We’re interrupted by a store clerk clearing his throat, and I glance away to notice him standing behind the counter with a ring sizer, his lips pursed. I hold up a finger to instruct him to wait while I finish kissing the love of my life, something of a possessive rumble in my chest as she sighs into the kiss.
When we finally break, I look up at the clerk and give him a boyish smile. “Sorry man, I just got back from the Middle East. I get a little caught up in things now and then.”
“Oh!” the man says, face reddening a bit from embarrassment, and he hurriedly smiles. “My apologies, sir. Welcome home — and thank you for your service.” He gives a warm smile before tending to Becca’s ring finger, and I stand at her side, watching the process.
I always have mixed emotions when people thank me for my service. Mostly because none of them, not one, ever knows what exactly they’re thanking me for.
On the one hand, it’s nice to know I’m appreciated back home. Knowing that civilians have my back is a quiet reassurance on a day to day basis. Even if I was serving the country south of the Canadian border.
On the other hand, it’s frustrating.
I think back to the past two years, and how if I’d quit the service earlier in life, maybe I would have gotten the chance to give Becca the storybook romance she used to want. I know she’s happy this way, but part of me nags at the back of my mind, wondering if she might have been even happier with a different start.
But there’s so much more to it than that. Unbidden, my mind flits back to that night in Syria where something as simple as a little bad intelligence nearly cost my whole team their lives. While the clerk is discussing ring sizes with Becca, I’m zoning out, thinking back to the sight of my communications officer losing his life right in front of my eyes.
His name was Marco, and he was my best friend. We’d gone through training together when we were in the academy, before SEAL training was even an option for us.
I remember him talking about his own hopes and dreams for starting a family when he got out of the service. He wanted to settle down in a nice apartment in the city. We’d always disagreed about that — the idea of a metro apartment sounds like hell to me even to this day – but he was from the Bronx, and he wanted something that reminded him of his childhood, just like I did.
We all knew the risks of going into the service. It was something we went into each and every operation with. But that’s so different from the reality of seeing your best friend gunned down in front of you by someone you weren’t even expecting to have to fight in your wildest dreams.
Becca turns to look at me and ask my opinion about a certain metal, and I absent-mindedly say a few words about it, my thoughts still distracted.
Still, though, seeing Becca’s face lit up by everything she’s getting to do right now reminds me of the positives of how things have worked out.
One man died that night in Syria, but I wonder how many more might be dead right now if I hadn’t been there. I was able to spring into action before anyone else, able to deal with those grenades and that ambush with unbeatable precision.
There was nothing about that night I thought I could have done better. I’ve been telling myself that for so long — I’ve had to, from the moment we finally made it to the helicopter that retrieved us for extraction. If it hadn’t been me leading that operation, all those men might have been dead.
As well as a few Russians. They weren’t expecting to go into that firefight, either. The only man I hold to blame is that commander who wouldn’t back down. If he’d known when to admit the mistake, to cease firing and back off for negotiation, none of this would have happened. He’d still have all his men, as well as that eye I cost him.
I’m snapped from my thoughts as Becca finishes getting sized, and we discuss things with the clerk a little more — the kinds of metals we’re interested in, what the pricing is going to be like, what kinds of designs we’re interested in, and so on.
“...and we have a few models that might interest you, based on what I heard the two of you talking about earlier, if you don’t mind my eavesdropping,” the clerk says, disappearing behind the door for a few moments before emerging with a sample ring in hand that makes Becca’s jaw drop. “But I think this is something special you’ll appreciate.”
He presents Becca with a lovely platinum ring set with a massive, blood-red ruby in an opal cut. On each side, it’s flanked by smaller, circular gems, all of them glittering in the light of the jewelry store.
“A ruby flanked by smaller white sapphires, inlaid in that design in rose gold,” I muse, nearly reading the salesman’s mind. “You’re trying to make this too easy for us, aren’t you?”
I flash the clerk a grin, and he gives an embarrassed laugh back. I know he’s just happy to show this off because it’s undoubtedly one of the most expensive models in the store, easily many thousands of dollars. The thought of spending even more than that on Becca makes my heart race.
“It’s gorgeous,” Becca gushes, holding the ring up in her hands and imagining what it might look like to our specifications.
“We’ve got a few more shops to check out,” I say, a nearly teasing grin on my face as I rub Becca’s shoulders when she looks up at me in childlike hopefulness. “But I think this is a strong contender.”
“Of course, this would be a custom design based on this model,” the clerk says, putting away his prize gold mine. “So we’d need to go over specifics several weeks in advance of the actual purchase.”
“I don’t doubt it,” I say confidently, my eyes still on Becca. “We’ll be in touch.”
“Certainly. Here’s my card if you have any questions. Have a lovely day, both of you,” the clerk says, beaming at us as I put my arm around Becca and lead her out of the store, her starry eyes suddenly looking around at the models in the store with newfound creativity in her mind.
We start heading down the road of the downtown thoroughfare when she practically hops up and down in excitement. “Oh my god, this is amazing! I’ve never felt like I’ve had so much creative power!”
I laugh out loud, my eyes scanning for the next jewelry store a few buildings down. “Take your time and enjoy it, then, it’s something that’s worth putting a lot of thought into!”
“It’s almost overwhelming,” she says, running her hand through her hair, but then she beams up at me. “I’m so glad you’re as into this as I am! I can’t imagine doing all this with someone who didn’t care.”
“Men who don’t care about what their lovers get passionate about don’t deserve to have their lovers,” I say, slipping my hand around her narrow one as we walk.
As we stroll down the road, something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye, though I don’t look in that direction. As a SEAL, I learned to pick up on certain irregularities in the environment around me. You’re constantly scanning the vicinity for threats, even when you suppose yourself to be totally safe.
And something about the man watching us from across the street makes me feel anything but.
The man looks Russian by the look of him — Eastern European features and mannerisms get imprinted on your mind after so much time around them – and this guy fits the bill. His eyes are as blue as the sky, so vibrant as to be visible all the way across the street, and his hair is a silvery gray.
More interesting is his vehicle. He’s perched on a motorcycle, a well maintained chopper that looks like it’s got more effort put into it than your average motorist. To anyone else, he’d look like just another intimidating gang banger, but what I see in the man is something to be suspicious of.
Veterans fall into motorcycle gangs all the time. They come home disenfranchised, and they find some camaraderie they lack from civilians in the rough and liberty-loving bikers who blaze across the highways in patchy leather jackets.
And this guy seems like he’s former military. There’s a certain look that training gives you. It comes out in your resting posture, the way you carry
yourself without noticing.
The way this Russian veteran is eyeing me doesn’t sit well with me at all. I have to fight my instincts not to glare right back at him until he backs down, and I don’t want to do that while Becca’s at my side. Not while she’s having the time of her life.
But I can’t help but think back to the Russians I killed that night in Syria. I know one thing that’s haunted the back of my mind ever since that night, ever since I took those Russian lives: my face mask was off when I fought those men.
And just as I remember the face of that damn Russian commander, his visage burned into my memory like a hot iron brand, I know that each and every one of the survivors of that night know my face.
As all that runs through my mind, I try to force the thoughts away. He’s probably just some Russian biker hanging around downtown, maybe waiting for a meetup.
But even as we leave him behind and head into the next shop, which is twice as lavish and upscale as the first, I can’t help but hear that nagging voice in the very back of my mind.
After all this time, has the war followed me home?
Rebecca
“It’s so beautiful,” I murmur aloud, shaking my head at the ring in my palm.
Well, actually, it’s just a photo of the ring I took on my cell phone while we were in the upscale, celebrity-grade jewelry store earlier today. After hours of poring over different stones, metals, gemstone cuts, and carats and karats, we finally settled on a scintillating, super-gorgeous pale pink sapphire, coupled with a 24-karat white gold band. I decided on a princess cut for the gem, and Adrian insisted on adding a halo of tiny blue sapphires to encircle the pink gem, representative of Maya.
“Because,” he explained, holding both my hands and gazing deeply into my eyes, “when I ask you to marry me, I know I am not just gaining the woman of my dreams, but the daughter I have always longed for, too. The pink sapphire is you, and the blue ones represent our little girl.”
It is silly, maybe, to put so much stock in something as material as a ring. But I can’t help but feel a rush of warmth as I stare at the photograph of what my engagement ring will look like. Adrian is holding my hand over the console while he drives us down the 401, leaving Toronto and heading back into the Ontario wilderness toward my parents’ house in the country.
He glances over at me and smiles. “Well, no ring they can make will ever come close to how beautiful you are, but they can damn sure try,” he says, squeezing my hand sweetly.
“Oh, stop. You can’t spoil me like this, you know,” I tell him, with mock seriousness. “Once we get to my parents’ house and you meet my family, they’ll set you straight. They live well out there, but I can tell you right now they’re going to think we’re being reckless and silly for getting engaged like this. And the ring… god. They’re going to tell you off for spending so much money on me!”
“No, they won’t,” Adrian counters, laughing. “Bex, they’re your parents. Surely they want whatever is best for you. Whatever makes you happy.”
“Well, yeah, of course. But they just might have a different idea of what that means,” I reply.
“Either way, don’t you worry about any of it. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s winning over people’s families. Believe it or not, I can turn the whole cocky tough guy persona on and off at will,” he assures me with a wink. I can’t help but laugh out loud.
“No, you can’t! My parents are gonna take one look at you and realize you’re the guy they always warned me about. Tall, tough, with an attitude,” I shoot back, poking my tongue out at him.
“Oh, come on. That’s not what you think of me, is it?” he asks, still grinning.
“Okay, fine. I know you’re more than that. You’re… different, you know,” I sigh.
“Different from what?”
“From what I thought you were at first,” I answer honestly.
“Oh really?” Adrian says, raising both eyebrows. Now he’s interested.
“Well, yeah. I mean, when I first met you I thought you were just some super attractive cocky playboy with a James Dean complex,” I admit, giggling. Adrian shoots me a faux-offended look. “Oh, don’t act like that’s a surprise! Besides, I’m sure you thought badly of me at first, too!” I add.
He shakes his head, smiling more to himself than for my sake, like he’s recalling a fond memory.
“No, Bex. I thought you were an angel,” he replies, glancing over at me. The calm, female voice of the GPS instructs us to turn right. As the car veers off the highway and down a gravel, woodsy road, Adrian laughs softly.
“You remember what I said to you that day out in the desert?” he asks, an amused look on his impossibly handsome face.
“You asked me if I was a mirage,” I answer, rolling my eyes good-naturedly. He nods.
“Yeah. It was a serious question,” Adrian says. “I had been out driving around the desert for so long, just dunes of golden sand stretching out all around me for miles and miles — and it got me into some weird kind of funk. When I saw you standing there waiting for me… well, at first I could hardly believe you were real. In fact, sometimes even now I almost have to reach out and touch you just to make sure you’re truly there.”
My heart is fluttering wildly in my chest at his surprisingly vulnerable, romantic words.
I squeeze his hand, lifting it up so I can kiss it. “Oh yeah, you’re definitely much more than I originally thought, Adrian. You never cease to surprise me.”
“That’s the goal,” he responds flippantly, giving me a wink. Looking around at the lush greenery surrounding us, he sighs contentedly. “God, this place is beautiful. I mean, where I grew up in the Midwest I was more used to rolling plains than thick forest. And then the desert…”
“This is home,” I reply, staring out the window at the huge, probably ancient trees, the thick underbrush. Out here in the Canadian woods, I can almost pretend I’m living out some prehistoric, garden of Eden-type fantasy. Just me and my handsome, powerful mate, trekking across the unspoiled landscape in search of adventure and romance.
Even though the wildlife is mostly hiding out during the day, we are approaching the evening hours, during which many of the animals come out to hunt and roam the woods. As we drive, the thick vegetation begins to clear out little by little until we reach one of my favorite places in the world — this gorgeous, barely-touched small lake in the middle of the forest. This land used to belong to my great-great-grandparents, who had once planned to use it as farmland, but who fell too deeply in love with the wild beauty of the place to bring themselves to destroy it. Since then, it was sold off, and the land is no longer owned by my family. But the company that bought it hasn’t touched it yet, thank god, so this beautiful lake remains undisturbed.
“Oh wow,” Adrian breathes, his eyes drinking the beauty laid out before us. Suddenly, a completely spontaneous and ridiculous idea occurs to me. Our past couple of days together have been a whirlwind of changes. I have seen a side of Adrian I never expected, and a side of myself I never acknowledged. So what better time than this for some silly adventures?
“Pull over,” I tell him, biting my lip excitedly. He gives me a confused look.
“Why? Are you okay?” he asks, furrowing his brow.
“Yeah, I’m perfect,” I answer brightly. “I just think we should go for a quick swim, that’s all.”
“You mean… skinny dipping?” Adrian clarifies, looking amused but interested.
“Mhmm!”
“What are we, sixteen?” he teases. But he pulls over, just the same. My heartbeat quickens as I jump out of the car, peel off my clothes, toss them in the backseat, and bolt for the undoubtedly cool water of the pristine lake. I can hear Adrian laughing raucously from the car, but a moment later, he sheds his own clothing and follows after me, grinning widely.
I splash into the water, the breath catching in my throat at the sudden drop in temperature — but I push through the shivers. This is my idea, and I’m going t
o follow through!
“Jesus, this is cold!” Adrian exclaims, swearing under his breath as he wades in behind me, his arms outstretched. He comes up and captures me in a swift embrace, our lips meeting instantly. With his massive, powerful body pressed against me, I immediately feel quite a bit warmer, and I fold happily into his arms.
“You’re a crazy person, you know that?” he murmurs, kissing the top of my head. I giggle, still shivering a little with the cold.
“I swear I don’t normally do things like this,” I assure him.
“I’m certainly not going to complain about it,” he says, shrugging. “I happen to like this new, spontaneous version of Rebecca Summers. But to be fair, I really like every single version of you.”
“I really like you, too,” I answer, and I have to laugh out loud. We both sound like two high school kids confessing that they “like like” each other. We’re not kids anymore, but god, I do feel so young and carefree and reckless when I’m with Adrian. He loosens the strict, disciplined chains that bind me to my responsibilities and worries. He shows me a different way of looking at the world. He sets me free.
“Well, then,” Adrian begins, tilting my chin up so I’m looking right into his handsome face, “I think we should do something about that. Don’t you?”
“What do you mean?” I ask innocently, batting my eyelashes. I know exactly what he means, but I can’t resist egging him on, especially when we’re this close together. There’s nothing between us— no barriers, no fears, no clothing. Just two warm bodies pressed together in the middle of the wilderness, waist-deep in the water.
“I’ll show you,” he says, and the husky tone of his voice tells me exactly what is about to happen, before he even makes his first move. He leans down to kiss me deeply, his tongue probing into my mouth. I allow him access, pressing in more closely to his muscular frame. I can feel his hardening length straining against my upper thigh and I reach down to caress it. But at the sensation of his stiff, velvety-soft shaft hard against my fingertips, I can’t pull back. I can’t resist.
Sights on the SEAL: A Secret Baby Romance Page 8
