“Well,” Markham said after he’d finished off his longneck, “up until the part about the money, I thought you were talking about our little club.”
Several other men chuckled, and then someone swore and followed it up with, “Ain’t that the truth?”
“But the equipment is better,” said a young man with a southern accent.
“A whole lot more dangerous, too,” Patrick said.
“I’ve seen those pictures of fans tipping over buses in Brazil, some ref getting beaten to death over a call. I’d say your line of work can be dangerous.”
“Yes, we get some defender coming at my head with his cleats up, I could lose an eye or get scarred. But heck, I got scars all over my body, and it doesn’t make a bit of difference.”
“Shit, I got run through with a crowbar-type tool some months back,” the southern boy drawled. He lifted his shirt and showed Patrick a pink scar that looked like bubble gum stuck to the right side of his navel. “Goes clear through to the other side,” he said as he attempted to turn around and show him.
That started a whole round of scar reveals. One SEAL was missing an earlobe from hand-to-hand combat. Most of them had more tattoos than scars, so after they’d run out of scars, they started showing them off. Patrick saw some beautiful, intricate designs. He knew Ryan had a bone frog with a trident on his chest right over his heart, and he suspected these men all did as well.
“You been playing a long time?” Markham asked.
“Yessir. Started playing professional just after high school and am now First Squad for Tottenham. It’s a good club. A good gig.”
“Yeah, Ryan mentioned that. He talked a lot about you, Patrick.”
He looked between the faces of these powerful-looking, straight-shouldered men with quiet countenances, noticed how they observed people without staring, how comfortable they were with each other. He listened to their banter and smack talk, but they all remained respectful of his friendship with Ryan, careful not to tread on any of his feelings. He liked them. There was the bond between them that he envied. It was more than the bond he had with the international crowd he played soccer with.
He found himself asking questions. He got half-answers, usually followed up with a smile, leaving the door open for him to ask another probing question, which was not always answered, either. What he liked best about them was that their egos were definitely present, but not dropped on the table naked or allowed to roam around without diapers. The “diapers” comment was one of his favorite expressions, invented by his defender friend Ronnie, who hated drama yet had gotten into so many fights he had a perpetually broken nose. He wore white tape over his nose more days than he didn’t of late.
They need to wear diapers, mate.
It was Ronnie’s way of saying someone wasn’t discreet or was raging like a woman—which, in Ronnie’s case, was the worst behavior a man could exhibit. He smiled, thinking about Ronnie, who would be leaving the team next year to play rugby.
Because I’m rotting, Paddy. All rotting footballers in England go play rugby, he’d said.
The SEALs were cautious, not boastful and seeking attention like The Beautiful Game football players were known for in Brazil. These warriors did things with measured and calculated determination. They liked to have fun in a big way, similar to his Tottenham teammates, but it was a private, quiet kind of fun, without drawing attention to themselves, with less public intoxication and spectacle, the kind of rowdy behavior which was privately encouraged in the soccer clubs.
Markham wrinkled his forehead and sucked in his lower lip with a scowl. “What’s the deal with Ryan’s ex?”
That’s an excellent question.
“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” Patrick replied and stared back hard.
“I intend to, don’t worry. I intend to,” the SEAL said as he looked outside the bar to observe cars driving past the open doors of the restaurant. “But with you being Ryan’s best friend, I kinda noticed that you might be sweet on her yourself.”
It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. She was beautiful. He’d known her for a long time. She needed consoling, and she was obviously now unattached, not that it held any promise for anyone at the table this evening.
Patrick felt like there was some unwritten code that another SEAL would be trying very hard to take Ryan’s place, and if Patrick wanted a shot at her, he’d have to act quickly and decisively. He could say something to dissuade the SEAL Petty Officer.
“We three grew up together. She used to think she could marry both of us, before her parents sat her down and told her how it was in real life. We were pretty close until I left to go play in Europe and Ryan left for his SEAL training.”
Markham was one cool cowboy, Patrick could see. “I get your drift, and if you should leave and go back to England, the lady might be in need of another replacement, no offense.”
“None taken. Doubt you’ll get very far with her, either.”
“Ah!” Markham gasped. “One of those?”
Patrick had no idea what he meant, so he shrugged.
“Means she shot you down already,” a Latino-looking SEAL ventured.
At that, he had to laugh. “Yeah, I think it would be fair to say that. Not sure how long the waterworks will be running without a plumber. She’s asked for, and I’m going to give her, time. And I don’t like the idea that you horny frogs would be hanging around to serenade her.” He cleared his throat. “No offense intended.”
“Or taken,” Markham replied.
And that was that. They didn’t challenge him. Instead, they told him they’d play fair, and he somehow knew he could count on that. But if he left her alone for an extra-long period of time, the story could change quickly.
He drove away from the gathering deep in thought. Did he have what it took to try out for a SEAL Team? There had been some professional football players and other athletes who’d made it, but many, like nearly 90% of them, hadn’t. Did he have what it took?
The more he mulled it around in his mind, the more he strongly considered actually talking to a recruiter. Markham had told him he’d hook him up with someone who could help prepare him for a possible tryout. Unlike his Tottenham team, though, he’d have to enlist in the Navy, and if he didn’t make a SEAL Team, he’d be making peanuts and serving his country on a ship or stationed somewhere in the world at a naval facility.
He wondered what Stephanie would say and then began to have second thoughts as he slipped his keycard into the motel room door and walked inside.
Chapter 8
Stephanie slept in, a luxury she rarely allowed herself. This was going to be her first day to herself, and she thought she’d go to the Farmer’s Market, have a late breakfast and an espresso. It was going to be a hot day, and by eight o’clock, she’d closed up her bungalow and pulled the shades to keep it cool until nightfall. She was surprised she felt as good as she did and realized she hadn’t awakened once last night. Her slumber had been long and deep.
She showered and put on a little makeup, grabbed a couple of plastic grocery bags, and headed downtown to the Market. It was a Wednesday, but since it was late summer time, there were lots of vendors with plenty of things she wanted to buy. She bought some fresh crab, sweet cherry tomatoes, some fresh basil, and lettuce. She grabbed some blue eggs from a local vendor who wasn’t always there.
She brought her bounty home, rather than leave it in the car, and then she walked downtown again for an omelet. On the way, she had an urge to call Patrick. He’d said he was staying over one more day and would be returning to his team tomorrow. He picked up his phone on the first ring.
“Hi there,” she said.
“Ah, so that’s who this is. Hi, Steph. How are you feeling this morning?”
“Much better. I’ve already been to the Farmer’s Market, about to go have some brunch, and thought perhaps you’d like to join me.”
“I’m just finishing up a meeting, but I can meet you someplace near downt
own in like thirty minutes?”
She sat in the open-air café, watching the passersby while waiting for Patrick. He ambled past her table, not noticing her at first, but when he glanced around, she waved. With her emotions on more stable ground, she began to notice how handsome Patrick was. He had left stubble on his cheeks and chin, which accentuated his deep pink lips. He wore a light blue shirt with denim jeans and had spiked his hair with gel.
“What’s so funny? Do I have something on my head?” he said, patting the top of his head.
“So funny seeing you with spikes.”
“Oh, man, bad habit, I guess. The men overseas use more product on their hair than women do here. Hairspray…you name it.”
“Well, they want to look good on camera.”
He nodded and looked down at the little vase of flowers between them. “Yes, they do. Very vain.”
And then there was that awkward silence. Looking at him full-on the way she had yesterday seemed today to feel too intimate. His taking her to the grammar school had felt deeply personal. And private. Though they didn’t build on it, she felt it was the starting line, the platform, forged years ago when they were children. On that, they could agree. As to where their relationship was going…well, that would have to be to be another story.
They ordered their brunch, and while waiting, she decided to add some discussion to the awkwardness about their kiss yesterday and what it might portend.
“Ryan and I used to love coming here for late breakfast, when we could. Summer times are best for me since I don’t have preschool. But he wasn’t always home in the summer, so it was a treat when we could come here.”
“This place used to be a bank or something when I left for Europe.”
“Yes. It was.”
“It’s nice. I like it.”
She was just thinking the same thing about his fresh-washed face and his smooth lips.
He looked to the side and watched an old man cross the street. She could tell he had something he wanted to tell her, just like when they were kids. Then he poured the blue-eyed charm over her, gave her a crooked half-smile, and cocked his head. “I’ve made some decisions about my future.”
She arched her eyebrows and leaned forward.
“I’m going to give the Teams a try, Steph.”
Her heart dropped to the floor. His voice droned on, like she was listening to a conversation from under water.
He can’t be serious.
“Why, Patrick?”
He carefully leaned back in his chair and watched her. “I want to do something like what Ryan did. Make a contribution. The pay is good with soccer, and I know it stinks in the Navy, but I’ve already figured that out. I’d have to make some huge adjustments, like sell my flat in London, and be careful with my spending habits. But I’ve saved quite a bit these past few years, and I could do it.”
“I’m not talking about the money aspect. Why would you willingly put yourself in harm’s way? You don’t have to.”
“Did Ryan have to? Really have to?”
She considered this. “Yes. I think he did. He was driven to be a warrior of some kind. He had this code of honor.”
Patrick covered his mouth, leaned his head back, and looked at her beneath lowered eyelids, like he was looking through wire-rimmed bifocals. “And you don’t think I have that code of honor?”
“No. That’s not what I’m saying—”
“You don’t think I put on the jersey of my team and play like a warrior? You don’t see me like Ryan did, doing what Ryan did? Being a hero?”
The waiter brought their food, but now Stephanie wasn’t hungry.
“Is that what you do, play the part of a hero?”
“It isn’t a part, Steph. I save the ball. I protect the box. With my body.”
“Seriously, Patrick, you don’t think there is any comparison to—”
He suddenly leaned forward and placed his palm over hers. “Careful, Steph.”
He refused to look at her for the rest of their meal. Stephanie knew she’d hit a nerve and regretted not holding back. She felt horrible.
He drove her to her house and parked the rental in front. They had ridden in silence. The distance between them suddenly felt wider than the ocean. Her heart was breaking from the pain of losing Ryan, and despite how guarded she’d been, she knew she had a new scar. Was the grieving process going to be like this? One of her friends had suggested she talk to someone, and she’d thought talking to Patrick would be the best choice, that together they could—what?
What had she expected? Neither of them was whole enough to really help the other. With the damage already done, she decided to level with him about a few things. Turning in her seat, she hoped he would understand what she was going to tell him.
“He had to do it, Patrick. He was driven to do it.” She spoke to the side of his face. His profile would always be a thing of beauty. He was one of those men who could be considered pretty, he was so handsome. His nose was long and thin. His naturally tanned skin glowed in the sunlight, the dark stubble giving him just enough of the bad boy look to make him exciting and accentuate full, rosy lips. But despite his confident demeanor, she knew something was eating on him from the inside. She’d picked a scab. Would Patrick trust her with the knowledge of what it was? She continued.
“I didn’t want Ryan to go onto the Teams. We didn’t get married because I was so mad at him for just enlisting without telling me. We’d talked about it, and he’d completely misread how I felt. We should have talked more. But no, he just went and did it.”
Patrick began to nod. “I remember that time.” He inhaled and blew it all out. “I tried my darndest to talk him out of it, too. Of course, it was hard, because I was calling from London. I had no clout.”
“Neither did I,” she said.
“He wouldn’t listen.”
She saw moisture collect in the corner of his eye, then sighed and decided to keep talking anyway. “I was angry because I felt he’d put the Navy in front of me, and because he didn’t consult me when he knew it was going to affect my whole life. We hadn’t quite decided to get married at that point, but all the signs were pointing that way. We had a horrible fight that night. He accused me of secretly writing you, talking to you.”
Patrick wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Me?”
“It’s because we both told him the truth. We were both telling him the same things, in almost the same words.”
“He didn’t have anything to prove,” Patrick murmured. She watched him struggle to hide the tears, even going so far as to tilt his head back against the headrest to hide them. “I must have said it a dozen times.”
“And that’s what I told him, too, Patrick. It probably sounded like we’d rehearsed it.” She turned to face forward as she finished, “I told him I loved him just the way he was. He got really angry, so I finally told him if he joined the Teams, I wouldn’t marry him. He went off to the Great Lakes Training Center without a girlfriend, Patrick. We broke it off. My heart was sick. I didn’t hear from him for four months.”
“I didn’t know that. What changed your mind?”
“Ryan. I realized I was in love with him. I think I’ve always been in love with him. And the more I was around him, the more I became convinced I could do this.” She felt her cheeks blush. “He was very charming. He won me over, tried really hard to be someone I could fall completely for, and he was right,” she said to her lap. “And this, this—what happened to him—this is exactly what I was afraid of.”
She was aware that Patrick sat motionless but was watching every strand of hair fall forward, every pucker and ripple of her blouse, every tear that coursed down her cheek. She tried not to notice the electric tension in the front seat or the way she started to feel his heat as he leaned forward, raised her chin with his thumb and forefinger, and said, in the sweetest apology she’d ever heard, “I’m sorry,” before kissing her.
His kiss was even more intoxicating than the last one. He
wasn’t going to linger, so as he pulled away, she leaned into him and kept their mouths close. “It’s not your fault,” she whispered back while she studied those eyes the color of a summer sky.
She felt a tightening in her belly, and her clothes felt restrictive. It was heavenly to close her stinging eyes, which intensified the ache in her lower abdomen. Patrick kissed her eyelids, one by one, and then repeated it, as if applying some healing agent.
She didn’t expect to hear his breath in her ear or to hear as his tongue wetted his lips, the nibbling sounds of little kisses under her ear, behind it, and then down her neck. She had never touched or even been this close to his forehead or inhaled his musky man scent and allowed it to wash over her.
She became putty in his hands, and the slow unwrapping of her soul when his fingers found her breasts and squeezed made her feel tethered to him. He was her shelter in the storm, the safe island in the middle of a raging emotional sea, and for right now, she’d take it, this one little taste of passion. The glow in her chest reminded her of the promise of another sunny day, regardless of the tragedy of the day before.
But just as every dream has a dawn, their moment together in the front seat couldn’t go further for her. She suspected he could. Probably did. Probably did a lot.
It also bothered her that he planned to give up soccer and try out for the SEAL teams. Once again, she hadn’t been part of that decision, not that she had a right to be in this case. But she didn’t want to go there.
She’d been fairly proud of herself, but then the tears welled again, and this time it was her turn to lean back and stare at the visor. She took a deep breath, blew it out, and tried to settle the confusing things going on inside her body.
This is what it felt like to be fourteen. Even as a woman she could remember the passion boiling inside her back then and the total lack of experience and fear that overbalanced it. In the midst of that confusing tug of war, with the addition of a little time, she learned how to grow up and become a woman worthy of being loved.
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