Sweetheart for the SEAL

by Alexis Abbott

  A crackling bolt of lightning strikes the ground sharply just several yards beyond the front bumper of Jake’s truck, a burst of white-hot light exploding in front of us. Sparks go flying in a haze of illumination. The sight is so simultaneously stunning and horrifying that it sends my thoughts spinning back in time, dredging up a memory I have not taken out and dusted off in probably years. In the span of a few seconds, I am hurled into the past, where the world seems to expand and fill those few seconds with all the potency of deja vu.

  I can remember standing in the backyard at my parents’ modest little bungalow across town, mere streets away from the beach. I was fifteen, stuck dead in the middle of a wash of growing pains. I was tall for my age then and gawky as hell, with my long, skinny arms and my knobbly knees. I was standing under the trees in our yard, listening to the wind softly ruffling through the pine branches. It was evening at the start of autumn, that wistful time of year when there’s just a different but indescribable newness to the air. It tastes different. It smells different.

  I was standing there with tears streaming down my face, because it was the third anniversary of my father’s death. I missed him, and I missed having someone strong like him in my life to build me up and brush off the mean comments I heard from my classmates about how scrawny I was or how goofy I looked in my oversized, outdated hand-me-down clothing from my mom’s wardrobe. I had slipped out the back door to cry in peace, away from my mother who was grieving in her own quiet way. I recall wanting desperately to hide my sadness from her. I didn’t want her to feel my pain on top of hers. But I also needed support, and had no idea how to ask for it. But then I looked up at the night sky and saw something magical: a meteor shower. So bright and glittering that at first I had to blink and rub my eyes to know that it was real. In that moment, I was distracted away from my pain by a thing of great beauty. Seeing those lights dance across the velvety black sky reminded me that I was very small and the world was very large, and even though I felt so heartbroken at the time, I realized that somewhere under the same exact sky, there were people smiling and laughing and moving on with life. I wanted so badly to join them. To be happy and free again. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like maybe, just maybe, that was possible for me. Despite everything.

  I’m jolted back to the present moment when Duncan hisses through gritted teeth, “Hold on tight, sweetheart. This is about to get a little rough.”

  He grabs the steering wheel with both hands, his knuckles going white with tension, and yanks the wheel hard to the left. The wheels splutter and skid over the watery street, the front-heavy truck losing traction. The bed of the truck spins out in a fan shape as we curl out of the way. Duncan’s expert reflexes and driving acumen just barely allow us to dodge the falling telephone pole to the right. I turn and stare wide-eyed out the window to see that the lightning has split the wooden pole nearly in two, a deep, jagged vivisection cracking down from the top to the bottom. There’s a sickening, deep rumble that makes the earth quiver and sends violent ripples across the surface of the flood water, and then I see the pole start to actually cleave in half, the remaining part still standing now beginning to fall, too. This is the part attached to the rope-like electrical wires. The black cords swing like a cowboy’s lasso in the powerful wind. It reminds me of a bull whip from some Saturday morning cartoon, only much more dangerous, especially as the wires whip around the split pole and start to fall down toward the flooded street.

  I whirl around to look out the back windshield at the biker gang. That lightning-struck pole has fallen down like a boundary separating our truck from the angry-looking troublemakers. I can’t hear their voices over the combined din of the vehicle engines, the thunder, the rain, and the rushing of my own blood in my ears as my heart pounds, but I can see their terrified faces. I watch their angry, almost smug looks of determination fade to pale panic. The group of them are rumbling up as fast as they can in their pursuit of us, only to slam on the brakes when they notice the electrical wires about to cross their path.

  The shriek of tires squealing and skidding on the road fills the air. The front three bikers do their best to rear back and avoid being struck by the heavy cords of electric current, but evidently these guys are more accustomed to slamming the gas pedal than the brakes, because two of them go toppling off their bikes, sending the motorcycles careening across the road in the opposite direction. They flip over into a ditch, the thick wheels spinning and the engines whirring angrily. The second tier of bikers have about a split second to stop before trampling the bodies of their fallen lackeys, and only one of them is successful.

  “Oh my god,” I gasp, whipping around to face the front, my eyes bugging out of my head with horror. I couldn’t turn away quite fast enough to totally avoid seeing the spray of blood across the slick pavement, staining the flood waters pink as human bodies collide with fiery steel and glass. Duncan slams his foot down on the gasp pedal, the tires spinning and kicking up splashes of filthy water as the old truck struggles to gain traction and get away.

  “Don’t look back, babe,” Duncan growls, glancing over at me with fierce eyes. “It’s about to get much worse back there.”

  I know he’s right. It’s good advice. I don’t need the mental images to haunt me for the rest of my life. I know people are dying back there. Human beings with lives, with families, friends, hopes, dreams— sure, they’re a bunch of semi-murderous looters all bearing a massive chip on their shoulders, but none of that makes it any easier for me to face their deaths. And when the electrical wires finally smack the wet streets with a spine-tingling ZAP, my heart nearly stops. There’s a burst of light behind us, and even through the loudness of the rain and thunder, I can make out the agonized screams of our pursuers, stopped in their tracks and electrocuted by the deadly union of electricity and water.

  I can’t help it. Pure human curiosity and maybe just a healthy dose of morbid fascination urges me to turn back and look behind us. Luckily, at exactly that moment, the truck tires quit hydroplaning and we skid down the road at top speed, the engine roaring as Duncan feeds it gasoline. The horrific scene behind us is obscured by the pelting rain and lack of light from the sky. The sun is somewhere hidden behind the ominous black clouds, but I can sense that it is setting, slipping away beyond the horizon and plunging the uncertain, waterlogged world of the Outer Banks into eerie darkness.

  I turn around in my seat and face forward again, and it takes me a full minute to realize that I’m hyperventilating. My chest aches, my lungs expanding and contracting rapidly while I struggle with every gasping breath. Duncan looks over at me with deep concern on his angular features, and he reaches across to squeeze my thigh.

  “Are you okay, sweetheart? Breathe, Crystal. Slowly. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Deep breaths. You’re going to be fine. We’re going to get through this,” he says calmly.

  I shake my head, tears burning in my eyes as my chest rises and falls violently.

  “I-I can’t. I can’t handle it. My daughter— Jake— and all those people. Oh god. I’m going to pass out,” I murmur breathlessly.

  “Stay with me, honey,” he urges me, fumbling to grab my hand. “Squeeze my hand, if you can. Just hold on. They can’t follow us anymore.”

  “They—they’re dead,” I whimper as a tear rolls down my cheek. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. It all happened so quickly.”

  “I know,” he sighs heavily, staring straight ahead. He’s somehow managing to comfort me at the same time as he’s expertly dodging obstacles and dips in the road filled with murky water. He’s up on the median now, plowing through what once were daisies and overgrown weeds. The median is on slightly higher ground, but I know we’re still riding along the knife’s edge between survival and death. It’s all so much to take in, and with every breath I draw, my mind goes rushing back to Dakota. To my baby. I don’t know where she is, not really. For all I know, Jake could have abandoned her somewhere along the Croatan High
way. Or the two of them could have fallen into a ravine or drowned in the flood or sieged by looters or—

  “Stop,” Duncan says suddenly. “Stop thinking about it. I can feel those cogs turning in your head, Crystal, and I know you’re going to a very dark place. You can’t do that. Not if we want to survive this disaster.”

  “I don’t know how to think about anything else,” I choke out, wiping my eyes.

  “It’s hard, but you’ve got to focus on the moment. Stay with me. We will get out of this and we will find your— our daughter. But we’ll have to go at it a step at a time,” Duncan reminds me wisely. Just then, a few more cracks of lightning streak right on either side of the truck, making me scream and duck down as if someone is firing a gun at us.

  “Fuck this,” Duncan grunts, grabbing the wheel and whipping it to the right. We go careening across the flooded road, and for a second it feels like we might just start floating, but he’s worked up enough momentum to propel us across to the other side. He drives the truck off the road and down a winding, long driveway with a carport.

  “Where the hell are we going? Whose house is this?” I demand to know, confused.

  “Who knows,” Duncan growls, “but it’s our place now.”

  “But what about Dakota?” I protest, staring at him like he’s lost his mind.

  “Look around, Crystal. The lightning is getting out of hand. It’s not safe for us to stay on the road. That will only increase our chances of being electrocuted like those asshole bikers back there. We don’t want that. We want to wait this out and survive so we can get back on the road to find Dakota and rip Jake from limb to limb,” he explains as we roll down the long drive to the house at the end. It’s on a bit of an incline, which will work to our advantage. The place looks as though it’s been abandoned in the storm, and I realize it’s probably because it belongs to a wealthy person. They always manage to get out first, as they have the money to charter private jets and the freedom to leave work early with less worry about missing hours. The house is two stories, and looks to be about double the square footage of my cozy townhouse. There’s a carport out front, which Duncan whips the truck into just as another clap of lightning strikes the ground just several yards away.

  “Come with me,” he commands, sliding out of the truck and grabbing hold of me to swing me down to the wet concrete. I can feel the static electricity in the air, smell the acrid burn of lightning. With chills erupting all over my body, I follow after Duncan in a numbed sort of trance. He tries to pick the lock for a moment, decides it’s a waste of time, and then shoots the doorknob with his smallest gun. Luckily, I hold my hands over my ears just in time to cushion my hearing against the loud bang, and then the door falls open. Duncan grabs my hand and pulls me inside, slamming the door shut and keeping it closed by engaging the deadbolt.

  The interior of the house is darkened, the lights evidently burned out, but in the low light I can tell how lushly decorated it is. There are paintings of local scenes and landmarks, and all the furniture looks expertly handmade. Of course, we’re not here to appraise the retail value of the place, so Duncan pulls me along until we find a door to— surprisingly— a basement. These are not super common this close to the shore, but this house seems to have been specifically tricked out with all the extras. He hurries to open the door to lead me down the steep staircase, the two of us descending into darkness.

  Duncan

  I bar the basement doors shut behind us as Crystal hurries down inside.

  “Hello?” I hear her call as she steps into the basement, and I turn to follow her down to the sound of the doors shuddering violently across the house with another gust of wind. My hair is blown so out of control that I feel my skin stinging from the wind, and Crystal is still trying to smooth her hair out as she inspects the place.

  I follow her down to find that we’ve picked a good place to ride out this part of the storm. It looks like someone’s personal space for...drawing. As we step into the basement proper, we see cute little sketches all over the walls, most black and white, some colored in with various kinds of paint. Most of the drawings depict scenes from around the local area. I recognize a few beautiful scenes of the vegetation and the beach, one of the bridge leading to the mainland, and a couple of the airport.

  “Someone really likes living around here,” Crystal says with raised eyebrows. “Hello? Is anyone here?” she calls out again, but she’s answered only with the echo of her own voice.

  “I think we’re alone,” I say as I follow her in. “The basement doors would have been locked if anyone was down here to ride out the storm, and there were no cars outside the house. Granted, the cars could have been blown away,” I add, scratching the back of my neck.

  “No, I think you’re right,” she says as she finishes doing a round of the place. There’s a couch and a small coffee table, as well as a desk where the owner of this place probably carries out his or her hobby. Hell, these are good enough that they could be professional.

  There’s also a radio sitting on the studio desk, but it’s just crackling softly with no signal. I turn the volume dial down so that the sound is just background noise, and I look around the place with raised eyebrows.

  “Pretty damn cozy, if I do say so myself,” I say. “I’ll have to keep this setup in mind if I ever build my own place.”

  “Drawing? You?” she asks, smiling with sparkling eyes. “I never imagined you’d be the type.”

  “You have a lot of time on your hands on long flights,” I say, shrugging and trying not to smile. “I don’t pretend I’m any good, but it passes the time.”

  That’s partly a lie. Some of the other guys have said I do good work, and one of them even asked me to draw something he eventually plans to get done as a tattoo. But now probably isn’t the best time to talk about the alternate universe where I try to hack it as a freelance artist instead of joining the Navy.

  “So, what now?” she asks, flopping down on the couch. “I can’t hear much down here. How are we supposed to know when the storm passes?”

  “Well, I don’t expect us to stay here until the whole hurricane moves over,” I say, frowning and approaching her. “Just until this bad spell passes and gives us enough of a break to keep chasing Jake. He’s panicky and knows we’re after him, most likely, so he’ll be running as fast as he can as much as he can until he hits his parents’ place.”

  She nods as I reach the couch, and I slowly sit down next to her. Almost on instinct for both of us, I wrap my arm around her, and she snuggles in close, putting her head against my chest and wrapping her arms around my torso.

  “Did we do the right thing? I feel like… my instincts just want me to keep going. Keep chasing Dakota until I find her again. I don’t know what he’s doing—”

  “Shh, shh. He’s trying to get you to chase him. He… If he wants you, he’s not going to hurt her. He’s using her as bait.”

  “But he has such a lead on us now. We stopped for Molly—”

  “To save her husband’s life, Crystal. Could you have lived with yourself if we just ignored them?”

  “Can I live with myself if something happens to Dakota because we stopped?”

  I sigh, stroking her hair softly.

  “I know it’s hard to react tactically when something so personal is on the line. So many times in the field, I’ve had to face the choice of doing what comes naturally by instinct, and just… overriding it to do the thing I know will give us the best chance of success. We’ve done what I think will give us the best chance of getting Dakota back safe. That’s what matters. Instincts… They’re good to listen to, but they’re not always smart. If you’d gone out in the tornado, you could have gotten blown away, injured, even killed. If we’d rushed this, so much could have gone wrong, and that just puts Dakota in more danger.”

  “Hey,” she says softly after a few moments of silence. “This is...easily one of the worst days of my life, but...it would be a hell of a lot worse if you weren’t h
ere.”

  “I’ll take that,” I say, chuckling.

  “I mean it,” she says with a soft smile, and she looks up at me with those crystal-blue eyes so full of love and meaning. “I’m glad you’re here, Duncan. I can’t possibly tell you enough how screwed I’d be without you.”

  “I appreciate it, but don’t think of it that way,” I assure her, giving her a squeeze. “You’re an unbelievably capable woman, Crystal. You raised a child on your own— an amazing kid, it sounds like. That’s more than I can say.”

  “Are you kidding? There are literally like, what, thirty? Forty people in the whole world who can say they do what you do?”

  “None of what I do includes parenting,” I say, laughing, and I feel proud that it earns a smile from her pretty face. “At least, not yet.” The words come as a surprise from me as much as they are for Crystal. “I mean…”

  “I hadn’t really thought about that either,” she says softly. “Not that it sounds bad— I mean…” She trails off the same way I did, and we smile at each other in silence. We both know there will be time to talk about that later. For now, though, it’s just us, a storm, and a crisis. That’s more than enough for us both to handle.

  And our hearts are still pounding from the thrill of the chase.

  I’ve been in a lot of fights like that over the years, but all the while, I’ve never been in one where I can act on the feelings I have afterward when Crystal is on my mind. Now, though, she’s right in front of me, and I can tell by the look in her eyes that she’s having the same thoughts as I am.

  I lean in and kiss her.

  It’s explosive. The thrill of touching another person like this after so much adrenaline courses through your veins has no comparison. Her hands go to my stubble-ridden face, while mine go to her curvy hips, and I squeeze her, savoring the feel of her body in my grasp. My cock swells hard at the mere feeling of her, but there’s so much more to the storm of emotions I feel with her pressed against me.