s already beginning, as it always does when it comes to Lora. I can’t control it; I’ve never been able to. She opens her arms for a hug and I take a step back, dropping my gaze to the floor. She wasn’t supposed to be here, I haven’t had time to prepare. “Nolan?”

“What… what are you doing here?” I stutter.

“Nolan…” Anna calls with a chuckle. “That is no way to say hello to your mother.”

“She’s not my mother,” I reply.

“Nolan!” Pops chastises, trying to keep his voice low.

“It’s okay, David,” Lora says and my gaze meets hers before drifting away quickly. “It’s good to see you, Nolan. Sorry I couldn’t make it earlier. Traffic. Happy Birthday.” She offers me a box of cookies, and when I make no effort to receive it, says, “It’s chocolate cookies. Those are still your favorite, right?”

“Where is the car, Pops?” I turn away from her. “Please just take me to the car.”

“I’m so sorry about this, Lora,” Pops says.

“It’s fine,” she replies.

“Listen, Nolan. I know I said you could stay with Anna and I until they sign off on you. But after an extensive conversation with your doctor, I think it’s best you stay with your mother.”

“In her grave?” I snap back, knowing exactly what pops means, yet avoiding it.

“With Lora,” he says, corking a brow at me.

“What?”

“This is my fault,” Anna cuts in. “They told us you’re having nightmares and sleepwalking. Nolan you can understand how this can negatively affect my daughter back home.”

“You think I would ever hurt Michelle?”

“Not intentionally,” Anna replies. “She adores you; you know that. What if something happens while you’re sleepwalking.”

“I don’t anymore, that was months ago when I first got admitted.”

“Still, we have to be careful.”

“I’ll check into a hotel,” I say. “I can take care of myself, just sign off on it.”

“Your doctors think otherwise,” Pops says in the stern Marine tone I grew up taking commands from. “You’ll be staying with Lora and no more arguments. Now let’s get you out of the cold.”

“Pops—”

“Not here, Nolan, come along.”

With Pops leading the way, Anna and Lora following closely behind, we find our way to Pop’s truck, and my things are thrown in the back.

I can feel him side-eyeing me through every movement, the question I know he will eventually ask resting on his lips.

“Why don’t I ride with Lora, that way you both can have enough time to catch up,” Anna suggests.

“Are you sure, darling?”

“Lora’s idea, and I agree.” Anna and Pops share a kiss before she turns away and I remain standing by the car.

“Need help getting in?” Pops ask.

Begrudgingly, I shake my head lightly and climb into his truck with the help of my walking stick and Pops climbs in after me and roars the engine to life.