SEAL'd Lips: A Secret Baby Romance

by Roxeanne Rolling

  But professionally, my life has never looked better.

  I wrote a book about my time in the Seals, about overcoming obstacles. And it’s sold incredibly well. I’m raking in the cash.

  And I’m just starting my book tour. My publisher has me traveling around the country, staying in hotels, giving talks and doing book signings.

  The point of my book is that everyone has a secret unlocked potential. And they’re hardly ever aware of it. The Seals taught me to find that potential within myself and to push myself as hard as I possibly could.

  My goal is to get people to change their thinking. My goal is to get them to wake up and start doing something with their lives. If everyone in the country started just approaching their potential, everything could change.

  Too bad I can’t change my nightmares. They’ve been with me since I got out of the Seals, since I got my honorable discharge. They started that very night, and I haven’t gone more than a few days without them in the last six months.

  But I can deal with them. They’re not a big deal. They mean I get a little less sleep than I otherwise would, but what’s a couple hours of lost sleep?

  My first, and most recent, book signing was at a bookstore in New York City. I’d never been to New York before, and at first the hustle and bustle of everything was overwhelming. But I can deal with change and I can adapt.

  My agent and I were shocked at the number of people who came to get an autograph. So many of them told me how much the book had meant to them, how it had changed their life for the better already. I shook their hands and I signed their books. And the talk probably got me thousands more sales, filling my bank accounts even more.

  But I didn’t connect with anyone.

  There’s no one who can understand me. It feels like there isn’t a single individual who can really get me, who I can explain things to, someone who’ll actually see what it is I’m saying.

  Today, I’m back in my home town. My agent thought it would be great publicity to set up a talk back home. People could be proud that their town has a hero and all of that.

  Me? I was resistant to the idea.

  My dad died when I was in the Seals. I couldn’t go to the funeral. I was abroad. His body just couldn’t take the years of the pain meds that he needed to take. And to think of all the pain he dealt with all those years, the pain that no pills could mask…

  My cousin Chris is dead too. He took his own life a year ago. Despite putting on a smiling face for everyone, despite cracking jokes all the time, he was miserable on the inside. The loss of his legs was too much for him, apparently. But I know he must have been dealing with other demons, demons deep inside him that wouldn’t leave him even for a moment. He got lost in the darkness and he couldn’t escape.

  I remember the last time I saw him. It was before I enlisted. I visited him in the hospital, a day after… that party.

  He was sitting there in his hospital bed, and he made a joke about his legs. I didn’t laugh, and he told me to just relax, that everything was fine.

  He cracked jokes the whole time I was there, but as I was leaving, I saw the smile slip away briefly from his face and I caught a glimpse of what was underneath. Something horrible had happened to him when he was enlisted, and it wasn’t the loss of his legs. He saw something that he couldn’t shake, something that he couldn’t un-see.

  I get dressed and gather my papers and books together. I don’t really need notes for the talk. I’ve got the whole thing memorized.

  I got in late last night, so this is the first time I’ll be back in town since leaving. I’m not exactly looking forward to it. Too many memories.

  But the sun is starting to rise in the sky by the time I get into my rental car.

  The air is warm. The summer seems to be a hot one, just like the summer before I left.

  For a moment, an image of her flashes across my mind. I’ve tried not thinking about her. I’ve tried over and over again. But in all the time abroad, in all my time in the Seals, I couldn’t shake her from my head.

  I don’t know why she seems to have this power over me. It’s a power that stretches across time, across distance. She’s got a hold of me in the strangest way.

  We haven’t talked since that one night outside in the grass.

  I shouldn’t have walked off like that. But I was immature. There was so much that I didn’t understand.

  There’s a small greasy spoon diner named Joe M.’s that I stop in for breakfast. I used to come here with my football buddies back in the day, often before practice. It’s a little building with nothing else around it. The parking lot is always cramped, and the place always smells like bacon.

  I’m half hoping no one will recognize me, and half hoping someone will.

  But all the faces are different. I used to know everyone who worked here. Of course, a lot of them were in high school at the time. By now, they’ve probably moved on. They probably have families and completely different jobs. They probably work in offices as financial advisors or something. Who knows?

  I finish my meal, drain the last of my lukewarm coffee, leave my tip on the table, and head back out.

  I’ve got two talks scheduled today. The first one is in half an hour at a local bookstore.

  It’s one of the few bookstores that didn’t collapse during the time when all the other bookstores were closing.

  Of course, I was gone during all that time. I didn’t hear about what had happened to the industry as a whole until I got back and got interested in writing a book.

  Entering the bookstore, it’s clear to me that while the bookstore, called Frank’s, is still technically running, it’s suffered hard times. It didn’t collapse, but it did buckle.

  There seems to be a thick layer of dust over everything.

  Many of the books are old and used. I don’t see many new ones.

  But there’s mine: A Seal’s Journey [check to make sure not copyrighted or previously published] by Noah Strong.

  It’s the only new book here.

  At least it’s prominently displayed.

  There doesn’t seem to be anyone here just yet. I look around, but I don’t see any employees or the owners. I’m sure they’ll turn up soon, though.

  For some reason, my hand goes to my hip, where I used to keep my gun. But it’s not there.

  I have to remind myself: no one’s going to shoot you here. You’re safe here. You’re a civilian now.

  This must happen to me at least five times a day. I’m constantly reaching for a gun that’s not there.

  It’s like there’s an invisible enemy that’s pursuing me. But that invisible enemy is deep inside myself, in some dark place.

  The door opens, creaking on its hinges.

  I turn to look.

  I can’t believe my eyes.

  It’s her.

  It’s Hana.

  She looks at me. I haven’t seen her in years.

  She’s even more beautiful than I remember her being.

  Hana

  I was expecting to see him. I was hoping to see him. But I thought I’d be at the back of the crowd and I’d just watch from there. I thought I’d get a chance to hear him speak, but from a distance.

  Maybe I got the time wrong. There doesn’t seem to be anyone here.

  He stares at me. His expression is unreadable.

  But I can tell he recognizes me.

  We don’t say anything for a moment. It’s as if we’re both frozen.

  It’s still Noah Strong. That’s for sure. He’s instantly recognizable. But he’s different, very different.

  His face has matured. The lines of his chin are stronger. He looks incredibly strong, his muscles even larger and denser than before. He looks powerful and intense. Almost frightening.

  His head is almost shaved, in military style.

  He’s clean shaven. He always used to have a bit of stubble. But the clean shaven look just accentuates the masculine lines of his face… that jaw.

  He stan
ds tall and stares at me.

  “Hi,” I say, my voice sounding timid and strange, as if it’s coming from some faraway place.

  I’ve matured a lot in the years since I last saw Noah. I’m no longer the shy virgin I once was. That’s what it’s so strange to find myself feeling this way again. It’s strange to be speaking timidly and softly, as if I’m unsure of myself.

  “Hi,” says Noah. His voice is deeper than I remember. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Yeah… I saw your name in some advertisement and I thought I’d come. You know, support the new book and everything. I must have gotten the time wrong. I thought it started at nine.”

  “Nine thirty,” says Noah.

  I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say.

  I could ask some dumb question, like: so what was being a Navy Seal like? Or: what have you been up to all these years?

  That panicky feeling is bubbling up inside me.

  And it’s not because I’m a shy virgin, like I once was.

  No, it’s because Noah is James’s father.

  And he has no idea.

  Noah doesn’t say anything for a moment. He looks me up and down.

  “You look great,” he says.

  Is that a smile creeping onto his face? Or am I just imagining it? Is it just wishful thinking on my part?

  I just nod vaguely. I know I’m acting weird but I can’t help it. There’s too much on my mind.

  After all, I’ve not only never told Noah that he has a son, I’ve never told James anything about his father.

  What kind of a person am I? A horrible person, I guess. For so many years, I’ve managed to push it all to the back of my mind. I’ve told myself that I’ll do it at some point, that today’s not the day. But the day never came. And how could it, when Noah was away on secret missions all the time? I didn’t know where he was, and I never heard from him. When he walked out on me that night of the party, it was like he was walking out of my life for good.

  “So you saw my book in the paper?” says Noah.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  In truth, I saw him on TV, in an interview. Leah called me and told me that it was on and I rushed to the nearest TV and frantically tried to find the channel. I missed the first minute of the interview, so I searched for it online later that night. I must have watched it three times.

  I saw then how much he had changed, how he matured, his body as well as his mind. But of course, it’s different seeing him in person.

  And I didn’t just watch that one interview. I searched all over the internet and found him in radio interviews and I listened to all of those. I found a print interview he did when his book first came out and I must have read that a hundred times.

  Of course, I can’t tell him any of that.

  The conversation is quickly becoming stranger and more awkward. I have no idea what to say, but there’s so much I need to tell him. I just don’t know how.

  A very tall, thin man rapidly approaches us, coming up behind Noah.

  Noah seems to sense him. Maybe it’s his military training. Noah turns to greet the man.

  “The famous Noah Strong, may I welcome you to our humble store.” The man speaks in a weird highfalutin’ way. “I imagine it must be grand to be back in your home town. We’re more than excited to have you here with us, you should know. A writer from our home town! And a war hero!” I’m not sure, but I think I see Noah cringe subtly when the phrase “war hero” comes up. “Now, if you’d just follow me, please, we have some things we need to arrange before people arrive for the talk.”

  The shop owner completely ignores me for some reason. He stares at Noah like he’s in complete awe of him.

  But that’s just the kind of effect Noah Strong has on people. I saw it in the interview he gave. Noah just has that kind of presence.

  “I’ll catch up to you later,” says Noah, turning back to me. “I’d like to talk to you. Could you wait for me after the talk and the signing?”

  “Uh, sure,” I say.

  Damnit. Now I’ve got to tell him about James. I won’t have any more excuses left.

  I watch as the store owner leads Noah away.

  I spend the next fifteen minutes trying not to appear conspicuous. I pretend to hunt through the books on the shelves, but the reality is that many of them are old and stained. And most of them aren’t books I have much interest in reading. These days, with James and my job, I tend to go for something that I can understand immediately. I tend to go for books that pull me out of my own overworked little reality and take me somewhere else. I’ve become a huge fan of romance books, but not the types you can get in stores like this one, where they’re all old fashioned and a few decades old.

  Thankfully, other people start to arrive. There’s a small area where rows of folding chairs have been set up. People start to mill around, and some sit down.

  I try to act like I’m not staring at Noah as I sit down. I try to act like I’m not following his every move.

  But he just moves so sexily. I remembered that he had this effect on me before. But I thought I’d be over it by now. Instead, his body, his every movement, draw my eyes like a magnet. He’s only gotten sexier over the years.

  The store owner approaches the microphone. “Is this thing working?” he says, tapping it.

  This sends a horrible screeching noise through the amplifiers.

  Everyone covers their ears, including me.

  “Sorry about that, folks,” says the owner, chuckling to himself. “I suppose I’m just a little nervous, having such a celebrity here… So may I present to you, without any more formal ado, the great Noah Strong…”

  But he doesn’t stop there. Instead, he drones on and on, talking in circles. It feels like he’s repeating the same thing over and over again, ad nauseum.

  While he talks, I steal glances at Noah, who sits stoically and seems to be listening intently. I’d love to know what’s really going on in his head.

  I pull my phone out of my purse and check it. Nothing. But that’s what I end up doing all the time.

  James is staying with my parents today, while I ostensibly have to go to the doctor. I couldn’t very well tell them that I was going to see James’s father.

  My parents are aging, and for them it would be impossible to mellow with age. They were already pretty mellow to begin with. They’ve continued being the same hippies as always. My dad keeps working on his art projects, never seeming to complete them. And my mom still gives lectures at the college, but she’s moved to just giving a class here and there. She’s no longer a full time lecturer. The only real difference, now that they’re older, and I’m older, is that they’re even more open with me than before. The biggest revelation is that they finally told me they smoke pot. “But only occasionally,” said my dad. “And never when you were around.”

  I just shrugged. The news wasn’t that much of a surprise to me, honestly. I just asked them not to smoke around James, since they end up taking care of him a lot. Of course, they’re far too responsible to do anything like that.

  I’m always checking my phone, but not because I’m worried about my parents’ ability to take care of James. They’re almost too responsible in a lot of ways. But I guess it’s just the motherly instincts kicking in or something.

  While I’ve conquered anxiety in most aspects of my life, I do worry about James and his safety. Probably too much. After all, he’s four years old, and I feel like he could accidentally swallow something or eat something he shouldn’t. But I know that’s just my worrying.

  My parents were a huge help. I couldn’t have gotten through college without them. I had James in my first year of college, right towards the end of the school year.

  I managed to do what many consider the impossible, which is not drop out of school and not even take a semester off. I got a medical leave of absence during my final exams, and then had to go back and retake them in the summer.

  The professo
rs all thought I was some kind of bimbo or something. They thought I’d gotten knocked up in the first week of school, the first week away from home. I just kept my head held high and didn’t pay them or their attitudes any attention. I didn’t care what the other students said about me.

  I stayed strong. I knew that I had to, for James.

  James is my mother’s father’s name. I have fond memories of him. He would sit out on the porch smoking his pipe all day long, and I can still remember the smell of it.

  “And now, the man you’ve all been waiting for.” The bookstore owner has been droning on for so long that I’ve gotten completely lost in my own thoughts.

  But he steps aside, and Noah comes up to the microphone. He looks calm, cool, and collected.

  All eyes are on him. He has not only an impressive physique, but an impressive, understated authority. He could command us all to do something, and we would do it. I would, at least. I’d do anything he told me to do. Even though he walked away from me that night.

  “Today I want to talk about an important theme. It’s something that affects all of us, whether we’re aware of it or not.” Noah’s voice is rich and deep.

  My phone rings.

  Shit.

  Everyone’s eyes turn to me. Heads spin, and chair legs scrape on the linoleum floor as people turn. They want to see who the idiot is who didn’t turn off her phone.

  I see Noah staring straight at me. He’s paused in the middle of his sentence, waiting for me to do something about my phone.

  I turn red in the face.

  “Sorry,” I mutter.

  So much for conquering my anxiety. So much for not caring what people think about me. I feel the intense embarrassment running through me.

  I grab my purse and get out of my chair. Somehow, I manage to topple it over in my hurry. It falls to the floor in a crash.

  I rush out of the bookstore with my phone still ringing.

  I hear some laughter behind me. So much for making a good first impression with Noah.

  “Hello?” I say, frantically answering my phone.

  I notice I’m standing right in front of the bookstore window, and everyone’s eyes are still on me, including Noah’s.