Tossing It_A Navy SEAL and Secret Baby Romance

by Rachel Robinson

  “It’s not your job to remember every person’s ailments. She’s doing okay. I’ll mention you said hi,” I say, trying to comfort my mother’s old friend even if she doesn’t deserve it. “She still has flashes.” The moments of clarity are few and far between, but when they happen, it’s like having snippets of my mom back instead of the slack-jawed, wide-eyed zombie that has taken her place.

  Marian rolls her eyes. “This is Bronze Bay. We take care of our own. We keep up. I’m sorry, sweetie, I should have remembered. Have a good one.” She wrestles her oversized purse out of a locker and exits through the back door. It’s easy to forget when she’s never mentioned.

  “You too,” I say, speaking to empty air. The beach was a lie to cover for my absence of a life, but seeing a sunset would brighten my mood, and keep me from texting Leif. There’s no way he’s still at the beach. I bet he’s at his house, watching the sunset from the dock in front of his house. That’s what I’d be doing if I were him. After Mom goes to bed tonight, I have to research a few locations for availability for the upcoming party I got a call about this morning. I’m thrilled to have an event planning task, no matter how small it is.

  Tucking my bag under my arm, I exit into the swampy heat and start up my car, the air conditioning blasts at the same time since I rarely turn it off. The drive home is quick, and I’ll pass the beach on my way. The paved roads are bad, potholes littering both sides for as long as the road stretches. The dirt roads are usually lined with sea shells and they make a satisfying crunch as you drive or bike over them—or cut your feet if your flip-flops slip off. The public beach comes into view and the small parking lot is surprisingly jam-packed. Then I see the moped. The one Shirley described as belonging to Leif and I know why it’s so busy. I’m focused on the beach and trying to pick him out in the raucous crowd and turn my eyes from the road for too long and I hit the long ass pothole we’ve named gravedigger. The frame of my car scrapes and the engine whines as I gas it to make it through the deep hole.

  “Fuck,” I yell, as I finally get through it and begin to listen to my vehicle for signs of distress. “That’s a trip to the mechanic,” I whine under my breath, and then lose it at the same time. Dylan. The man I married on a whim because we were so madly in love. The man who left me two years into the union because I couldn’t give him what he wanted. A baby. It was a blessing in disguise, I realize now. If the time comes where I get to marry again, I want a man who wants to love me in any form no matter how deranged and barren my body may be.

  Dylan was my high school sweetheart. There were no false pretenses with him. His dad owned the local mechanic shop and Dylan was primed to take it over when he graduated high school. That was comforting. A piece of stability in our little world. He was well liked, we thought we were in love, and marriage and family was what we thought we wanted. He wanted the stereotypical Bronze Bay life. I was barely out of high school and trying to have his baby. My periods were never the same time every month and they told me it was my fault I wasn’t able to have his baby. They used terminology I didn’t understand, and never thought about since because it wasn’t something I really wanted. It was an act I thought I had to do to mesh with my chosen life.

  Returning to reality, I pull the car to the side of the road, the beach still in view. The clock in my car tells me I have twenty minutes before I need to be home to relieve Mom’s day nurse. I watch the people dancing to music I can’t hear, clanking beer bottles with huge, carefree laughs. Leif is there, off to the side, sitting down, facing the ocean. It looks like a few bikini-clad women are gathered around him, but thank God, his hands seem to be to himself. Sighing, I give in to my desires. Pulling out my cell phone, I text the number he gave me earlier.

  Lunch tomorrow at my house. Bring fried chicken wings and all the patience you can muster. Also, condoms. I hit send, grinning.

  Leif stands, and my heart races hoping he’ll look beyond the parking lot and come my way. To talk to me and to get far away from those women. He slides his hand into the side pocket of his board shorts and pulls out his phone. The smile on his face, when he sees my text, is evident from here.

  “You really are into me,” I say, raising my brows. Looking at my phone, I wait for his response.

  You really want to date me? comes his reply.

  Laughing, I text back, Didn’t you see the last thing on my list? That’s not really dating.

  Now, we’re on familiar territory. A place I can thrive in. His face looks jubilant, as he paces away from the crowd, toward the parking lot. The pull is almost magnetic as he gets closer to me. Come here. I want you next to me. You want me too. Then reality hits.

  Why are you being so nice to me? What’s the catch? I tap out and send.

  You’re hot and I want to get to know you better. Why does there have to be a catch?

  Because you’re a man, I think. I guess. Not into a one-night stand, then?

  He stares at his phone for several beats before replying. Trick question?

  No. I don’t have time for much, and dating is definitely time-consuming. A quickie here or there, though? Totally doable. Pun intended. He did call me fucking beautiful. That’s an easy ask. He’ll be pleased with my body and won’t have to seek what’s inside my mind. The scary stuff.

  Leif runs his hand through his hair and looks to the side, the hand holding his phone down by his side. He’s upset by my candid response and I’m shocked for the second time at the realization of Leif wanting something more than I’m offering. Could I date him? Do I have the time? The patience? The room for heartbreak if it evolves? Everyone in town knows why I don’t have serious relationships, but there’s a chance Leif has no clue about my past. This could be my fresh start. The life I would have had if I dated a Bronze Bay native. It’s easy to think I’m not a good match for a man like Leif. He’s so beautiful and I’m dull in comparison. What could I possibly bring to a relationship with an outsider? The thought of not being good enough is terrifying.

  Let’s see how lunch goes and then we can discuss quickies and dating, I amend. He’s going to run when he sees what I have to deal with. No one wants to take part in that burden unless they’re being paid. My own father abandoned me with the task of caring for a person who is as good as a stranger on most days. My cell phone buzzes and it’s a message from my girlfriend Caroline, answering a question I’d asked earlier in the day regarding Leif. She confirmed Shirley’s information. He is a good guy. Without baggage, and he’s not known for tearing around town.

  An embedded niggling feeling whispers that he sounds too good to be true. Maybe I was on the right track with the serial killer persona.

  Thanks, Caroline. You’re a peach. Don’t say anything to him please, I write back. As soon as I send that text, another from Leif’s number bubbles up.

  To you, it says. It confuses me until I look out my car window and see him raising a beer toward me, a grin plastered on his face. He found me.

  So much for having the upper hand. I hit a pothole, I tap back.

  If by pothole, you mean you slammed into my beautiful, chiseled body and had to stop and ogle, then I agree.

  I gasp at his forward text but laugh. My gaze dips down to his rock-hard body and my own body heats—a tingling of need ignites between my legs.

  His head is still bowed over his phone, so I don’t text back yet. Another text from him chimes, So, this one is for you. And to the only relationship in the history of time that began with chicken wings.

  I swallow down my pride and go with it. Because it’s easier than fighting against the riptide current of my sensibilities.

  To chicken, I text to him, raising my phone so he can view it.

  He chugs his beer as the sun sets behind him. It’s the magnificent shade of red that I love, punctuated by the most sculpted, chiseled, man I’ve ever seen in my life. A man that at this moment in time, only has eyes for me. My chest tightens with something akin to excitement, but it’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt. T
his could be the start of something amazing. I let the swell of excitement take over before real life crushes it to bits.

  Lunch tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

  Chapter Five

  Leif

  I bought every flavor of chicken wings the diner made. On the off chance she was fucking with me, I also bought salads, burgers, and a fish and chips basket. Malena is sitting across from me at her glass kitchen table, her mother seated to her left rambling on about the bird she saw in the backyard this morning. We both respond to her at the same time and grin at each other when it happens.

  “You really brought way too much food. What were you thinking? That you needed to feed an army?” Malena puffs out her cheeks and pulls a face. “Pass me the goblet of chicken wings fine, sir.” As I slide the platter, she removes a hair tie from her wrist and pulls her hair back against the nape of her neck. “Gets a little messy.” She shrugs as she digs into a wing, tilting her head to the side to get a better angle. When she pulls away, she has a smear of orange sauce on each corner of her mouth. She leaves it there.

  My eyes light up when I realize she actually loves wings. They are my favorite cheat meal. Even though today isn’t that day for me, I know I’ll eat every single one she doesn’t to prove we have something in common. It’s an irrational need for Malena to understand I’m worth more than a one-night stand. It’s a fair assessment if she’s judging me against most of my friends, but it’s also a little irritating. I can’t control how I’m perceived regardless of my efforts to do things the right, normal way. I didn’t bring condoms like she asked and that was to also drive that point home. When she opened the door wearing a pair of tiny board shorts and a bikini top, I realized I fucked up big time on the condom front. Instead of none, I’ll need seventeen boxes. For one day.

  Ms. Winterset picks at the array of food in front of her and Malena asks if she needs anything several times. It’s odd, as I know it’s her mother, but she is definitely more her patient. Malena is her caretaker. She reaches over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, so it doesn’t get into her mouth when she takes her next bite.

  “Mom, what do you think of Leif?” Malena coos, a sarcastic edge to her voice. She glances at me, “She always tells the truth. Even if she shouldn’t. It’s very entertaining.”

  “Don’t ask her that,” I hiss. “I’m not ready for the truth.”

  Malena quirks a knowing brow. “I’m ready for it though. Consider me a truth-seeking missile.”

  “Leif, you say?” Ms. Winterset interrupts, her tone high and unsure. “This is Dylan. Right, son?” She turns to me. “You got a fancy new hair-do though.”

  Grinning, I reply. “Yes, ma’am. Very fancy.” Tell me more about Dylan and what he has to do with Malena, please. “When was the last time we saw each other?” I hedge, flicking my gaze to the side to see Malena’s reaction.

  Malena places a hand on top of her mother’s, ignoring me completely. “Mom, this isn’t Dylan. He’s not around anymore, remember? This is Leif. He wants to take me out,” she explains. Ms. Winterset has clear dark eyes, I’d think her a shrewd woman, the kind that knows a lot of things, but never gives their hand away. That is if I didn’t know better. Her face is an older version of Malena’s, but her skin is pale in opposition to her daughter’s.

  Lines between Ms. Winterset’s eyes appear and her eyes turn down in the corner as she surveys Malena. “What happened to Dylan? Are you okay?” Motherly concern for her daughter’s welfare creeps in and that must feel nice, that she still has traces of herself even if they’re misguided.

  “I’m fine, Mom. It didn’t work out. Are you full?” Malena asks, nodding to her mother’s plate. “I can get you something else, or are you ready to lie down for a bit?”

  Ms. Winterset looks at me, an all-consuming emptiness now evident. “I’m a bit tired. It was nice seeing you, Dylan. Tell your daddy I said hello.”

  I swallow hard. All I can manage is a nod. This is a lot to take in—to deal with when I’m not really sure what I want. The wooden chair legs scrape the floor as they both stand and then make their way down a hallway to the bedrooms. I’m thinking about how quickly I can run, and my chances of avoiding Malena for the rest of my life when she saunters back in, a weary expression on her face.

  “You can go if you want. Thank you for lunch,” she says, forcing a smile and adjusting the string around her neck, then adds, “I’m sorry about that. I want to say it’s not usually that bad, but that wouldn’t be the truth.”

  This is it. The moment I can politely excuse myself from getting entangled in her life. I can walk out of the door with a clear conscious and a new gratitude for my annoying, completely normal sisters and family. Malena sits back down in her spot and sets a baby monitor on the table. “In case she tries to run,” she explains. “Not hungry anymore?”

  No, not at all. I stand and pace toward the front door, but then spin. The moment has passed and my mind has been swayed. It’s because her hips are perfect, and her eyes scream, save me, save me, please save me. She’s invoked my weakness unknowingly. “Who is Dylan?” I fire out.

  She smirks. “I thought you were leaving.” She chews a bite of a buffalo wing. “Just an ex. No one important.”

  I take a step toward the dining area and run a hand through my hair. “How long ago was Dylan?”

  Malena sighs. “Why are you interested in my relationship history?”

  “Answer my question,” I reply. “You can ask me whatever you want in return. I need to know certain things.” Sliding my hands into my board shorts, I try to keep my nerves at bay. “Because if I’m going to date you, I need to know who to watch out for.” I take another three steps toward her. There’s a string on her hip peeking out from her board shorts. If I pulled it, her bottoms would loosen. Training my eyes on her face is hard when I’m so desperate for her body.

  Pushing away from the table, she stands and turns to face me. “You’re worried about my exes?” Malena eyes my arms, my neck, and then lets her gaze travel down the length of my body. “They aren’t anything to worry about. Not compared to you. I dated Dylan in high school.” Her gaze shifts to the left and then meets mine again.

  My heart hammers. She’s so close I could reach out and touch the bare skin on her stomach, arms, and the sliver right above the waist of her shorts. “Who else here? In Bronze Bay?” I ask, my voice catching on the last word.

  She steps forward. “A few one-night stands here and there. I don’t do relationships. Feelings are messy when it doesn’t work out in a small town. It’s best to leave them out altogether. I don’t want anyone to have to deal with my problems. Er, my responsibilities. So, tell me, what about you? Any exes you hold a burning torch for?”

  “I don’t hold torches,” I say, lifting one brow. “I also don’t want a one-night stand with you.”

  “Why? Am I not good enough for you?” she asks.

  I laugh once, loudly.

  She holds one finger over her lips to silence me. “She’s going to sleep.”

  “You’re too good for me. I plan on being in Bronze Bay for a long time and I don’t want to leave a bad taste in anyone’s mouth. Sometimes it’s for the best to do things the way you’re supposed to do them. The right way.”

  “Who is giving these rules to go by here? Who exactly told you how it’s supposed to be?” Malena sasses, her brown eyes challenging me, but her smirk telling me she’s enjoying the banter.

  “Rules. Ah, me? I’m doling those out,” I reply, removing my hands from my pockets and clasping them behind my back. “If you’re amenable, of course.”

  “Such a gentleman,” she says, stepping closer. “Tell me about the rules, Leif.”

  I swallow down any remaining hesitation about diving into something I’m unfamiliar with and go for it. “We have rules in life, right? We have laws and guidelines, traffic rules, and common courtesy—all to keep us a highly functioning society,” I say.

  She nods but looks somewhat con
fused, her lips pressed into a firm line. She makes a noise to signal for me to go on. “If we give whatever is between us rules, it would make sense that it would be highly functioning as well.”

  “But I don’t get a say in said rules?” she asks, turning back to glance at the baby monitor on the table. “That doesn’t seem fair,” she finishes.

  “They’re up for debate. It can be a team effort. I’ll tell you the ones that I’ve been thinking about and you can tell me if you agree with them.”

  “You’ve been thinking about relationship rules? That is so weird! How would you know if I’d even agree?”

  I shrug, a gesture that catches her eye. “I didn’t, but I’m persuasive when I want something.”

  Malena rolls her eyes and steps back into a stance that tells me she’s waiting for my almighty knowledge. “Go on. Hit me with it. What do you got?”

  I’m able to formulate multiple plans in a short amount of time because of my chosen career path. It’s one of the skills that translates perfectly outside of work. I’m an expert decision maker. Malena makes me feel like I’m a little out of my league, but I’m going for it. “One,” I say. “We must use two forms of birth control.” A slight pink rises to her cheeks at the unstated mention of sex.

  She nods once, blinking rapidly. “Good one. I agree. Next.”

  “You can never leave stuff at my place,” I say. My sisters. My family. I don’t want questions, or have to give answers laced with lies.

  She narrows her eyes. “And you can’t leave stuff at my house. In the spirit of keeping things even.”

  “Deal,” I reply. “Number three.” I shift to the side and have to remind myself to keep my hands to myself. “You can’t meet my family.”

  Malena scoffs. “So, it’s not like a real, real relationship then?”

  I shake my head. “That one was for you. I figured you don’t want strings attached, but there has to be some commitment if we aren’t going to see other people at the same time, which we’re not. Meeting my family would be too…much.” Will she accept this reasoning?