by Anne Marsh
Things are exponentially simpler in my mother’s universe.
“Worst case,” she continues, “you have a bonus baby you can borrow.”
She has a point.
“You’ll be okay here on your own?”
She waves her hands toward the door. “Go on.” She hesitates, looks at the ring on my finger, and fires her parting shot. “But I hope he didn’t pay a fortune for that ring.”
I can feel the goofiest smile creasing my face. “It’s a private joke between us.”
Mami’s face softens, and she’s off somewhere in her own memories. I’d bet a million bucks those thoughts star my dad and that they’re private, just like my ring.
And then she smiles at me, relief and love lighting up her eyes. “Then that’s the perfect ring.”
I couldn’t agree more.
FINN
I’m not a daddy. Ro pulled some strings somewhere and insisted on a DNA test. Asking Em was awkward, although not as awkward as not remembering her. She says she had black hair then and was skinnier; I’m not sure that helps, and it’s not like we had a relationship. We just had sex.
I’m not a daddy—but I could be. Roger still screams almost non-stop when he’s not sleeping or sucking at Em’s boobs, but he’s starting to grow on me. Em admitted that she picked me as Roger’s daddy—I’m on his fucking birth certificate apparently—because she’d been going through a wild patch, and she wasn’t entirely sure whose swimmers snuck through the condom. Her other options weren’t as stable, she said. Or as nice.
I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not, but there’s still more than a hint of desperation in Em’s eyes and that’s what we focused on. She didn’t have anywhere else to go, which is why she ended up here in Angel Cay. Vann, Ro, and I are sorting out a place for her to stay and a job. When she asked why we were helping her, I asked why not? We’re in the rescue business, and she needs a hand. When she pointed out that we’re also in the training business, I told her not to get her hopes up. I’m not qualified to train Roger.
The sun’s going down when I finally get to Vali’s place after settling Em and Roger into a studio apartment a couple of cays over (close but not too close—I’m not stupid). I’ve avoided thinking about Vali since I left her apartment with my maybe-baby I’ve texted, I’ve hoped, and I may have fucking prayed, but I’m not the kind of guy miracles happen to. Roger isn’t mine, but that’s just dumb luck.
Rex One bounces beside me, tongue out, a happy grin on his face. Dogs like routine. They’re not fans of bouncing around from place to place. Unlike some of us, they’re homebodies rather than nomads. I’ve always itched to move on, but something about Angel Cay feels right. I put my feet under the table here months ago, and I don’t regret it. I can do wedding cake tastings, wedding gown fittings, the whole nine yards—if it’s what Vali wants.
When the door to Vali’s apartment opens and feet hit the stairs, I look up automatically. And honestly? My heart fucking stops.
“You think we have a chance?” I rub my hand over Rex One’s head, and he barks.
Yeah. I don’t speak dog well, but he’s happy to see Vali. She looks tired, like she hasn’t been sleeping well—and not because she had a screaming baby going off like an air raid siren every two hours. Her hair is twisted up in a complicated, messy bun, and she’s wearing denim cut-offs and a T-shirt, but she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
She stares at me as she descends. I’m not winning any beauty contests today myself. Possible paternity, a screaming kiddo, and losing the woman of your dreams will do that to you.
“Hey,” she says.
Three letters. One word. That’s not a whole lot to go on—but she’s here and she’s unarmed (as far as I can tell) and… I love her. I haven’t told her that, though, and that was my first mistake. I thought I was playing, when I was deadly serious.
She lets me take her hand, though, and draw her towards the sand and the sea. Angel Cay’s not wide, and it doesn’t take us long to hit the beach and for me to find a spot where I don’t feel as if every last resident of the town is watching me put my heart on the line.
“I want a second chance,” I tell her. Shit. I should be asking, right? Begging. At least we’re standing on sand when I get down on my knees.
“Finn—” She makes a face. She looks confused, hopeful, and sad at the same time. I did this to her, so I need to fix it.
“Roger’s not mine. I’m honestly not sure if Em and I ever slept together, but she says we did and I’ve—” How do I explain that I’ve hopped from bed to bed (when there even was a bed involved, because I’m downright creative when it comes to sex) but it didn’t mean anything? That it was a way to forget?
“And I’m sorry,” I conclude. I’m pretty sure I’ve skipped about a dozen other things I’m supposed to say. Things like the sex didn’t matter, and that Vali is the only woman who does, and that it will never, ever happen again.
Because I’m hers.
“I love you.”
The words hang in the air between us, and she stares up at me.
“I really do, Vali. Tell me what I have to do to prove it.”
The labors of Hercules? I’m so down with that. Whatever shit, impossible tasks she can dream up? Done. Handled. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to her that I’m worthy.
“Finn—” I love hearing my name on her lips, but right now? I’d like to hear something else, too. I love you would be my first choice, but I’ve got others. It’s okay, I understand, and Let’s go make a baby of our own! Come to mind. Okay. So I’m probably not ready for fatherhood—even with Vali—but I’m totally prepared to worship her with my body.
Just to make this perfectly clear, I tug her into my arms. She lets me, and I add that to the column where I’m putting the good things.
“Tell me what to do,” I repeat. “Because I love you, and I’m fully prepared to leap tall buildings in a single bound, vanquish dragons, whatever it takes.”
The Florida Keys are remarkably light on fire-breathing dragons, and we don’t have a single building that exceeds three stories, but… it’s the principle. She lays her head against my chest, her fingers curling into my shirt.
“Mean it,” she says fiercely.
These are not words that I say. As a kid, sure. I trotted out I love yous on request (or demand). Then I grew up and realized feelings were optional… until I met Vali.
“I love you,” I say. It’s even easier the second time, so I imagine that by the time I’m fifty or sixty, I could potentially punctuate every other sentence with the words. “I picked up milk. I love you.” And just because the words are out there, just because it’s not the first time and they’re not shiny and new? They don’t mean any less.
“I love you, too,” she says to my shirt.
I rest my cheek against her hair, holding her close. This, right here? This is perfect. Of course, we can’t stand like this forever. At some point, we have to move, have to get on with our life—but it will be together. We’ll be okay and we’ll have each other, and that’s fucking perfect.
The Reeves Foundation is pleased to announce a donation of one million dollars to the veteran’s center in the Florida Keys. The donation will fund drop-in care for local veterans, in addition to a new recreation room and movie theater. “Our veterans deserve nothing but the best,” said Reeves Foundation director and CEO Xander Reeves. “And Finn Callahan has committed himself one hundred percent to making sure the vets of Angel Cay have the happily-ever-afters that they deserve.”
Keep reading in the ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights series… Kat Cantrell’s Revealing Her SEAL, Evan Silva’s story, is coming soon! Turn the page for a list of titles in this collection. Have you read Mick and Cara’s story? If not, go back and discover Ruined by the SEAL by Zoe York!
And coming June 15, 2016… HER ONE BEST SEAL. There’s nothing Vann O’Reilly wouldn’t do for a friend. So when Marlee asks him to be her baby daddy, this
SEAL’s all in.
I’m standing in the bathroom. This isn’t an unusual occurrence—I’m a guy, I stand when I pee, and peeing’s just about the most basic human function there is. We’ve all got to do it, and I’m no special snowflake. I’m alone too, which is also not unusual. The wild-eyed look, the stubble on my jaw because I rushed to get here, the inside-out T-shirt? That’s the fucking difference.
That and the white plastic stick on the bathroom counter.
I’m usually more put together. I’m a former SEAL—it comes with the territory. You don’t get to have nerves when you’re storming a beach in hostile territory. Break down and someone plugs your ass with a bullet? Yeah. You can do the math on that one. I always hold it together. Vann O’Reilly. Big, bad US Navy SEAL. Nowadays, I train military dogs who can and will rip your throat out on command. Not because they’re vicious killers, but because it’s their job and I’m the best trainer around. I have plenty of experience killing, and I’m one hell of a teacher and watchdog myself. I’m in control. I give the commands.
So that can’t be my hand shaking when I reach out and nudge the plastic stick perched on the corner of the bathroom counter. This isn’t my bathroom. It’s way too girly, for one thing. The shower stall is tiled with these blue Moroccan diamonds and the curtain is a bright teal with yellow tassels. There’s a pink ball hanging from the ceiling that’s supposed to be a light, and almost every surface is covered with little bottles full of colored crap. My shower has a bar of soap, my razor, and a bottle of shampoo. This place looks like a CVS truck exploded and dumped its contents. It smells like a fruit bowl, too—a really exotic combination of pineapple, peaches, and vanilla. If I wasn’t so freaked out, I’d probably be hungry.
The little stick sits in the one clear section of the counter. It’s been washed and dried (thank God) with a square of toilet paper. All I have to do is turn it over and I’ll know. I’ve taken beaches in less time than this is taking, so why is my hand sort of hanging frozen in mid-air? I’m decisive. I’m take-charge.
I’m scared.
Fuck me, but I’m scared. This is Marlee’s bathroom, not mine. I don’t belong here amongst all this girly stuff, and until right now that didn’t bother me. I sort of shuffle closer to the counter. I can’t bring myself to reach out and touch the stick, so I’ll bring the mountain to Mohammed. So to speak. Six inches. Five. Four.
Do I really want to know?
I bump into the counter before I can decide and the stick goes airborne. It hits the floor, and I lean over. I’ve got a blue plus and a blue line. That’s clear as mud. The thing should just say Baby? And then give you a checkbox for yes or no. I have no idea what I’m looking at. Don’t these things come with instructions?
A big hand reaches down and snags the pregnancy test from the bathroom floor. I’m not alone anymore, and I’m pathetically grateful. Ro and Finn are my wingmen today, just like they’ve been since we served as SEALs together and then when we started Search and SEAL.
Ro turns the stick over and whistles. “Are you playing family?”
I grab it from him. This isn’t a game. A plus sign means… positive? More? Bull’s eye? I’ve definitely shot targets that looked like that, and even though it’s not like this pregnancy was accidental, I still panic.
Finn parks his ass on the closed toilet seat and fishes in the trash can. He has no shame, but before I can decide if I mind, he’s holding a sheet of printed directions. Apparently, home pregnancy tests aren’t any more intelligible to the women peeing on the stick than to guys. He scans the sheet and then Ro turns the stick around so he can see the read out.
“Congratulations,” he announces. I pretend that’s not a question I hear in his voice. “You’ve successfully procreated.”
Pre-order Her One Best SEAL for June 15th, 2016!
ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights
Claiming Her SEAL – Kat Cantrell
Ruined by the SEAL – Zoe York
Sweet for a SEAL – Anne Marsh
Revealing Her SEAL – Kat Cantrell
Bound by the SEAL – Zoe York
Her One Best SEAL – Anne Marsh
EXCERPT FROM Burns So Bad
Jump thousand.
The familiar summer anthem of the smoke jumpers exploded through his head. Adrenaline flooded Rio Donovan’s body as he anticipated the exhilaration of dropping through the air as he threw himself out of the DC-3’s cabin and streaked towards Rail Mountain. Sixty seconds and two thousand feet.
God, he loved his job.
The plane pulled away with a roar, only half-drowning the whoops of his boys jumping out of the cabin behind him. Rio Donovan shot a sideways glance at his jump partner, angling his body away from hers. Christ, she was a cool customer. She watched the ground rushing up to meet them without so much as cracking a smile. He’d bet she’d already cataloged the burn area and mentally marked a half-dozen hot spots she’d rush to knock down as soon as they were on the ground. Gia Jackson was good. There was no doubt about that. She’d earned her place on Strong’s jump team. So he had absolutely no business noticing how the jump harness separated her breasts into two teasing mounds. She was one of his boys too and… not going there. Fifteen hundred feet to the ground and his next job. Focus, Donovan.
Look thousand.
The forest fire beneath belched a big ass plume of dark smoke on his right, the sideways drift half-obscuring the small speck of burned over meadow he was aiming for. The drift streamers had to be down there somewhere, the red ribbons an X-marks-the-spot he wouldn’t see for at least another thousand feet. The meadow swung crazily as the wind buffeted him hard, twisting him in a circle before he got the spin under control and his boots down because he needed to get horizontal, fast. Feet first, straight up-and-down. A holler tore from his throat. Fuck, yeah. This was living and better than any covert op he’d led for Uncle Sam.
Straightening his legs, he dropped below Gia. He weighed more than she did and he’d bet it killed her that he’d make the LZ first. He loved how competitive she was. Beating her to the landing zone would be fun.
Reach thousand.
Still mentally counting down, he tightened his grip on the rip cord.
Pull thousand.
And yanked hard.
And nothing. Not a goddamned thing. The lines twisted around the drag chute, turning his backup into a mess of flapping nylon and rope. Cursing, he took his eyes off the ground rushing up to meet him and eyeballed the tangled mess. That was okay, he thought, his hands already reaching for the utility knife strapped to his thigh. Cut it away and pull the reserve chute. Plenty of time. Still, he didn’t waste any seconds, sawing the sharp edge hard and fast through the ropes, because panicking was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Every second closed the distance between himself and the ground and dying hadn’t formed any part of his plans for today. He preferred to come home alive from his missions.
The tangled lines fell away, seeming to float next to him for a long second. He was bigger and heavier and the gravity really was a bitch. As soon as he pulled the reserve ripcord, however, he knew today wasn’t his day. Or it was his last day. Nada. The reserve chute didn’t fire and so now he was falling, not jumping, because he didn’t have a working chute.
The ground spun again in a crazy 360 and there was no good way to land this.
No way to pull out and demand a do-over.
He’d auger. Pancake. Die.
Flashes of memories raced through his heads, bright pops of had-beens, the places and people he’d loved. He’d done his fair share of loving and he had almost no regrets there. All he prayed now was that his brothers, Jack and Evan, wouldn’t let their adoptive mother see his body. She didn’t need to carry that kind of memory with her. A thought and a prayer and then he watched the ground rising up toward him, because if he was going out, he’d see the end coming. He had less than thirty seconds to live and to start dying.
~~~
Rio Donovan was falling.
The
sheer impossibility of that truth hit her, but Gia Jackson hadn’t got where she was in life by refusing to accept the impossible. Her playful, sensual, Harley-riding, ex-SEAL computer genius of a partner who’d gleefully kicked her ass at every fire they’d jumped so far in this short season… was falling. To his death. His drag chute drifted away uselessly above him, tangled around a mess of lines, and she spotted no reserve chute. He’d have pulled the cord. She knew it. Instead of riding the toggles toward their landing zone, his big, leather-gloved hands were crossed over his chest. Gia couldn’t make out his gorgeous face behind his protective helmet, but he was head up, feet down, barreling toward the ground in a one hundred miles an hour free fall.
No one, not even the legendary Rio Donovan, could survive that kind of hit.
She was his goddamned jump partner—and he hadn’t called out or hollered. What the hell was he thinking? They were supposed to communicate. That was part of the plan. She’d enjoy rescuing his fine ass just so she could yell at him for the sheer stupidity of his giving it up move.
In order to do that, however, she had to get closer. She made a left-hand turn, curling up into a ball to drive her fall faster and close the distance between them.
“Problem, golden boy? ” She had to yell to be heard over the wind’s roar as she gripped the toggles. Snatching Rio from mid-fall wouldn’t be a walk in the park. He outweighed her, plus she had to avoid tangling his arms and legs in her line.
Rio’s head snapped up. “Technical malfunction,” he drawled, like it was an everyday occurrence. His eyes stared into hers and this close she could just make out the long lashes he wielded like a weapon. She’d wondered before what it was like, seeing the world through Rio’s eyes. If he felt it, he never showed fear. She loved that about him. Nothing ever seemed to scare him. God, to face life like that would be a miracle.
