The Swan and The Sergeant - Alana Albertson Page 0,1

for dessert. I opened the box and laid out the day’s bounty: cherry-blueberry cobbler, potato sticks, wheat snack bread, plain cheese spread, lemon-lime beverage powder, and accessory pack “A”: coffee, creamer, sugar, salt, Tabasco, a moist towelette, toilet paper, chewing gum, and matches.

I opened the cooking bag, placed the spaghetti pouch inside, filled it with water, and then leaned it against a rock to cook. Ha—here I was dining out of a pouch in hell, and Selena spent her days noshing at Michelin-starred restaurants.

I stared at the picture of Selena and me winning the U.S. National Youth Amateur Latin Ballroom Championship. Selena was now the star of the hit series Dancing Under the Stars. My childhood sweetheart was plastered on magazine covers, billboards, and advertisements. The details of my life back then had faded away from my memory. Being at war made everything a blur.

I took a swig of water from my CamelBak and downed two anti-malaria pills: one blue, one pink. The Marine Corps assured the troops that they were safe, but I’d bet the pills caused my daily headaches. Then again, maybe the migraines were just from the hundred-degree heat.

Staff Sergeant Ray Wilson emerged from the tent and sat beside me. Even though I wanted to be alone, I was happy to have my friend’s company.

“Slim Jim?” Ray offered.

“Sure.”

As I ripped the plastic off the snack, Ray nodded at the magazine article lying in the sand. “What’s that all about?”

I grunted. “A month ago, my mom told me the judge on Dancing asked her if I would consider doing the show. He just sent me a note.”

“For real?” Ray took a bite of his own Slim Jim. “You’d have to be stupid to give up this paradise of sand and gunfire for the mansions of Hollywood. Your mother does realize you’re a Marine, right? You can’t just leave the Corps and go on reality television.”

“That’s what I told her. But she has this crazy idea that the Marine Corps would let me do it for one season—like a recruiting tool. I doubt that, but I could use my vacation leave. Remember that kid on American Pop Star?”

“Yeah. Didn’t he gain like thirty pounds and fail his PFT?” he snorted, and I shook my head.

“He did. But I’d be dancing eight hours a day—I’d be in even better shape.”

He gestured up and down my frame with his Slim Jim.

Can you still dance, Patrick Swayze?”

“Good enough to teach some teen mom from MTV how to cha-cha. But I’d be the laughingstock of the Corps.”

“Maybe not. I mean, you are the only Devil Dawg who happens to be a ballroom champion. You could be that all-American hero. The pretty face that recruits a load more boys to join the rest of us here and get shot at.”

“If you think it sounds so great, I’ll tell her you’ll do it.” I hated the public’s obsession with the “celebrities” on those shows. Young kids who became millionaires for making sex tapes or wasting their days doing nothing but going to the gym, tanning, and partying. Influencers posting thirst traps on their social media. Meanwhile, my buddies and I were out here in hell, dodging bullets.

I checked my spaghetti. Done. I dug into the warm, gooey meal.

Ray shrugged. “The only dance I know is the latest TikTok, and something tells me I’d be more of a target for that than I am for being a Marine in Iraq.”

“Ha.” I had no desire to ever dance again. Once I joined the Corps, I had found my calling. “Nah, I’d rather stay here with my men. I wouldn’t even consider it—if it weren’t for Pierce.”

Ray blinked hard. “What does the show have to do with Pierce?”

“I promised him that I’d take care of his family if anything happened to him. If I did the show, I could earn some money for them.”

“Dawg, you’d do that for them? That would be crazy.”

“He’d have done it for me.” Pierce would’ve done anything for me. He had already proven that.

We sat there in silence.

Ray nodded toward me. “Pierce was a good dude. You should do it.”

My hands were sticky with sweat. “I can’t. I’d make a fool out of myself.”

“Man, it wouldn’t be that bad.” Ray stretched out against a rock. “And you can go check out your ex-fiancée—she is Maxim’s Sexiest Girl Alive. Even if she’s with that pretty-boy dancer.”

“Dima? That guy’s a jerk. He was one of our coaches. But I would never get back together with