Sweetheart for the SEAL

by Alexis Abbott

  He strides over to me, closing the space between us in a couple seconds, and pulls me into his arms, hugging me tight. “She’s mine?” he whispers in disbelief.

  I nod, my cheek pressed against his strong chest. “Yes. Dakota is your daughter. She’s our daughter. You and I… we made her. Together. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just didn’t know what to do,” I reply softly.

  He pets my hair, and I can feel his heart beating hard against my cheek.

  “I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want to believe… I never imagined I could feel this way about anyone,” he murmurs. “Other than you, I mean. Because Crystal, I have never once stopped loving you. I never stopped dreaming about you, about getting back together. In my darkest hours, your face was the bright light that came to me to lift my spirits. When I was afraid, when I felt my lowest, all I had to do was think of you, and the world got a little lighter. For four years I have dreamed about being with you again. I can’t believe it. Not only is Crystal Miller back in my arms, but… we have a child together. A gorgeous little girl. It’s amazing.”

  “I’m so relieved,” I gush. “All this time, I’ve had to keep this secret. No one knows who Dakota’s father is besides my mom, and I made her swear to never tell a living soul. It’s been such a heavy burden, carrying this secret. I feel so light now.”

  “But one thing I don’t understand is why you felt the need to hide this from me,” Duncan says, pushing back to look at me. There’s an expression of confusion, etched with pain, on his face. It makes my heart ache to see him this way. He’s happy, but he’s hurt, too. And I’m the reason why. I owe him a full explanation.

  “Oh, Duncan. I was stupid. I thought I was doing what was best for you. Remember when we were teenagers, how we used to meet under the bleachers and just talk together for hours and hours?” I remind him. He nods.

  “Of course. Those are some of my happiest memories,” he replies. “I remember it all.”

  I smile faintly. “You used to tell me all about your dreams of running away to save the world. You wanted to fix what was wrong, bring evil to justice. You were so proud, so strong. So set in your path. I was always in awe of you for knowing exactly what you wanted and being so selfless in your desires. Even back then, you were so good at heart. Not an ounce of selfishness in you,” I explain.

  “I knew you were destined for great things. I had no doubt in my mind that you were going to make the world a safer, better place. And I thought it would be selfish of me to drag you down and anchor you here, to me. I knew you then and I know you now, Duncan. If I had told you about the baby, you would have dropped everything to stay with me. You would have thrown away your beautiful dreams and your service to this country to be a father. But you’re meant for so much more than that. I needed you, but the world needed you even more. That’s why I never told you. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

  “I was ambitious, yes, but I was also naive. I thought it would be much easier than it was. I thought I could leave and change the world so quickly. I was wrong. It’s much harder than I expected. I’m deeply humbled by my successes as well as my failures. Everything I learned out there in the field only led me back to you, sweetheart. Running away made me realize how desperately I wanted to come back home. And by home, I don’t just mean Kitty Hawk. I don’t mean the Outer Banks, and I don’t mean North Carolina. I mean you, Crystal. You are my home. Wherever we are together, that’s where I ought to be,” Duncan tells me earnestly. “I thought I wanted the world, but I learned that, really, all I want is you.”

  “I want you, too. I always have. And I always will. I’m sorry for trying to ignore my feelings. I should have been honest with you. I can never give you back these four years you’ve missed, and now… now there’s a chance neither of us will ever get a chance to see our daughter again,” I burst out crying. Duncan kisses me on the forehead, patting my back.

  “I know, I know. It’s scary. But you have to have hope, Crystal. You can’t give up yet. We are going to find her. I swear,” he assures me firmly.

  “I should have known. I should have seen this coming,” I mumble, sniffling back tears. “Jake said he’s been watching me. Watching us. How did all of that slip right by me? I always thought my instincts were so good, so accurate. But I never got a bad vibe from him. Not at all. I mean, hell, he was my friend. He was your friend, too!”

  “People can be deceptive. Some wolves wear sheep’s clothing so they can get within striking distance of the lambs,” Duncan says sagely, frowning with anger. I can feel the rage radiating from him, the sense of pure betrayal, even though he manages to keep his voice even-keeled somehow. He has a much better-trained sense of restraint than I do, clearly.

  We wander through Jake’s house together, painstakingly checking under every item, opening drawers and cabinets, checking each room methodically. When we find anything that looks useful, like a stack of small bills on the table or a heavy-duty flashlight on the kitchen counter, we go ahead and pocket it. I don’t feel even the slightest bit guilty for looting Jake’s house. He took my daughter, so as far as I’m concerned, he owes me. Everything. When we finally reach Jake’s bedroom and push open the door, I clutch my stomach and clap a hand over my mouth at the sickening sight in front of me. Duncan has to grab me to hold me steady as we look around with pure dread.

  On the wall over the headboard of his bed, there are close to a hundred Polaroid photos printed and pinned. I am in every single one of them. They’re all candid shots, taken from a distance. Some of them show me through the windows of my house, cleaning, cooking, entertaining the kids. Some of them depict me pulling into my driveway in my sedan. Others are of me in the backyard, grilling hot dogs, reading an e-book, or just sunbathing. There are a few from a joyous summer’s day when I filled up a little kiddie pool in the backyard for Dakota to splash around in. We’re grinning and laughing in the pictures, totally oblivious to the fact that there was a strange man photographing us from afar.

  “Jesus,” Duncan swears under his breath. “That fucker.”

  “He really was watching us,” I murmur, feeling the bile rise in my throat. I can’t walk any closer, like I’m physically repelled from the shrine of photographs. But I also can’t seem to look away. Finally, Duncan nudges me gently, leading me away from the shrine toward Jake’s clothes dresser. On the dresser, there are many more Polaroids, but this time, to my infinite relief, they don’t include me or Dakota. They’re photos of a boat on a lake, tied to the docks. There are pictures of what looks like a beach house or a lake house. There is an older couple smiling in many of the photos, and they look enough like Jake for me to presume they’re his parents.

  “I remember this,” Duncan says suddenly, reaching to pick up a photo of the boat. “This is Jake’s parents’ place down in Nag’s Head. Their vacation home. We went there a couple times as teenagers to party. Believe it or not, his folks are genuinely good people. I have no idea how they managed to raise such a shitty son.”

  “Recessive genes, maybe?” I joke grimly, picking up another photo, this one depicting a big, brick-red truck. It looks like a vintage or antique model, lovingly restored to its former glory. The date scrawled on the back is from this past March.

  “He has a truck, apparently,” I note, holding out the photo for Duncan to see. He frowns at it, contemplating something.

  “Yeah, he was always into antique cars and trucks. He worked as a mechanic with his dad sometimes in high school. Is that picture recent?” he asks.

  I nod. “March of this year.”

  “And do you recognize the location, by chance?” Duncan prods.

  I bite my lip, examining the photo. There is a gigantic magnolia tree with its branches reaching down around the truck, almost like a protective embrace. Then it hits me. There’s a magnolia tree visible from my yard. Which means…

  “This truck might be out back,” I shout. He grabs me by the hand, the two of us rushing through the empty, darkened h
ouse to the back yard. Through the dense rain, indeed, we can make out the reddish shadow of a big truck. And because Jake’s yard is on a steep incline, the truck is on higher ground.

  “Do you think…” I trail off, my heart pounding like crazy.

  “We might as well try,” Duncan says, fishing around in his pocket. He pulls out a jingly, shiny set of keys. “I found this in his underwear drawer. I sure hope it fits the ignition, because otherwise I just touched that motherfucker’s boxer briefs for no damn reason.”

  “Fingers crossed,” I mutter breathlessly as we rush out the back door. We run through the heavy rain, getting drenched for the millionth time, and to our relief, one of the keys opens the driver’s side door. We both slide in and I scoot down the bench seat while Duncan gets behind the wheel and shuts the door.

  “Moment of truth,” he sighs, reaching to fit the key in the ignition. At first, it seems to resist, and my heart starts to sink. But then he finagles it around a little, and it slips right in. I gasp with joy as he turns the key and the engine roars to life.

  “Holy shit,” I gasp.

  “Just curious,” Duncan mutters, reaching to turn the radio on. I don’t expect anything to work, especially in a truck as old as this one. But again, I’m pleasantly surprised. The radio clicks on, and even though it’s a little crackly, we manage to make out what the DJ is saying. It’s a news update on the hurricane, and I hold my breath as we drink in the new information.

  “...folks in the Kitty Hawk area should be long gone by now, headed west to higher ground and safety. Hurricane Bruno is spitting out tornadoes left and right, and the evacuation centers are overflowing with terrified citizens with their children, all struggling to get out of dodge. And that’s not all. I have another unfortunate update to share with you all: the bridge on the southside of town has been completely washed out. I repeat, it is completely washed out. Anyone still left in town— and I hope there aren’t any— do not proceed to the bridge.”

  Crystal

  “Do you know that woman personally?” Duncan asks me, frowning intently out the driver’s side window as he presses the brakes slightly, making the truck slow down as it approaches the small, two-story building. The big, beach-driftwood sign out front is painted with bold, playful lettering: Molly Neptune’s Stop ‘n’ Shop. To my surprise, the sign is still clinging to the front of the building, over the entrance, but it is hanging a little crooked, probably from the powerful winds.

  “Yeah, I do. I’ve probably visited that business at least once a week for years. Molly Neptune’s is a big local favorite. I don’t know if you’d remember that from back in the day. My parents’ old house is just down the street from here, so I spent a lot of time in this neighborhood.”

  “So, we can trust that the woman over there— Molly, you say— is genuinely flagging us down for help?” Duncan says, squinting through the rain to stare Molly down as she waves her arms over her head frantically. My stomach turns, feeling uneasy at how suspicious he is of these innocent people.

  “Of course! What else would she be doing?” I ask, so stunned that I actually back up a little, as though Duncan’s paranoia might be contagious. He tosses me a grim smile over his broad shoulder, a flicker of something like apology in his green eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Crystal. It’s just that— in my line of work, you tend to see some of the worst aspects of humankind imaginable. I’m not as trusting as I used to be. I love my job, and I love the man it has turned me into for the most part, but I have to admit that it’s given me a healthy dose of cynicism. I have to be cautious. Especially since I’m out here with the most precious cargo I can possibly imagine,” he tells me gently. He reaches across the console to give my hand a squeeze.

  “I understand. You’re just trying to look out for me. But this time, I can promise you it’s not a Jake situation. I may have been wrong about him— hell, we both were— but I swear to you that Miss Molly and her husband are good people. They’ve known me since I was a toddler. We need to get Kota, but I can’t just abandon them if they need help.”

  Duncan looks at me hard for a moment, and I can feel him thinking it over, sizing me up, weighing the risks and rewards in his head. The truck rolls to a stop just several yards from the front entrance of the Stop ‘n’ Shop, which is surrounded by knee-deep water. For once, I am grateful for the existence of oversized car tires, with which Jake’s pride and joy is equipped. Duncan turns off the engine and pockets the keys before turning to me and shaking his head.

  “You stay here for now. I’m going to get out and go see what Molly wants. Okay? You good with that?” he asks, concern etched across his handsome face.

  As much as I want to balk and insist on going with him, I know he’s right. It’s safer for him to try and work this out first before I get out, too. Besides, what help could I possibly offer up in a situation like this? So I simply nod and say, “Just be quick.”

  “I know, I know. Hang tight. Don’t go anywhere,” he says quickly as he pops the driver’s side door open and slides out, immediately getting soaked up to his calves. It’s then that I realize how very tall he is. The water that barely brushes a few inches below his knees is high enough to splash around Molly’s linen-pantsed thighs. The middle-aged woman is still waving and shouting hysterically, and she starts jumping up and down when she sees Duncan get out of the truck. I can vaguely hear her yelling something about her husband. Duncan wades through the murky flood waters, holding both hands up in a show of peace and cooperation. Molly clasps her hands together in front of her chest, and I feel a twinge of pain in my heart to see that her face is streaked with tears, not just rain. Her cheeks are all ruddy and splotchy, and she is visibly trembling, apparent even from way over here in the truck.

  “Fuck it,” I murmur, cranking the old-fashioned handle to roll down the window a few inches so I can hear better. Rain starts to drip through onto the driver’s seat, but oh well. Duncan and I are both soaked already anyway. What’s a little more water? I listen closely to the shouted conversation between Duncan and Molly.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. Do you have a problem? Do you need help getting to dry land? Are you stuck here?” Duncan asks loudly.

  Molly nods, looking frantic. She points back toward the building and shouts, “You can’t see it from here, but a tree fell on the back of my house! I-I own this building. The front lower part here is my shop, but the back and top floor are my home. I live here with my husband, Dave! He’s—he’s trapped back there in the bedroom and I’m too weak to help get him out. Please, please, help me! I’m so worried for his safety!”

  “Oh no,” I mumble, tears burning in my eyes. “Not Papa Neptune.”

  But Duncan immediately gives her a firm nod and slips right into business mode. “Take me to him!” he yells through the pouring rain and howling winds.

  “Okay! I’ll lead you around back,” she calls out. The two of them start wading around to the back of the building, out of my sight. Instantly, I feel ten times more anxious, not being able to see them. This new bundle of nerves on top of my worry about Dakota is too much for me. I realize with a jolt that I just cannot be alone right now. I can’t be alone with my worries.

  I know I said I would wait in the car, but... I just can’t. I can’t just sit on my hands, with everything out of my control.

  So, swearing under my breath at how cold and gross the flood water is, I slide out the driver’s side door and start wading across the parking lot. Unlike Duncan, I’m not the approximate height and breadth of a yeti, so the water is above my knees. It feels like moving through molasses, the rushing waters are so difficult to wade through. As I make my way slowly and methodically around back of the Stop ‘n’ Shop, I can hear Molly crying hysterically, punctuated now and again by a laborious grunt from Duncan. When I turn the corner, I gasp and clap my hands over my mouth.

  The sight is even worse than I expected. The back of the building has a small, studio-apartment-sized living space with a screened p
atio adjoining what must be Molly and Dave’s bedroom. There is, in fact, a massive palm tree fallen across the bedroom. The heavy, dense trunk has caused the ceiling to collapse, and the sharp, thick palm fronds have closed down over the bed where Dave is lying trapped. It almost looks as though a set of razor-sharp, gigantic, monstrous teeth are biting down on the bed, Dave pinned beneath them.

  “Dave, sweetheart, hold on!” Molly cries out, her shoulders quaking with sobs. Dave’s body is mostly obscured by the wreckage of fallen, split beams, debris blown into the chasm by the fierce winds, and chunks of serrated palm fronds. Rain pours into what once was their sweet little bedroom, and it hurts my heart to see the splintered ceiling shattered across the flooded floor.

  Water is quickly spilling into the room, mostly rain with the occasional splash of groundwater. Their dresser drawers are hanging open at jaunty angles, the contents within getting pelted with rain and ruined. I even see a few framed portraits floating around in the flotsam. Duncan wades through the water as quickly as he can manage, his powerful body cutting through the dirty flood much more easily than I can. I know there’s not much I can do to help Dave, but I desperately want to be of some assistance, somehow, so I decide I can handle Molly.

  “Molly, it’s alright!” I call out, wading toward her. She jumps in surprise and whips around, her eyes going wide at the sight of me. Duncan hears me, too, and turns back to grimace at me rather disapprovingly. I mean, I did just defy the one instruction he gave me. But to his credit, he quickly returns to the task at hand, making his way through the wreckage to step into the washed-out husk of the Neptunes’ bedroom. I hurry over to Molly and drape an arm around her shoulders. Her face crumples into sobs as she turns to fold into my arms, shaking with emotion. I pat her on the back, wishing I could take her worry away.