SEAL Camp

by Suzanne Brockmann

  Thomas leapt into action. “I’ll get it, sir.”

  “No, no, no,” Jim said, stopping the younger SEAL, because he suddenly couldn’t bear it another second—he had to get the hell out of there. “Email’s been weird on my phone—” not a lie, in fact he’d whined about it at least three different times at the hospital “—I should probably go check it on Dunk’s computer. I’ll get some ice while I’m over there and, you know…”

  Checking his email was around fifty thousand on his list of things he actually wanted to do at 0100 after a long, long day, but he could not sit there and pretend he wasn’t as annoyed as hell by Ashley’s attempt to give him exactly what he’d asked for—her friendship.

  Because he knew, with that Let’s be friends speech he’d given her back in the SUV, that he’d disappointed her—but not enough, apparently, to challenge him, or to fight for what she wanted. And that pissed him off. Of course, it was also possible that she didn’t consider him truly worth fighting for…

  She was now studying the wine in her glass, her face expressionless.

  It was Thomas who shot Jim an almost comical WTF questioning look as Rio immediately moved down from his bar stool to join Ashley at her table.

  Jim shook his head—just a miniscule movement—even as he sent Thomas back an answering look that clearly said, Do not leave her alone with the idiots over there in the corner. He glanced at Rosetti. Or with Rio, for that matter. Jesus.

  Thomas was clearly puzzled, but he nodded.

  “I better get to it,” Jim said aloud, but Ashley was already giving Rio her full attention—exactly the way she did when she spoke to anyone.

  And as he took his beer and limped his way out of the lounge, he realized that he and Thomas were nearly as bad as Bull and Todd when it came to the way they treated Ashley. As if a woman wasn’t a person, but rather a… well, one word for it was possession, some thing that two men would discuss silently over the top of her head, without her knowledge.

  Yeah, both Jim and Thomas were concerned for Ashley’s safety, but the true subtext of their silent conversation went like, Thomas: Wait, what, you’re gonna check email instead of chilling with this gorgeous woman who is clearly into you, whom you’re clearly into, too, I mean, really, sir…?

  Jim: You’re wrong. I don’t want her.

  Thomas: You crazy, but okay…

  Jim: Babysit her for me, though. I don’t want her, and I know you don’t either, because you crazy, too, but let’s treat her like a total child who needs to be protected not just from assholes like Bull and Todd, but from her own potential choices because we both know that Rio’s certainly not right for her, but God forbid we trust Ashley to make that decision for herself…

  As he went out the door, she laughed at something Rio said, and Jim glanced back to see that Thomas had joined them at the little table.

  I don’t want her. Jesus, he was a goddamned liar.

  And the wave of longing that hit him as he limped through the dimly lit mess hall was now more than mere annoyance. It was heartbreaking, because Ashley was different. Or rather, he was different. Yeah, she was pretty and she’d caught his eye from the start, but unlike his MO of the past—thanks only to the structure of SEAL World, to be clear—Jim hadn’t immediately jumped into bed with her. Instead, over these past few days, he’d gotten to know her, and he honestly liked her. He saw her clearly—as the strong but flawed woman she was—and he wanted her not despite that but because of it.

  The truth was, if he had been at a different place in his career—if, like Thomas and Rio, his time with the Teams stretched out seemingly endlessly in front of him—he would’ve risked it. Hey, I gotta be honest. I suck at relationships—or at least I have in the past. And we really can’t hook up here, cause, you know, I don’t want to mess with Dunk’s rules about fraternizing, but how about, after we get back to California, we make plans to connect…?

  The truth was, Jim’s time with the Teams was running out. He’d been telling himself it was down to years, but in reality, he knew he should adios that optimistic plural and make it year. Maybe. If he got lucky.

  But the real truth was, upon his return to San Diego, he was going to get called into his CO’s office, and Captain Catalanotto was going to give him The Talk. Which would include the words Perhaps it’s time to move into the next phase of your life.

  The next phase of his far more sedentary, dull-as-a-doornail, neither action-packed nor adventurous, non-Navy SEAL, middle-aged-leading-ploddingly-to-his-death life.

  Christ.

  Because that was going to suck. He was going to suck. And no way was Jim willing to shove the hot mess that he was about to become into Ashley’s lap. Like she needed someone else to take care of.

  And yeah. He could pretend he was being all selfless and strong for her sake, but the ultimately real and very sad truth was that he was afraid.

  He was freaking terrified that she would treat him the same way he’d treated all of his less-than-perfect girlfriends-past. That as soon as she realized she hadn’t gotten the strong and shiny Navy SEAL officer, but instead had the washed up ghost of an angry, frustrated, and aimless ex-SEAL, she’d drop him—appropriately—like a stone. Or a doornail—because really, WTF was a doornail, anyway…?

  Jim limped into Dunk’s office and slapped on the overhead light. He didn’t really want or need to check his email, but he’d said he was going to, so he was going to. He sat down—ow, his knees—and woke up the computer on Dunk’s desk and…

  He’d thought his evening couldn’t get any worse, but there it was. As if he’d conjured it from the dark, dank recesses of his toxic imagination.

  His depressing future had arrived in the form of an email from a Navy counselor named Lieutenant Westland who wanted to set up a time to discuss where Jim thought he might go from here.

  Here was not defined. And in typical military SNAFU format, the various reports and medical evaluations that the counselor cited were not attached.

  Jim sifted quickly through his email, but there was nothing else from a dot mil address—nothing from his CO, Captain Joe Catalanotto, either.

  Really, this piece of devastating news should have come from Joe Cat—who was CCed on this email—Jim leaned in and squinted at the date and time at the top—which had been sent just an hour ago. Although it was very clear from the counselor’s use of the words the next phase of Jim’s career in the U.S. Navy, that the word here directly pertained to his recent medical evaluation.

  Jim sat back in Dunk’s chair. It was over.

  He was over and done.

  And really, wasn’t it dead as a doornail…?

  But he wasn’t dead yet, so he reached for his phone, quickly doing the time-zone math. It was after 2200 in California, which was crossing the line, but he dialed Captain Catalanotto’s personal cell anyway. Can’t kill a man who’s already doornail-dead….

  The CO picked up on the first ring—caller ID clearly in play. “Hey, Space, what’s happening? Everything all right?” His voice was warm and welcoming—and he clearly had no clue.

  Jim hadn’t woken him—that was good. The captain told him he was watching a movie with his wife, Veronica, but that was okay—they’d hit pause.

  Still, tick tock. Jim filled him in as quickly as possible—and got a resounding “What the hell…?” as Joe Cat quickly went to check his own email.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but I haven’t seen any of the medical evals or the reports being cited,” Jim told his CO. “I was hoping you had ’em, so I could see if there’s even a chance of, well… A chance.”

  “I haven’t seen anything,” Joe said grimly. “And there’s nothing here, but… Ah, here’s that email from Ron Westland, hold on…” He swore again as he read through it. “Lieutenant, this is not the way this should have been handled, you deserve better than this—and I apologize.”

  “Sir, this isn’t your fault. I know that. I just was hoping…”

  “For more info,
yeah. Me, too. Let me make a phone call or two—”

  “It’s kinda late,” Jim started.

  “I don’t give a damn,” Joe said flatly. “I’ll wake up the admiral if I have to. I’m gonna get us both copies of everything tonight. You deserve to know exactly what’s going on, and whether we can fight it, or…” He exhaled hard. “Jim, this is bullshit. I’ll call you right back.”

  And with that, he hung up, leaving Jim sitting there, in Dunk’s office, thinking about that Whether we can fight it, or…

  Because he knew the word that came next was not.

  * * *

  Ashley left the lounge, half-looking for Jim, but mostly because she had to use the ladies’ room.

  The light was on in Dunk’s office—he was no doubt still in there. She was hesitant to interrupt him—so she went down the hallway that led to the unisex head—as the bathroom was called aboard a boat.

  Or ship.

  There was a definite difference between the two, according to size, and it was not okay to call a boat a ship or vice versa, so when in doubt use seagoing vessel. She’d just been discussing that, in a lively conversation with Thomas and Rio, during which a few too many bars of the theme song to Love Boat had been sung.

  Rio had a surprisingly lovely voice—rich and husky. And the warm twinkle in his dark brown eyes should’ve been an ego-boost.

  She’d laughed along with them, of course—but all the while she was hyper-aware that Jim hadn’t yet returned to the lounge. And hadn’t returned. And still hadn’t returned. So she’d also been kicking herself. For kissing the man, and for not being honest when they’d discussed it in the car.

  And for letting herself like him enough, in the first place, so that she was hurt by his rejection…

  Friends. Right. Apparently they were not only going to be friends, they were now going to be awkward friends.

  Unless she went to find him, right now, and just blurted that out. If the reason we’re not going to have crazy hot sex is because it’ll ruin our friendship, then we might as well have the crazy hot sex because frankly, the friendship appears to have been already ruined.

  Ashley smiled at her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she washed her hands. Yeah, that would go over well. Assuming she could grow the large enough set of balls she’d need to actually say it.

  She was still smiling—although a tad grimly—as she pushed open the bathroom door. But her smile faded fast because Bull and Todd were standing out in the hall, obviously waiting for her and blocking her path back to the mess—which was the only way to get to both the lounge and Dunk’s office.

  There was a door behind her that led outside to the parade grounds, but she was not going to run away into the darkness of the night. Not this time.

  “Jig’s up,” Bull said, and Todd chimed in with, “We saw you.”

  She had no clue what they meant, so Bull added, “This afternoon…?”

  But she was so focused on what they’d done—switching sides and “killing” her during the paintball game—that she still didn’t understand, and she shook her head.

  Until Todd spelled it out. “When you were kissing the SEAL…?”

  Oh, God…

  “That wasn’t, um…” she started, unable to finish her sentence, because she still wasn’t quite sure what that kiss was or wasn’t, and it was none of their damn business.

  “Um…” Bull mocked her. “You weren’t just kissing, you were dry humping him. I’m sure you had fun tonight, during your extremely long visit to Sarasota.”

  Todd giggled.

  Ashley sighed and shook her head at her incredible, almost impossibly bad luck.

  “But that ended fast—he’s already done with you,” Bull pointed out. “Unless you’ve moved on. Hmmm…” He turned to his friend. “Maybe she’s some kind of frog-hog.”

  “Well, obviously,” Todd said. “Rosetti’s next on her list.”

  “Slade, check.” Bull laughed. “Rosetti, she’s ready!”

  Oh, dear, sweet God. Ashley had never heard the phrase frog-hog before, but it didn’t take much imagination to figure out that it meant some kind of Navy SEAL groupie. Frog was a nickname for SEALs—because they’d started out in WWII as Navy Frogmen. Hog was… hog.

  Nice.

  And really, the unflattering name was just another form of slut-shaming. A man could be a super-model groupie and get high-fived for his “valiant efforts” to bed the entire cast of the current Victoria’s Secret catalogue. He was called a player or a playboy or, frankly, just a normal red-blooded man. But when a woman did the exact same thing…? She was called terrible names, including hog.

  Personally, the idea of sleeping with a long line of men simply because of one specific achievement, rather than their individual attractiveness and winning personalities was never going to be Ashley’s thing. In fact, casual sex of any kind was not her thing—and maybe that was part of her problem. She believed that romance—and the sex that came with it—was some terribly serious life-or-death choice, instead of a far more lighthearted frolic filled with pleasure and sunshine and laughter.

  God forbid she actually enjoy herself and have a little fun.

  “Excuse me, please,” Ashley said, working hard to keep her voice even as she tried to move past them. There was no point in having any kind of a conversation with these particular troglodytes. She wasn’t going to convince them they were wrong, and it wasn’t worth her time or effort.

  But finding Jim and telling him that no, she really didn’t want to be his awkward friend because she’d far prefer to see what would happen if she kissed him again…? That was worth both her time and her effort.

  But the idiots blocking the hallway didn’t budge. “One down,” Bull smirked. “Four to go.”

  “Please move,” Ashley said.

  But Bull just laughed as he took a step closer, which made her take a step back. She’d never really thought of him as anything but a nuisance, but now she realized how big he was. And how badly lit the hallway was. And her back bumped the wall, but he kept coming. “Good luck, though, with the senior chief because he’s—”

  “Hey!” Thomas had come out of the lounge and was at the end of the hall. “Back the hell off!”

  Bull and Todd both moved at that—fast—slipping around past Ashley and heading for the exit down at the end of the hall. “Relax, brah, no one’s getting in your way,” Bull called back to Thomas, “But heads up, she’s a frog-hog—you might wanna be proactive with the course of antibiotics!”

  The door slapped shut behind them, muffling their raucous laughter as they moved off into the night.

  Thomas was just a shadowy shape at the end of the hall, but he came toward her. “You okay?”

  Her heart was still pounding, but she nodded.

  “What the fuck was that about?” Oh, good. Jim had come out of Dunk’s office at the sound of Thomas’s raised voice.

  “Just Bull and Todd being Bull and Todd,” Ashley said, adding as she swiftly went out into the mess, past Thomas, “I’m fine. Sorry about that.”

  But Jim wasn’t willing to let it go—lurking there, an even bigger shadow in the dimly lit mess. “You’re sorry…? Bull insulted you like that and you’re sorry…?”

  “They’re idiots,” Ashley told him as she drew close enough to see the anger on his face. “Do you mind if we go into Dunk’s office, LT, to talk?”

  “They’re idiots,” he repeated her again—standing there just as solidly unmovable as Bull and Todd had been. He was outraged and indignant, and—unlike her—unwilling to simply let it go. “But you just let them dis you and walk away.”

  “I didn’t let them do anything,” Ashley pointed out. “I can’t control what they do—or think. I can only control my response.”

  “Which is what?” he asked. “To shrug it off…?”

  She sighed. “Yes, you know what? Yes. For a lot of reasons that I know you can’t possibly understand.”

  He made an exasperated noise.


  So she kept going. “Come on, Jim. Do you really think my having a conversation with Bull and Todd would change anything?”

  “Yeah, actually, I do,” he said. “I think if you stood up to them, they would realize that they can’t just walk all over you—disrespect you to your face. Where do they get off insulting you like that? Freaking frog-hog…”

  “Well, for one thing,” Ashley told him a tad more sharply than she’d intended, “they saw me kissing you.”

  “And this is where I grab Rio and go.” Thomas, who’d been hovering, vanished back in the direction of the lounge as Jim swore.

  “Yeah,” Ashley agreed with his salty language as he took her by the arm and pulled her with him into the privacy of Dunk’s office.

  But he wasn’t done arguing. “First of all, I kissed you,” he said. “So, you might want to get that right, and you know, maybe get a little angry at me, too…?”

  Ashley stared at him. “Why would I—”

  “Because I fucking kissed you without thinking!”

  “You already made that very clear,” she countered.

  “No, Jesus! God, I mean, yes, but I also didn’t look around first,” he shot back. “I didn’t think Hey, maybe I shouldn’t fucking do this completely inappropriate thing because some douchebag lowlifes might be watching and now they’re fucking calling you nasty-ass names, and your response is Oh, well…? Boys will be boys…?”

  “I did not say that.”

  “Just Bull and Todd being Bull and Todd,” he quoted her. “Sounds equally defeatist to me. Nothing’s ever gonna change…”

  “I didn’t say that, either.”

  “I’m paraphrasing,” he said. “But you’re right. Nothing’s ever going to fucking change unless you do something to fucking change it.”

  “Why does it have to be me?” Ashley shot back. “Why don’t you fucking change it?”

  Jim smiled tightly. “Well, well, there she is.”

  “No, she is not,” she countered. “And what does that mean, anyway? That letting myself react in anger—which, again—news-flash—changes nothing—is somehow more genuine than not…? That’s just not true.”