SEAL'd Heart

by Alice Ward

  My earpiece crackled with instructions, and I held up my fist. My team hunkered as we awaited our time for attack. “Team two, move.” I waited until each team was assigned before pulling my night vision glasses back down, turning the world green again.

  I signaled to my men, and we approached the first building. It was eerily quiet. Too quiet. No sound. No movement at all.

  “Team two and four, prepare to breach target building.”

  Mike rushed ahead of me, pulling his breaching ram from his pack. “Team two in position,” I informed command and signaled the men. They spread out and we approached our assigned building. Then I waited for confirmation that the other teams were in place. This was to be a strategic breach, planned to penetrate the most likely buildings simultaneously.

  “In ten…”

  I signaled my men to prepare for penetration and watched Mike approach the door with the ram, Tim backing him up.

  Four.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  But the door opened on its own, causing Mike to fall back in surprise. Tim rushed in front of him, ready to fire, jerking his gun back when a little boy stepped out.

  A little boy with brown hair and dark eyes. He smiled, showing a gap-toothed grin.

  “Look at my new toy!” Jagger said, clearly delighted, “I’m like GI Joe too!”

  I froze. My son had a suicide vest strapped to his chest.

  “Jagger,” I said, forcing my voice to stay calm as I waved the other men back. They faded into the shadows of the surrounding buildings, leaving the two of us alone.

  “Isn’t it cool?” He lifted his hand, showing me the switch he had gripped in his palm. His little thumb was on the button. “I got this too, Daddy. They told me to give it to you. They said it was a present and that you would know what it’s for.”

  I did know.

  It was a dead man’s switch. The second his thumb left that button, we were all gone.

  “Okay, Jagger,” I said in a calm, even tone. “It is cool, but I need you to be very still. Keep your thumb exactly where it is, okay. Don’t move it even a little bit.”

  He frowned. “Why are you mad? Did I do something wrong? Are you going to leave me again?” Tears welled in his eyes as he began to cry.

  “No. No, I’m not mad,” I rushed to reassure him. “I’m not leaving. I’ll never leave you again.”

  “Liar.”

  My head snapped up, and it was Skye standing in the door. She was wearing a suicide vest too. Her face was hard, filled with hate. “You always leave. Always. And leave a trail of dead bodies in your wake.”

  Jagger began to cry harder, his little shoulders shaking with the sadness coming off him in waves, his hands dropping to his sides. But he didn’t let go of the switch.

  “We can’t count on you. And you’re dangerous. You always hurt the people you’re close to. Always. Always!” She was screaming now. She raised a hand, the dead man’s switch in her tight grip. “It will happen sooner or later, you know that, don’t you, Jake?”

  I shook my head. “No. I’ll never—”

  “Liar,” she snarled. “We might as well get it over with now.” An uncanny calm swept over her face. “Save ourselves a lot of pain, don’t you think, Jake?”

  As I watched, her thumb began to move. She was going to do it. She was going to kill us all to save her and our son from any more pain.

  “No!”

  I launched myself at her, but she only smiled. “It’s too late.”

  “Nooooo!”

  My hands wrapped around her neck just as white-hot fire exploded around me.

  “No!”

  The shrapnel impaled me, slamming into my shoulders and chest, even my back.

  “No!”

  It clawed at my hands and face, punching holes in my thighs and shins.

  “No!”

  Then I was no longer in that dusty alley. I was on top of Skye, my hands wrapped around her throat, in her bedroom. Her eyes were huge, her face red. She was clawing at me, punching and writhing beneath my weight.

  I jerked away, looking at my hands as if they belonged to someone else.

  Oh my god, what had I done?

  Skye began to cough and wheeze, and I returned my attention to her, but she was scooting back away from me, backpedaling as far as she could go, terror still on her face.

  I’d fallen asleep. I hadn’t meant to, but I did… and now this. I hurt her. I could have killed her. I could have killed the only love of my life.

  “Skye, I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

  I went to her, trying to comfort her, but she shoved me away with her feet, screaming at me to get away in a voice that could barely make the words. I couldn’t blame her. Behind her trembling fingers, I could see the red marks on her throat, and she was still gasping for air. I didn’t even know how long I held her down. How long the horror of what I had done to her had lasted.

  “I didn’t mean… I shouldn’t have stayed… oh my god. Are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay.”

  I was crying now, hot tears burning like lava from my eyes as the terror of what I’d almost done stared me in the face. I couldn’t be trusted. It was so clear now. I thought I could be with her. With them. And I’d wanted to so badly.

  But I couldn’t.

  And I couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not without knowing she was okay.

  Although she cursed and flailed at me, I pulled her into my lap and cradled her close against me, wrapping my arms around her until the fighting stopped and she stilled. The tears took longer to quiet. Both hers and mine.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said into her hair. “I shouldn’t have stayed. It was my fault, and I’m so sorry. I’ll go. As soon as I know you’re okay, I’ll go. I promise. I’ll never hurt you again.”

  She shuddered, then her arms snaked around me, and she lifted her face to look up at me. “I think it was my fault. You were dreaming. No, worse than a dream. I tried to wake you, and…” she shuddered again, “and you just came at me.”

  The dream.

  That dream was new. It was horrible, and I remembered it clearly and understood the message behind it. Bottom line was that I was no good for Skye. I was no good for Jagger either. They were both better off without me. The red marks on Skye’s neck were evidence of that.

  I was rocking Skye now, kissing her hair, breathing in her scent one last time. “No, it’s not your fault, how could you even think that?”

  She was quiet, and I could almost hear her trying to think of something to say.

  “Let me see your throat.”

  I knew enough first aid from being a SEAL that I could do a rough check to see if I’d permanently injured her in any way. Reluctantly, she lifted her chin, and I winced. Guilt punched me in the balls as I got a good view of the red marks circling her throat.

  As if I were a robot, I methodically checked her. Made her swallow, listened to her breathing. She would be okay.

  This time.

  With tunnel vision, I pulled on my clothes and went into her kitchen to grab a bag of frozen vegetables from the freezer for the swelling. I snatched a towel and wrapped it so it wouldn’t hurt her skin. Helping her into her pajamas, I tucked her into bed and laid the makeshift icepack at her throat.

  “When will I see you again?” she croaked, and I knew the problem with her voice had more to do with her emotions than any pain or injury.

  This time.

  I didn’t answer, just gave her a small smile, and pushed her hair back from her face.

  “You don’t have to leave,” she said, clutching my arm, trying to sit up.

  But I did.

  I almost killed her.

  She wasn’t safe with me in her life. Jagger wasn’t safe either.

  I’d known it from the moment I found them in the baseball stadium. I knew it now.

  Leaning down, I kissed her forehead, still not saying a word. And when I walked out, I closed my ears to her voice calling out for me
.

  I drove for a while with no destination in mind before heading to my building with a heavy heart.

  Back in my apartment, I grabbed the entire bottle of whiskey before walking into my office and sitting down at my desk, shaking the mouse of my computer to wake it up. Clicking the button to make the video start recording, I stared into the camera and began to speak.

  When I was finished, I sent the message to my attorney before clicking the camera again and leaving a message for Skye. Then one for Jagger.

  When I clicked the last button, I stood up and opened the safe in my wall.

  They were better off without me. Of that, I was certain.

  It was them or it was me. It could never be us.

  As I pulled the Glock out, the first tear fell. Many others came behind it as I mourned yet another loss in my life.

  It had been so perfect for just a little while.

  So incredibly beautiful. Better than I could have ever imagined.

  And I had to go and fuck it all up.

  I checked the load, racking back the slide, forcing a bullet into the chamber.

  Soon, I wouldn’t have to worry about fucking anything up ever again.

  Six Years Earlier…

  My phone rang, the device lighting up the car holder where I’d tossed it. Skye snatched it up first and read the screen. “Oh my god, it’s Trey!”

  I reached for the phone just as she was shoving it at me. I knocked it out of her hand, and it fell into the crack between the seat and the console. “Shit!”

  Jamming my hand down into the crack, I searched for it while cursing every car engineer on the planet for not doing something with that fucking black hole where nothing could be retrieved after it fell in.

  Skye smacked my arm. “Let me.”

  I yanked my hand out, and the phone stopped ringing just as Skye dove in with her much smaller one. It started ringing again, and she grunted, her face pressed on my arm as she felt around, trying to locate it. My thumbs tapped the steering wheel, anxiety and self-hatred raging through me as the phone stopped its persistent ringing.

  Rounding a curve, I saw a car on the opposite side of the road up ahead. No, it was in the ditch, its hazard lights blinking. I squinted. It was a Toyota. A 4Runner. “Skye. I think that’s him.”

  She jerked up, empty-handed. The phone started ringing again.

  “Oh thank god!”

  I hit the gas, and my car surged forward. Farther in front of it, a figure appeared in the middle of the road. “There,” I yelled. “I see him.”

  I slowed down and pulled to the side of the road. Trey turned, his phone to his ear, screaming something I couldn’t hear. The headlights of my car reflected off his face, tears streaming down his cheeks as he continued to scream, lifting a finger to point at us.

  Then a light appeared around the curve, coming too fast.

  “No!” Skye screamed as the car bore down on our friend.

  In what felt like slow motion, Trey turned, throwing up his hands as the tires screeched on the pavement. Then it was done. My best friend was lying in the grass on the side of the road, his crumpled, broken body badly bleeding.

  I ran, screaming his name, falling to my knees when I reached him, begging him to be okay.

  He wasn’t.

  As Skye and I cried over our best friend, the guilt for his death hadn’t quite hit me yet. It wasn’t until two days later, just an hour before his funeral, that I had the energy to look for my phone. I saw the missed calls and realized I had a voice message. With a sense of foreboding, I tapped the button.

  “Dude, Jake, it’s Trey. Your best friend, remember?”

  The police had determined that Trey had run off the side of the road, overcorrected and ended up in the ditch. He’d hit his head, they knew because they found blood on the driver side door and steering wheel.

  “Yeah, I guess you don’t. I guess you forgot everything, didn’t you?”

  He’d abandoned his car and started walking toward his home.

  “You just had to have her. The one thing good in my life, and you destroyed it. Well, fuck you. Fuck her. Fuck everything.”

  I’d never know for sure, but I thought this was about the time Trey saw us pull up. The time he turned and faced me, screaming. Crying. Hating. Pointing his accusing finger at me.

  “You’re a shitty friend. A shitty person. I hate you, man. I hate—”

  The lights. The tires. The impact. The scream.

  And it was over.

  For me, it was the beginning of a life that could never be the same.

  The guilt had become a living thing inside me, and if my uncle hadn’t dragged me to it, I wouldn’t have even gone to the funeral. I couldn’t face it. Face him. Face her.

  But there she was, her face a red puffy mess as she cried, her parents on either side of her. For the entire sermon, I could hear her. She never stopped crying — not once. She didn’t look at me either.

  I couldn’t blame her. I couldn’t look at myself.

  The next day, I got in my car and drove. And drove. And drove.

  When the low gas indicator turned on, I pulled into a gas station to fill up. Inside, I bought a soft drink and a pack of peanuts, the first thing I’d eaten in days. I was about to pull out when I saw it. A recruitment center. Outside, several men in fatigues stood talking. For some reason, I pulled the car to the side of the lot and sat and watched them interact.

  I was supposed to leave for Europe that day, but I’d cancelled the trip. How could I just head off and enjoy the world, have fun, pretend that everything was normal while my best friend’s body decayed?

  Because of me.

  I was lost. I had no idea what to do, where to go, who to be with, or why.

  Maybe if I couldn’t figure out the why, someone would do it for me. I pulled into the recruitment center parking lot and stepped out of the Maserati. The men in front just looked at me like I was some joke.

  Two-hundred-dollar haircut. Four-hundred-dollar ripped jeans. Leather boots that cost a cool grand. A Rolex on my wrist. I even smelled like money, and I knew it.

  Where had it gotten me?

  It couldn’t bring Trey back. It couldn’t undo my night with Skye. It couldn’t make anything right.

  Inside the building, no one jumped to their feet trying to recruit me. All the men sat back in their chairs, arms crossed over their chests, looking me over.

  Since they weren’t helping, I looked at the signs over their heads.

  Army. Navy. Air Force. Marines.

  What the fuck did it matter?

  Since the Navy station was closest, I went there first. The man didn’t take me seriously, I knew.

  “Why do you want to join the military, son?” he asked, a smirk on his clean-shaven face.

  I scratched the three days’ worth of stubble on my jaw, then dropped my hand and looked him in the eye. “Because I need to become a better man.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Skye

  Six Years Earlier…

  I didn’t know such bliss existed.

  Lying in Jake’s arms in the quietness of the tent, our bodies curled around each other felt even more sensual than the lovemaking I’d just experienced.

  I had no regrets. Yes, I would be sad when he left. I would miss him. But I’d have this memory to hold on to while I went to college and moved on with the rest of my life. These few blessed hours would give me something to reflect on during the lonely nights ahead.

  Because they would be lonely.

  I already knew I couldn’t be with Trey this way. The feelings just weren’t there for me. Or the attraction. The need. Trey was my friend, and it wouldn’t be fair for me to lead him on. It wouldn’t be fair to me either.

  Shutting my eyes, I listened to Jake’s heart under my ear, felt the rise and fall of his chest.

  I’d be kind to Trey if he said something to me about becoming a couple, letting him down as gently as I could. Unable to bear the thought of hur
ting him, I prayed he wouldn’t get up the nerve to ask me. But I’d worry about that another day.

  Right now, I concentrated on the magic of the moment. I listened to Jake’s breathing, matching my own with his. I should probably go. I absolutely needed to leave before it grew light outside and someone saw me sneaking out of Jake’s tent. I wouldn’t want Trey to hear about us that way. It would be horrible.

  Jake sighed and turned, pulling me even tighter into his embrace. I’d go soon. I just needed a few more minutes of being where I most wanted to be. I snuggled closer as my eyelids fluttered shut. Just a few more minutes and I’d go.

  ***

  A hiss jerked me awake. At first, I thought it was a snake, that Monty Python was on the loose again. But no, I was still in Jake’s tent. The hiss sounded again—the zipper of the tent door—and a voice called out, “Don’t tell me the party’s ov—”

  Trey appeared through the opened door flap… and stopped. For as long as I lived, the look on his face would be burned into my brain. I reached for the blanket to hide my nakedness, but it was too late.

  Surprise. Horror. Grief.

  In that split second, his expression represented so many emotions, it would have been impossible to separate them all.

  “Fuck!” he screamed, turning around, as if he couldn’t see us, it might not be real.

  “Trey,” Jake yelled, scrambling for his clothes, but the sound of our friend running away was the only response.

  We both dressed with rapid speed, Jake cursing the entire time. My heart was hammering. What would we say to Trey when we found him? Would he ever forgive us? Me?

  We never got the chance to find out.

  As we jumped into Jake’s car to chase Trey down, the unimaginable happened.

  Trey in the middle of the road.

  A driver with an alcohol level two times the legal limit.

  The image of the car hitting him played on repeat in my brain.

  I was in shock for the first week after Trey’s death. Aside from the funeral, I barely left my bed. It wasn’t until Mom forced me to get up and run a couple errands for her that I even bothered to shower or run a brush through my rat’s nest of curls.