by Zoe Dawson
As he was getting ready for bed, his cell rang. “Is this Petty Officer Bartholomew?”
“Yes, it is.”
“This is Constantine Mikos, JAG. I’ve been assigned to represent you at trial. Do you have some time to meet with me?”
“Now?”
“No time like the present. I can get started with filing the paperwork, lining up your defense and understanding the charges against you.”
“Where do you want to meet?”
“My office.” He rattled off the address.
Saint got dressed and when he arrived at the JAG building, Mikos was there to let him in.
They shook hands. “You any relation to Aella?”
“I’m her baby brother.”
“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”
“In what way?”
“I’m involved with your sister. Did she ask you to defend me?”
“Yes, but you’re not dating. In fact, this mission was the first time you’d seen her in six months. Am I right? You’re not part of the family…yet,” he said with a smirk. “I don’t see a problem with me being impartial and fair.”
They sat down in his office and Constantine started off with his questions.
“Eyewitnesses?”
“Yes, two. Your sister and a fifteen-year-old village girl, Yasmiin Gedi.”
“Good. I know Aella will testify. How about the girl?”
“I’m sure she would. Aella and I saved her life, and she returned the favor.”
He made some notes. “How about your CO…Lieutenant Ford Nixon. Is it your word against his?”
“No. It was Commander Eli Thompson who instigated the charges. He overhead our conversation during a radio transmission.”
“Does he or your CO have a history of not getting along with others?”
“Not Fast Lane…Lieutenant Nixon. He is the best CO I’ve ever had.”
“No offense, but SEALs tend to stick together. Should he have brought you up on these charges himself? Is he negligent in that regard?”
“No, he would never be that way. He gave me hell when he got to the village, questioned me about not standing down. I explained what happened and why I felt I needed to act.” He explained everything that had happened from the radio transmission to saving Aella to Constantine.
He frowned. “So does Thompson have a beef with you?”
“I don’t think so. His name does sound familiar.”
“I’ll do some digging. In the meantime, try to keep out of trouble.”
“Is that an order?”
Constantine narrowed his eyes. “I see what you did there.”
Saint left the building and wanted to call Aella, but it was even later on the East Coast. He let his breath go in a rush and forced his body to relax. He was not going to think about anything for the next couple of hours. He was going to put everything out of his mind. Except his gut was tied up in knots and it was mostly over Aella.
He headed home.
The next few weeks were a blur. He’d tried to stay busy but there was only so many hours a day a person could exercise. The physical exertion helped but that still left a lot of hours for him to think. To think about Aella. To think about his future, that is if he had one. He had no idea what he would do if they kicked him out of the Navy. He was a SEAL. He didn’t know how to be anything else. He hadn’t even contacted his family because he had no idea what to even say.
He also thought about his team. They’d all tried to reach out to him, but he avoided their calls. He had to protect them. All except Fast Lane. He couldn’t avoid his calls or daily visits. It was a little awkward not talking about the team, the next mission or upcoming training, but he understood that Fast Lane was already breaking the rules. Even though he justified the visits as checking on his mental health, Fast Lane had to keep some boundaries. Sometimes they just sat there and stared at the television. Awkward or not, he looked forward to seeing his CO. It helped pass the time. Helped with the loneliness.
As the court day got closer, Saint found it harder to keep busy. He just wanted this over, one way or another. When the day came, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept through the night. His body was battle-weary from a battle he had no idea how to fight. He wasn’t used to putting his life in someone else’s hands, other than his teammates. He and LCDR Constantine had spent hours together over the last few weeks getting his defense in order, but he still felt out of control.
Trussed up in his dress uniform, he sat at the table with his lawyer. Saint felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. Sitting up a little straighter, he mumbled to himself, “The only easy day was yesterday.”
The preliminary proceedings started, and it was time for him to plead. “Not guilty,” he said.
Constantine got up and called his witnesses. Yasmiin smiled at him as she entered. He knew his lawyer was trying to get her here to testify but he didn’t know she had arrived. She looked pretty in her flowered dress. Her answers to the questions were concise and aligned with his.
When the next witness came in, he met Aella’s gaze. She had nothing but reassurance in her eyes. Aella had made him see that what mattered between two people was a partnership, not who managed the chores or what traditions should be followed. It was about the connection and the understanding between them.
It was about love.
Her testimony was also true and accurate, and matched up with both his and Yasmiin’s.
“Let me get this straight,” Constantine asked. “Petty Officer Bartholomew saved your life repeatedly, he rescued you from a brutal warlord, protected you until you got to safety, saved a village and their six children who were kidnapped, took out the warlord, and captured an international terrorist.”
“That’s correct,” Aella said. “This is nothing but a radio snafu. If Lieutenant Nixon had gotten the full story, he would have realized that Saint had to act. He was the only person who stood between a massacre and the village. He willingly put his life on the line for all of us. He shouldn’t be punished. He should get a medal.”
Suddenly, someone entered the courtroom. He waited until Constantine was back at the table and the prosecutor was asking Aella questions.
The assistant leaned over. “Sir, you need to see this.” He set a file in front of him. “Commander Thompson’s son was treated on the battlefield by Petty Officer Bartholomew. He didn’t make it. Sounds like he is exacting a bit of revenge.”
Saint reached back in his memory, and he nodded. “I did treat him. It was bad. Femoral artery was nicked by a broken femur. There was nothing I could do. He bled out.” It had prompted him to study broken bones more thoroughly. It’s why he’d been so effective with Aella’s compound fracture, ending up saving her leg.
After that information came to light and in lieu of the previous testimony, the charges against him were dropped.
Aella had gone back to DC. She was caught up in something. Something wonderful was the way she described it.
He thanked Constantine for his help, and then packed a bag and headed off to Sebastian, Florida, a beautiful area with an estuary and river. In 1715 a Spanish fleet was lost with an accumulated value of more than five hundred million dollars. His uncle had a treasure hunting business there and needed help on his boat. Since he still had two weeks on his leave, he decided to take a break from San Diego and get his mind off Aella and the hearing.
A week passed and he was enjoying every minute of being on the water. His uncle was a good guy, and he always kept the cooler stocked. Between treasure hunting and doing a bit of fishing, Saint kept his mind occupied.
He missed Aella like crazy, but they had decided not to talk about the future until there was a possibility of one. He wanted to call her but decided that he would wait until he got back from Sebastian. It would help him to get his head on straight now that he had a future to plan. The solitude and mindless activity also gave him time to think without Aella distracting him with her luscious body and inna
te sensuality he couldn’t seem to get enough of. Out here with nothing but nature’s beauty to inspire him, he was able to finally come to terms with his own feelings for Aella. That he had fallen hard and fast for her.
It was as simple as that, and he wasn’t going to fight something that felt so amazingly right to his heart and emotions. This would be the next step into a life-alternating commitment, something he was all in for. He was suddenly understanding what his brothers had found with each of their women. It was all about finding the right woman.
He heard voices while he was hosing off the deck. It was his uncle talking to someone. Sounded like a female.
“Hey, nephew,” his uncle called out. “Someone here to see you.”
He frowned. Who even knew he was here? Well, Fast Lane. He always had to report to his CO about where he was or where he was going. He walked to the port or left side of the boat. The woman was standing on the dock, looking off to sea. Her back was to him. He started down the gangplank when she turned around.
“Aella?” he said, a smile breaking across his face. “Babe, what are you doing here?”
For a moment she didn’t say anything, she just stared at him. “Wow, the beach bum is such a good look on you.” She walked up to him trailing her fingers down his arm. “You’re so tanned.” Then she fluffed at his hair. “Your hair got lighter and longer.”
“How come you’re here?” he asked, his voice gruff.
She stared at him for what felt like forever. She closed her eyes and came into his arms, holding on to him with a desperate strength. Closing his own eyes, Saint rubbed his face against her, locking his arms around her. Inhaling raggedly, he tightened his hold on her, an agony of relief rushing through him.
She pulled back and fingered his hair again. “I’m here because I’m in love with you, Zach. Deeply, madly in love with you.”
His heart hammering, his breathing harsh, he felt almost dizzy with happiness. He rested his head against hers, his whole body shaking. “I love you, Aella, deeply, madly, completely.”
She laughed and hugged him.
“What the hell is going on down there, boy! We’ve got some treasure hunting to do. Daylight is burning! Get your ass up here.” He winced, then said, “Sorry about my French, young lady.”
“Ah, that’s my Uncle Tickle.”
“Seriously?”
“Well, his given name is Steven, but that’s what he’s called in moonshiner circles.”
“Moonshiner? There’s got to be some good stories there.”
He chuckled, then turned and shouted. “Be nice, old man. I’m going to marry this woman!”
“Oh, yeah! Bring her with us. We’ll have a beer!”
“You want to come on a sea voyage with me and my Uncle Tickle?”
“Wait a second. Did you think I would miss that? What is this about marriage? Don’t I get a say.”
“Yeah,” his accent thickened. “That would be a yes.”
She laughed softly, cupped his face and gave him a long, soft kiss that curled his toes. “That is a yes.”
“Awesome.”
“Hey, Uncle Tickle, you got any moonshine on this boat?” Aella called out.
He peered at her, suspicion thick on his face. “You ain’t a Fed, are you?”
Saint threw his head back and almost tumbled off the gangplank, he was laughing so hard. Wait until his family found out he was marrying an Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms Agent. That just about defined his family tree.
Epilogue
Saint ran around the car to open Aella’s door. She smiled at him as she handed him the Greek potato salad, the recipe for which had been handed down through the Mikos family. The barbecue was to celebrate the dropping of his charges and his engagement to Aella.
Fast Lane was hosting the party in his big back yard that had a fire pit where they were roasting a pig, along with grilled steaks, hotdogs and cheeseburgers.
Between the time he proposed to her in Florida and now, he’d bought her a ring. In fact, she’d gone shopping for it herself. It looked good on her finger because it told everyone she was his.
Once she was out of the car, she took the bowl back and he locked the doors. They went up the walk.
“Hello.” Fast Lane’s grandfather was rocking on the porch.
“Are you the official greeter?” Aella asked.
“I am.” He smiled. “I’m supposed to tell you that all nonperishable items go on the counter. I’m not going to insult your intelligence and tell you where the perishable stuff goes. You look like a smart girl.”
She laughed softly. “Okay, charmer.” Then she leaned in to Saint and whispered, “Looks like your LT didn’t inherit his grandfather’s charming ways. He’s much grumpier.”
“I heard that, young lady.”
She looked sheepish. “My bad.”
“No, it’s true. He’s grumpier.” Then he winked at her. “I might be old, but my hearing is just fine.”
They went into the house and Aella put the potato salad in the fridge. Saint could see that everyone was outside: Dragon, Jo, and their daughter Ceri, Pitbull, Mikayla and Samantha, Hemingway and Shea, Dodger and Anna, Mad Max and Renata, and 2-Stroke and Chry. He’d also invited Rock’s team: Professor, Gator, Blitz, D-Day, Zorro, Buck, and Bear, who was hard to miss—tall, built and Native American. Professor and Hemingway were talking together. It was clear to see they had really bonded during BUD/S. The only team member missing was Rock, his wife Danielle and their two daughters, Emily and Caitlin.
Everyone greeted them as they came in, the aroma of frying meat and smoking pork made Saint’s stomach growl. He hoped they were eating soon.
Fast Lane’s cell phone rang and every man in there paused in conversation. It resumed again when no one else’s phone rang.
Saint looked over to his CO and Fast Lane’s expression turned from jovial to stricken. “When?” he murmured. Saint got a bad feeling, and he wondered if it had something to do with Zasha.
“Guys,” he said. “Can I have your attention.”
The buzz of conversation faded.
“I just got some terrible news. Rock’s car was t-boned by a drunk driver running a red light.”
“Is he all right?” Professor asked, his team running the gamut of reactions—shock, sorrow, worry and fear.
“Yes, but he’s critical.”
“His wife…the girls?”
Fast Lane shook his head. “I’m afraid they didn’t make it.”
“We’ve got to go. What hospital?” Professor asked.
Aella turned to him. “How awful,” she said as she snuggled into his arms. He tightened his grip around her, holding her close.
Fast Lane knew that he should never drink alone. His grandfather was out at his bingo night. He’d just gotten back from the hospital after checking on Rock. He was still in intensive care and his mom and dad were fielding questions. They said he had a broken pelvis with complications. The prognosis wasn’t good. He might never operate again once he recovered. He was in a medically induced coma. He still didn’t know about his family. The funeral was next week.
Fast Lane got up, knowing he shouldn’t do it, but not being able to help himself. He grabbed a photo album from one of his bookcases and opened it up. There were pictures of Solace in there laughing, touching him, kissing him.
He rolled his shoulders and exhaled heavily, his heart hurting. His grandfather had suggested they get rid of the album, but he couldn’t seem to do it. He wanted the memories of her. He didn’t want them to fade, then he would be completely without her. This way he could keep the memories close. He threw back another shot and closed the album. Replacing the album back on the shelf, he pulled out his cell phone.
He scrolled through his contacts until he came to her name. Another stupid thing he refused to do was delete her number from his phone. His thumb hovered over the tiny call icon. All he would have to do is press it to hear her voice.
It was pathetic and he knew it. He shut
his phone off and closed his eyes. Damn, he remembered how soft she was, the way she had reacted to him, the sounds she made when she came.
Regret washed through him. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or seeing her recently, but the overwhelming pain took over, and tears slipped down his cheeks.
He fell asleep thinking about how big a fool he’d been and if he ever got the chance, he would make it up to her.
Fast Lane left the cages and headed for the briefing room, a hangover banging in his head. Yep, he shouldn’t have been drinking. He dry swallowed some pain medication, making a mental note to grab some water to help with his dehydration.
After what had happened with Saint, Commander Thompson had been reassigned to another command. They were getting a new leader today. Fast Lane hoped he wouldn’t be a dick like Thompson, letting his personal bias affect his command decision.
He entered the briefing room to find his team assembled, Mad Max throwing a ball to Jugs. The ball bounced past him, and Jugs had to slam on the brakes, but he couldn’t quite do a quick stop on the polished floor, and he slid, his paws going akimbo.
He plowed into Fast Lane and took his legs out from under him. Fast Lane fell hard, slamming into the floor. The file he had in his hand went flying, papers floating down everywhere. Pain in his hip and elbow throbbed in rhythm to his heart beat. “Max!” he yelled. But all his annoyance dissipated when Jugs came over and licked his face. He reached up and ruffled the dog’s fur. “Apology accepted, buddy.”
“Well, this doesn’t bode well for the beginning of my command.”
Fast Lane stiffened. He knew that voice.
He pushed up into a sitting position to find Commander Bowie “Ruckus” Cooper standing there.
“Cooper!” he cried as he took the hand Ruckus extended to him. “How the hell are you?”
“Not bad for a contrary bastard.”
“You’re our new CO?”
“Damn straight. I heard I inherited quite a top-notch group of men.” He looked around the room. “Sound off.”
Each of the team members introduced themselves.
