He felt like a big kid, really. Like he’d never grown up from high school. It was always the same; coaches wanting to win. School officials, and now franchise owners, wanted a W on the board at all costs, and the players wanted to do well without being injured. The money was good if you didn’t get injured. With no health insurance or benefits to speak of, if you took a career-ending injury, it was back to coaching grade-schoolers or summer soccer camps at universities. He could be watching football, but from the sidelines. He was always one bad injury away from unemployment.
Patrick had been hired before he even finished college, playing in the developmental group for a couple of years until he was moved up as a first-team player five years ago. It was the achievement of his life’s goal to play The Beautiful Game, as the Brazilians called it. But something had changed. He wasn’t quite sure what it was. He still loved to play, but the expected extracurricular activities were beginning to bore him. Was he becoming something he was no longer proud of? He never imagined he’d ever feel this way. It had nothing to do with soccer, either.
Many of the team players had wives and families. Patrick had never been interested in anything permanent…but he also wasn’t interested in anything he had to regret the next morning. ‘Easy in, easy out’ had always been his motto. It had served him well while he and Ryan worked their way through the lovelies in high school, and it was no different now.
He thought about Ryan jumping out of airplanes or helos at night, doing all that crazy shit for less than five percent of the money Patrick made. But Ryan, a Navy SEAL, didn’t do it for the money. He was the true patriot, a hero through and through. Patrick was in it for the money—and for the love of the game.
Right out of high school, Ryan had enlisted in the Navy, wanted to be a SEAL even though there’d been no guarantee he could go for the BUD/S training. The day after his eighteenth birthday he was shipped off to the Great Lakes Training Facility—the same week Patrick picked up that full-ride to college. They’d been inseparable since grammar school; they’d played together on every sports team time would allow. But then, while Patrick became the first American goalkeeper on the English squad, Ryan had become a decorated Navy SEAL.
And Ryan had one other thing Patrick had always envied. He had Stephanie.
The two of them used to make fun of her in grammar school, even though the three of them went everywhere together. In middle school and high school, they competed for her attention. Sometimes, the three of them would go to the movies, on those rare occasions when Patrick actually had free time.
When Patrick’s training intensified, his absence made it possible for Stephanie and Ryan to grow closer, and that first Christmas Patrick spent in London, Ryan went home on leave and asked Stephanie to marry him.
Stephanie turned him down. Ryan had been inconsolable, but all Patrick could do was run up a five-hundred-dollar phone bill he didn’t have the money to pay. His advice, coming all the way from London, was seldom heeded. Patrick had helped Ryan compose letters to Stephanie, counseled him what to say. Eventually, it began to soften her tough veneer, and she had finally agreed to marry Ryan. They had set the wedding date for this fall, just three months away.
Today was a new day, a new game. He’d thought about Ryan all during the first half of the game. He’d made two outstanding saves he was proud of. The coach was beaming. The players, all except the backup keepers, were happy.
At halftime, they were up one-zip. The coach gave them the “most dangerous score for the beautiful game,” meaning it was wrong to get overly confident or think the game was won, because the other side would be working overtime to change the odds. If they evened the score, the momentum would definitely be in the opposition’s favor.
“Dangerous, gents. We’re ahead, and Patrick will work miracles for us. Right Paddy?” The coach liked to bring an arm around his neck, treating as if he’d been raised as the coach’s Irish son. Patrick was pleased the antics of the previous day were all but forgotten. “But he needs your help. Even Patrick can’t do it all. You show up, or you go home having been beaten by American pussies.” The team chuckled, like they always did when he said that. “Later, you can get yourselves some American pussy and play your own games, but tonight, we do what we’re known for.”
They stood up and cheered, “To Dare Is to Do.” Their Tottenham Hotspur motto.
A security guard entered their hallowed waiting room while the team re-applied hair gel, re-taped their shin guards, re-tied their shoes, and drank sparse sips of energy drink.
“Got an urgent phone call for Patrick Harrington.” The guard scanned the room. Patrick had been listening to a CD Ryan had made for him with some of the workout songs his SEAL Team 5 used, but he heard the booming voice and saw everyone turn toward him. He stood and was ushered out the rear door and down a narrow corridor with a flickering neon light that made him feel like he’d just stepped onto the set of a sci-fi flick.
His cleats were loud. In White Hart, their home stadium, they had carpeting, protecting the shoes that cost the club five hundred dollars a pair, but he tried to be casual about it. Besides, they’d said the call was important, and he didn’t have time to unlace and re-tape his shoes.
He was careful on the slippery concrete with his longer spikes. He’d worn them because they’d overwatered the lawn, as they often did in Seattle. He was breaking in a new pair, since this was a friendly, and their real season would start in three weeks.
The stench of cigarettes hit him when the security office door first opened, revealing several overweight gentlemen in uniform and a pretty blonde wearing a hat way too big for her head.
“Right here, Patrick.” She pointed to the handset.
“Hello?”
“Patrick, this is Molly Rosen, Ryan’s mom.”
“Hey, Mrs. Rosen.” He was happy to hear from his best friend’s mother, but the call sent a chill down his spine. “Is Ryan okay?”
“No, I’m sorry, but I have some bad news. Ryan was killed the day before yesterday in—I’m not sure how to pronounce the name, but it was somewhere in Afghanistan. He comes home tomorrow.”
Ryan was gone? He sat down without being offered the chair. He planted his forehead into his palm.
“Oh, no. Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I just can’t believe it.” Patrick’s ears began to buzz, and he recognized signs of heightened blood pressure.
“Pat, I hope this isn’t imposing, but I read you were in Seattle doing ‘Friendlies.’ I wonder if your club would give you time off to attend his service? We were hoping you’d speak.”
Given how well he’d been playing, he figured the manager might let him off. “Absolutely. I’ll request it.”
The door burst open, and one of the assistant managers barked that he needed to get back with the team. Patrick gave Mrs. Rosen his cell number.
“Text me your contact information, and I’ll ask the manager right after the game. Right now, I have to get back on the field.”
Santa Rosa was the county seat, in the heart of Sonoma County’s wine country. Their warm summer days and nights meant he’d been able to play outdoor sports year round. A healthy mix of players from Mexico and Central America populated the soccer teams especially, but also baseball.
But Patrick’s six-foot-four height and agility made him a natural goalkeeper. He also had the basketball coach bending his parents’ ears about playing for him. The football—American football—coach wanted him to be a punter for their high school team. And he held the school record for number of home runs his sophomore year, before he’d had to limit his sports to three, and then two, and then to just soccer because of his heavy training schedule in his senior year.
Ryan elected to play junior varsity in everything but soccer, which always had been his first love, too. Patrick knew part of his desire to stay with soccer had been so they could play together. Ryan was a defender and worked closely with Patrick. Their communication was almost telepathic.
But today,
after he picked up his rental car at the airport terminal, the breeze wasn’t gentle. It was piercing cold, like his insides. He wondered if the plane bringing Ryan home had already landed. He didn’t see the motorcycle escort Ryan’s mother had told him would be there.
Hang on there, buddy. I’m coming.
He still couldn’t believe Ryan was gone.
Patrick’s parents were going to arrive tomorrow, barely in time for the service. They’d retired and moved to Oregon to be close to Patrick’s sister and her kids.
He dialed the Rosens and told them where he was staying.
His thoughts drifted off to Stephanie. He’d spent most of his high school nights dreaming about her and then beating himself up about it. He felt guilty for thinking about her now, but she was one of those women who just made him feel happier to be around her. He felt like more of a man. She was uncomplicated and didn’t require he play the kind of role other women expected of him.
And she had been devoted to Ryan, which meant she’d be devastated right now. His heart reached out to her, wishing he had her cell. There had been a time he believed he’d had a chance with her, but when Ryan wrote to him, telling him of his intentions, Patrick took two long goalkeeper leaps backward and stayed in the shadows of their relationship. It wasn’t hard to do. He was halfway around the world.
He hadn’t seen her for two years now. He wondered how she’d make him feel. With equal parts apprehension and anticipation, he hoped she’d be at the Rosens’ home tonight. He laid out his shave kit, stared back at himself while mentally talking to Ryan, and began to lather up his face. The shaving soap and boar bristle brush, the only things he’d inherited from his grandfather, went with him everywhere. At first, Ryan had given him a hard time about his “old-fashioned” shaving kit, but then he started to do the same thing, even using the same soap from an English toiletry catalog they both ordered from online.
Miss you already, buddy. I wished we had many more years of friendship.
This was all backwards. For a brief second, he thought he caught a glimpse of Ryan in his reflection, as if his best friend were somewhere behind the looking glass, guiding his hand while he shaved.
Chapter 3
When Stephanie got the news about Ryan, she’d been in shock for a while, and then she found it impossible to concentrate. By mid-afternoon, she finally had to give up trying to make phone calls, took a bath, and then put herself to bed early.
Tonight, she was supposed to go over to the Rosens’ house. Her eyes were red and burning. She didn’t think she could shed another tear this century. She’d cried so much over the evening, waking up confused, wondering why she felt so bad, and then remembering, which brought on another wave of tears until she cried herself to sleep again.
This pattern had been repeated many times. In the morning, after looking at herself in the mirror, her eyes red and so puffy she could hardly see out of them, she wished it wasn’t so important for to greet the guests who would gather tonight at the Rosens’ to honor Ryan. But it was her duty, and it affirmed her love and respect for the man she’d been about to marry.
Every time she thought about the finality of his being gone, the tears flowed. She put cool washcloths on her blotchy face and chest and lay down again. The phone had been ringing, but outside of her parents, she didn’t want to talk to anyone. She’d made all the calls to former high school friends yesterday. She’d asked for their help in spreading the word. That was all she could do. Thank goodness it was summer vacation at the preschool. Then again, it would be easier if she had something to do other than think about how much she missed Ryan.
Dammit. Here come the tears again.
Early evening fell, and exhausted, she drove over to the Rosens’. She greeted guests, feeling disconnected, the sounds muffled. She was the daughter-in-law-to-be, as opposed to the real daughter-in-law, but her grief was every bit as bad, and so was theirs. But they were not her parents, and Stephanie missed her parents now more than ever.
Everyone at the gathering was a friend of the Rosens, and she didn’t see anyone even close to her own age. There were a few of their Jewish relatives. Though Ryan had not been raised in the Jewish tradition, it was part of his family’s heritage and was more visible today than she’d remembered. A rabbi would be attending the graveside service tomorrow, as well as the Presbyterian minister who had agreed to marry them. That brought on even more tears.
She could feel Ryan’s absence, a yawning, empty place among the nicely dressed and polite company of the elder Rosens. The gathering was catered. She wondered why none of his friends from school showed up. She knew some of the younger crowd planned to attend tomorrow’s graveside funeral, at least she hoped so. Everything seemed so rushed, though.
It was silly, but she kept looking for Ryan, who should have been sitting in a chair, nodding in quiet agreement. He had a gentle way about him, listening respectfully when an elder gave him advice, which was more pronounced after he’d made the Teams. She’d loved him before, but as he filled the SEAL uniform and carried out his missions, he got taller, his chest broader, and he stood straighter. He was more patient, and he focused on her and her alone when they were together. She didn’t know which Ryan she loved more, the one she’d known her whole life or the man he’d become.
He always had respected his parents and their friends. She’d never heard him speak an ill word about anyone the last couple of years. He was their only son, since Ryan’s older brother died as a child. So she kept searching the crowd, between the gnarled hands and kisses to her wet cheeks. She shared tears with people she didn’t even know, but she understood their pain, because it was her own. Wrinkled faces with kind smiles and concerned brows spoke softly to her. These were people, they said, who had planned to attend their wedding.
Dang, the tears again.
Like some tragic Shakespearean actress walking across the stage, she was feeling heavy, infected with a kind of sadness pox. If it was a funeral for someone else, she’d be invisible, and how she wished she could be invisible now. She wasn’t a bride or a widow. She was the tragic fiancée of a man who had given his life and had left behind, incomplete, all their hopes and dreams. It just wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. He was too good a man to be lost to the world forever.
Her own parents had moved to Florida after she entered college. They would fly out next week, but wouldn’t be in time for the funeral. While Stephanie understood, she so wished she had someone in her corner. Ryan had always been that someone. Ryan would have known exactly what to do to calm her down. She told herself yesterday she’d be okay, but now she wasn’t sure. It was so unfair.
She continued searching as more guests arrived. A small roar developed when a new person arrived in the foyer. Someone very tall, whose head poked up above the large philodendron in the front room. A man with dark brown hair, not gray. Her heart fluttered a bit, almost faltering, reaching for the connection to a kindred spirit, for someone who might understand her. Someone who knew her, who spoke her language. She set her wine glass down, resisting the urge to run, to fling herself into his arms, to bury her face in his chest, and have a good cry.
Patrick.
He was just stepping back from his embrace with Mrs. Rosen, and her friends were standing around, giving him appreciative glances, with nodding faces, hands clasped together, and the titter of nervous laughter. As he uncoiled from the respectful bear hug and his eyes lifted, she could see the blue-green hue she used to dream about when she wondered as a young girl if it was possible to marry two men and still be a good girl. Later, they’d all talked about it, laughed about it. Ryan had gotten quiet afterward several times. When she’d agreed to marry him, he questioned her about her feelings, her decision to marry him after so many refusals. He was right about one thing. A tiny piece of her had never stopped loving Patrick.
“Hey, Sis,” he said, bringing up his favorite nickname for her.
“Hey, Bro,” she answered back. It was as close to
the secret handshake as any two long-term friends could have.
“I didn’t know Stephanie was your sister, Patrick,” one of Mrs. Rosen’s friends said.
Patrick appraised her respectfully and then said in that proud way only he could do, “In every way but blood, Cici.” He tore his eyes off Stephanie to make the point to the older woman, but soon, he was scanning Stephanie’s face again, intensely. She felt the unaltered attraction there in her belly again, just like when they played co-ed soccer in grade school and he’d tackle her and then help her up and ask carefully if she’d been hurt.
“You can’t hurt me, Patrick,” she’d always said, to prove how tough she was, kicking a lump of muddy grass from her cleats. He would look at her and grin, just like he was doing right now.
Mrs. Rosen led her bevy of friends from the foyer and left Patrick and Stephanie alone.
She let him see her breaking heart, her tears, the quiver of her lower lip, the way her chest heaved when she tried to stifle a sob. She was still being the brave little soccer player, and the protection he’d given her when he tempered his tackles on the field waited. He was the tall tree she needed to lose herself in. Unaware of who moved first, they were in each other’s arms.
And, dammit, was she losing her mind? She could smell Ryan.
After the final farewells were said, she overheard Patrick and Mr. Rosen discuss details of the funeral the next day. Then he joined her and walked out the front door to a warm Sonoma County night. She headed toward her car. It jolted her when he put his arm on her shoulder and pulled her to his side. “How you holding up, Stephanie?” he asked in a whisper, facing the traffic in front of them.
“Oh…” And then she sighed, taking another deep breath, trying to quell her tears yet again. “This has been such a shock. Day before yesterday was his last day…” She wrapped her arms around his waist and released the restraint she’d been holding onto for the past hour, sobbing into his shirt.
SEAL's Rescue (Bone Frog Brotherhood Book 4) Page 13
