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Sneak Peek of SEAL Forever
SEAL Forever
Written by Kris Michaels
Copyright 2019.
Chapter One
Creed Lachlan pushed the throttle up on the four, 1,480-hp, diesel V-drive, inboards until the power under him lifted the nose of the one hundred-sixty-five-foot luxury yacht out of the glassy, late-afternoon, Atlantic. He held the controls at half power, listening to the throaty rumble with a skilled ear. He'd modified this baby's quad engines, and she was pushing enough horsepower to beat any tropical storm back to the safe harbor of Key West’s Cow Key Channel. The gauges showed exactly what he needed to see. Angelo's Princess was once again purring, hitting all cylinders. The gauges held true as Creed inched the throttle forward. He flicked the throttle up a quarter inch. The plane of the bow surged further upright, and he braced against the pull as he balanced behind the wheel. He gripped the steering controls and tightened his muscles as he steadily increased the power to the motor. At the throttle's top end, he was almost flying the yacht over the water. The exhilaration from the deep growl of the motors and speed of the boat fed an addiction he'd been trying to forget. Like most of the men in his career field, he'd grown accustomed to jolts of adrenaline. Check that... prior career field.
When he'd been forced to retire, he’d commanded SEAL Team One. Six platoons. Ninety-six SEALs and a headquarters element—all before he fucked up his knee. Blew it out six ways from Sunday and needed a complete knee replacement. Oh, the Navy had offered him a job 'commensurate to his physical limitations.' He'd take a pity job the day his rosy, red ass sprouted blossoms. Instead, he’d shown a middle finger to the paper pushers and had left on his own terms. At the advanced age of forty-three, he’d retired. Fuck.
Since then, he'd buried himself in the family business. His parents had built Lachlan Maritime Industries from the ground up and were still strong pillars within the Key West community, even though they'd handed the reins over to their three sons.
The coastline of his home reappeared as he brought the Princess out of her breakneck pace. Like a trained thoroughbred, she relaxed under his expert hand, and the deep vee of white froth behind her lessened to almost nothing. The heavy roar of the diesel engines died to a bass murmur. Creed took a moment to soak in one of the most beautiful sights in the world. Sunset in Key West. The setting sun glistened off the flat waters west of Cow Key Channel and painted the sky in epic orange and purple. Creed turned on the Princess' running lights and pulled back on the throttle to coast through the no-wake zone. He rounded the northeast side of the island and headed the yacht back to the massive commercial pier his father had built. As he approached, two figures trotted down the dock. They scrambled to tie off the Princess as Creed nudged the one-hundred-and-sixty-five-footer into its berth.
“I was getting worried about you, old man.”
Creed glanced up but ignored his brother's smart-ass comment as it floated through the cabin’s open window.
“What happened? Finally lose your hearing?”
Creed shifted his eyes again to glare at his brother. The little shit. He was about four inches shorter than Creed's six-feet, six-inches and easily eighty to ninety pounds lighter. Where he hit the gym regularly and had the bulked-up muscle to prove it, Thane had a swimmer's body. Hell, Thane's sun-bleached hair was more blond than brown. The only thing Thane had in common with either of his brothers was the color of his eyes. All three had deep blue irises, ringed in dark black circles and laced with flecks of gold. It seemed to be the only genetic gift from his mother's side of the family. Thankfully. His mother, all four-foot-eleven inches of her, had a fire-laced temper with a hair trigger that brought all three of her boys to heel. Nobody messed with Caroline Lachlan. Nobody.
Creed didn't give his brother the courtesy of a response before his attention returned to the engine logbooks.
“Yo, dude, we're going to Sam's tonight. You in?” Thane braced himself on the doorjamb and leaned into the bridge of the yacht.
Creed kept writing but asked, “Cruise ships all gone?”
“Yeah, the last one pulled out about an hour ago.” Thane glanced at his watch. “Missy should be there by now. She's going to hold a table for us.”
Creed nodded. He could do with a cold beer. “I'm in.”
“Seriously?”
He lifted his head at the sound of his brother's shocked voice. “Yeah, why?”
“Because you've never come with us before?” The ‘duh’ was implied.
“And still you ask every time.” Creed returned to his work.
“Yeah, you know miracles do happen, and old, cranky shits like you are allowed to have fun.”
“I'm only ten years older than you.”
“And you act like you're ten thousand years old. Dude, you wake up, work out, come here and then go home. Wash, rinse, repeat. Day after day, week after week, month—
Creed snapped his book shut. “I get it.”
“Do you? Do you really?” Thane crossed his arms and blinked like an owl before he shook his head. “I don't think you do. We live in a paradise, complete with sunshine, good food, great rum, teeny-tiny bikinis and hard, hot little bodies inside those almost nonexistent pieces of string. And still”—Thane paused for dramatic effect—”you live like a fucking monk.”
Not quite. His brother made some big assumptions. “Partying until three in the morning has never been something I enjoyed.” That was the God’s honest truth. He’d never been interested in parties or the type of people who lived for the thrill of that atmosphere. His mom said he had an ‘old soul.’ These days his soul felt older than dirt.
Thane shifted on his feet. “What exactly do you enjoy, Creed? I mean it's been almost a year since you've been back. You don't date, at least not that I've seen. What exactly is it that gives you pleasure? Dude just tell me, and I'll find it for you. I know there has to be something out there for you.” His voice softened, “Man, whatever it is that will bring back the man I used to know, I'll find it. I hate that you are so damn empty. I see it and it kills me.”
Creed stood, automatically testing the cobalt-chrome device they'd replaced his knee with. His mind still believed the thing would fail. The doctors said that was normal. Normal. As if. He drew a deep breath and turned his entire focus on his brother and forced a smile. “You can't find what doesn't exist, but thanks for the thought.”
Thane quipped, “You need a woman in your life.”
“Not interested.” Not any longer. He’d fucking searched for that elusive woman. Hell, he had the list. Truth be told, he wasn’t asking for a supermodel crossed with a physicist. Looks faded; he knew that. He hadn't been looking for some image of perfection. He wanted a real woman, someone genuine who could hold his interest. As said woman’s competition was his job, well, his former job, it had been a tall order. Over the last twenty years he’d dedicated too much time carrying on strained conversations with women whose names he promptly forgot to hold out any hope there was someone for a man like him. Obviously, he wanted a fucking unicorn, because the woman he’d been searching for didn’t exist. There was never that ‘click,’ and no he wasn’t channeling a romance novel or a Lifetime movie. He tucked his books under his arm, pocketed the keys to the million-dollar vessel and slapped his brother on the back as he exited the bridge.
Thane fell into step beside him. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Danica is going to be there tonight. She's been asking about you. I'm supposed to hint that she's a good catch.”
He stopped short, and his brother crashed into his back, bouncing off of him as he turned around. “Say what?”
“Well, Mom and Missy are worried, too.”
He extended a finger and pointed it at Thane. His brother stiffened and backed up another step. “You’re telling me that your wife and our mother are trying to set me up?” Incredulous didn't begin to cover the shock of that thought. He was forty-four-years old. If he wanted to get laid, he did. He just
didn't make a spectacle of it. Fuck him for being discreet.
“Ah... yeah.” Thane blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I promise I'll run interference tonight. Everyone will be there, and if you aren't interested in Danica... well then man, you’re dead.”
Creed chuffed. “Fuck you.”
“She's hawt.” Thane licked his finger and touched something imaginary making a sizzling sound.
He’d seen her hanging around with Missy. The girl was attractive. Okay, hot, but dammit, he was forty-four, and he had no desire to become a sugar daddy. He wanted the company of a woman that could actually hold a conversation and didn't post three hundred selfies to social media throughout the night. He kept walking and tried to picture what a date with Danica would be like. It was useless. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and muttered under his breath about the yacht he’d just run. He made a note on the invoice that they needed to send in the clean-up crew to wash and detail the ship before the owner took possession of her. Just for good measure he glanced over his shoulder at his brother and grumped, “She's barely legal.”
Thane presented his fingers and made an act of counting before he piped, “Twenty-two.”
Creed snorted. “That qualifies as barely legal, and she's literally half my age. I was in college at Annapolis when she was born. Think about that.”
“She's the trifecta! Young, legal, nubile and H.A.W.T.” Thane hustled along behind him.
“Idiot, that's four things, not three. Does Missy know you have hidden desires for this girl?”
“What's four then... a quadfecta? Who says they're hidden? Missy and I have had some awesome sex after talking about our fantasies.” Thane made a growling sound behind him.
Creed stopped short, and his brother bounced off of him—again. He turned and held up a hand. “Never, and I mean never, tell me about your sex life. I don't want to know. Some things you can't unhear or”—he pointed toward his head—“mentally unsee.”
A shit-eating grin crossed his brother's face. “But you did picture it, didn't you?”
“I'm having second thoughts about going to Sam's with you.”
He could just as easily have a drink at his house. His cottage was small, but it was his, free and clear. The little home had been wiped out during the last hurricane. Having money saved, plus the insurance policy on the house and no real home in the military, he’d rebuilt his cottage with fourteen-inch-thick cinder block walls and even elevated it higher than the building code required. It was his forever home where he had planned to retire with a wife. He hadn’t realized his retirement would come so soon.
“Right?” Thane's question made him realize his brother had been droning on.
He entered the massive storage warehouse where they dry-docked over four hundred boats. He glanced at his brother. “Right, what?”
Thane pulled up and scowled at him. “Dude, weren't you listening?”
He shrugged. “I rarely listen to you.”
“Wow, I think I might be hurt.” Thane put his hand over his heart.
He opened a spiral notebook for his notes that he carried along with the log books of the Princess. He ripped out a blank page and handed it to Thane.
The man's eyes bounced from the paper to Creed. “What's this for?”
“To file a hurt feelings report. You tell me all about those bruised emotions. Submit it, and in twenty or thirty days I'll send you a response guaranteeing I one hundred percent don't give a shit. You know, just to make it official.” He spun on his heel and headed to his office on the far side of the warehouse.
“You know if you weren't my brother, I'd think you were a dick.”
He turned and walked backward as he spoke, “You are my brother, and I still think you're a dick.”
“Only because I am!” A smile split Thane's face as he threw the words across the building.
He shouted back, “Glad to know you have a skill!”
“We're leaving in a half hour!”
Creed lifted his hand in acknowledgment and chuckled. It had been a while since he'd been out with his brother. A drink or two while avoiding the trap Missy and his mother had set for him should be doable. He was a fucking SEAL after all. How hard could it be to avoid a tiny, five-foot-nothing blonde?
Evidently, pretty fucking hard.
About the Author
USA Today and Amazon Bestselling Author, Kris Michaels is the alter ego of a happily married wife and mother. She writes romance, usually with characters from military and law enforcement backgrounds.
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