Nashville SEAL: Jameson: Nashville SEALs

by Sharon Hamilton

“Jameson didn’t tell me you were coming, Liz.”

  “I didn’t tell him. It’s a surprise. Please let’s keep it that way.”

  “Well, he’s already gone back to the Millenium. I gotta stay here for a bit, but I can send you over in the limo. We’re not leaving here for at least another half hour.”

  “A limo?”

  “Yea. Riding in style now. I’ll just have the driver drop you off like he did Jameson earlier.”

  “Okay. I’ll take you up on that. Now, don’t tell him!”

  “Your secret’s safe with me, Liz.” He whistled for the limo, brought her inside the gated area and helped her into the back seat. “He’s in a foul mood. I’m glad you’re here. I think he misses you something terrible.”

  “I’ll see if I can fix that. Thanks, Thomas.” She was about to put the window up when she asked as an afterthought. “Hey, how did he do?”

  “They loved him.”

  “Did he get to meet some record people?”

  “There’s a whole a list of those who want to meet with him tomorrow morning, so no late night parties, okay? But yea, he did good. Lots of people are looking at him now.”

  Lizzie was heartened on the one hand, and on the other, was mildly apprehensive. The screaming crowds, security, gated access, and riding in a limo, were all things far distant from their current lifestyle. To hear he was also in a bad mood concerned her.

  The hotel entrance was well-lit. As the stretch vehicle pulled up, an attendant opened her door. She gave the driver ten dollars, slung her satchel over her shoulder again and asked if he could double check the room number. He verified it was the same as what Jameson had given her.

  She’d worn a long dress and boots, which she hoped she’d be able to get out of very soon. She entered the lobby women’s bathroom and removed all her underwear to give Jameson a little extra thrill, stuffing her panties and bra into her carry-on. She wondered if she’d have the courage to show up at his doorway wearing just the boots. She hoped the halls were devoid of activity so she could pull this off.

  She pushed the button for the eleventh floor and anxiously waited. When doors opened on Jameson’s floor, she tiptoed down the hall until she found his suite. The doors were ajar. Nice music was coming from inside and she could smell scented candles.

  Dammit, Thomas told him!

  She looked both ways and heard no one coming and the elevator was silent. She’d come this far. I’m in it all the way. She dropped her dress at her ankles and stepped toward the door. Never in her life had she stood naked in a motel hallway. Never had she approached Jameson, risking exposure from strangers. It started to make her feel hot. Maybe he expected her all right, but he would never expect this. She pushed one of the doors aside and surveyed the room, full of lit candles, and Jameson’s backside to her. Leaning to the right, she saw a naked woman sipping champagne, smiling at her husband. He took a step back.

  Jameson had taken a drink at the bar when the limo had dropped him off. What he really needed was a good night’s sleep, since he’d gotten up so early in San Diego to make the early flight out. The time zone difference was getting to him. But first, he wanted to settle his nerves, and perhaps give a call to Lizzie.

  He didn’t want to wake her, so only tried one time. When she didn’t pick up, he left a quick, “I love you,” message.

  He was approached by an attractive brunette.

  “You up for a party, Cowboy?”

  Her eyes were a bit too hard, and not honest. He figured her for a working girl. “Sorry, not interested.”

  She persisted trying to touch his ear and it irritated him.

  “Fuck off and leave me alone!”

  What was he going to say to Thomas in the morning? To the record producer who wanted to talk about picking up some of his songs? And he had meetings with two other representatives of the big houses who nabbed him while he was storming out.

  He was lonely. He was missing his family. And he felt betrayed by his best friend. He’d wished now that he’d never come.

  On his way out of the bar, he checked his cell phone and saw there was still no message back from Lizzie. He rode the elevator to his floor, walked down the hallway and came upon the suite’s double doors. He hadn’t thought he’d left music on, but there definitely was some wafting through the doors. He inserted his key and stepped inside.

  At first, he wasn’t sure he’d walked into the correct room and started to turn, but he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and stopped. An attractive brunette had been soaking in the jetted tub. When she saw him, she stood, soap bubbles sluicing down her slim body, as she stepped out of the tub and without drying off, picked up a champagne flute and put it to her lips.

  The room was full of lit candles. He saw rose petals spread over the floor, making a trail to the large king-sized bed beyond. The lady didn’t wait for him to figure it out. She headed right for him, holding out the flute filled with bubbly.

  “I’m your little bonus present, Jameson. Here to welcome you to the good life you deserve and to help you celebrate your success. I just love your music. Just love it.”

  Her shapely form was hard not to stare at, but he stopped her. He’d heard this line every night when he was single and took in a stray female who tracked him down.

  “Just hold it right there, missy. This isn’t my thing. Who sent you?”

  “I sent myself. I followed the limo.”

  Jameson cursed under his breath.

  “We’ve met before. Actually, we’ve done this before, and here in Nashville too. No reason to be nervous or shy. We had ourselves one hell of a time back then. I’m lookin’ to double that luck tonight.” She licked her lips and sipped from her flute while twisting one of her nipples with her thumb and two fingers on her other hand. She started to sashay over to him.

  Jameson backed up and away from her, toward the doorway entrance of his suite. And when he did so, he stepped into something, stepped onto a person’s small foot. He heard the sorrowful moan behind him. Thinking he’d really hurt someone with his clumsiness, he turned and came face-to-face with his wife, also wearing nothing at all.

  Chapter 16

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  Lizzie’s stomach churned and her vision started to blacken on the periphery, threatening a black out. Her heart thumped like a kettledrum, making her fingers tingle. Her cheeks flushed but not from lust, from anger, which grew into a monster completely overtaking her. Summoning all the strength she had inside to tear her eyes off the beautiful woman with the flat tummy and flawless white flesh, her store-bought tits perfectly formed and perky, she finally looked into the eyes of the man she thought she’d loved.

  And now hated with everything she could muster. She hated how she must have been used. She’d trusted him, brought him into their lives—into Charlotte’s life! What had she done? How could she have been such a poor judge of character to let this sorry excuse for a man share her bed and her passion? To share Charlotte?

  She realized she was grinding her teeth together when he looked shock and came for her.

  “Get away from me!” Her voice screamed all the pain and betrayal she could not bring herself to say in words.

  “Lizzie—this isn’t what it seems.” He was going to give her some long excuse but there wasn’t anything from this man’s mouth she ever wanted to hear again.

  “Apparently I’m the one who owes you an apology. I didn’t mean to upset your evening. I’ll just get dressed and exit out of your life, Jameson. I had no idea you had need of a surrogate to—”

  “Listen to me, Lizzie. I didn’t bring her!”

  Lizzie noticed the brunette had her arms crossed, rolling her eyes, sipping on her champagne. She was the kind of woman who would take the detritus from a man who only had his worst part to share. She’d fuck him all night long without thinking anything of his commitment to his wife and the mother of his child. A cold bitch she wanted to kick right in the stomach.

  But then she realized she to
o was bare, completely bare, standing in her ridiculous new red boots. The scent from the candles was getting to her nose and she sneezed, and then just let the tears flow. She dropped her bag, and rummaged through it for her dress, pulling it over her without putting on her underwear.

  Jameson had her in his arms. “Lizzie. This is all a mistake. This is me. I would never do this to you.”

  She didn’t want to hear it. The anger and resentment, the years of raising Charlotte on her own, telling herself some day he’d come back and make things right when it was time, all the control she’d exerted over her emotions flew out the window. She struggled to wiggle free, getting her right arm loose as he tried to hold her to his chest. Angling back, she swung, catching him across the cheek with a satisfying slap.

  The brunette puckered her pouty lips and produced deep worry lines at her forehead.

  Jameson let Lizzie go, rocked back in his boots, stunned. Staggering, he fell back into an overstuffed chair behind him.

  “Don’t you ever contact me again. How dare you do this to Charlotte!”

  “But I didn’t. Honest. You have to believe me.”

  “I’ve believed you all right. Just look at what I get for my troubles. I can’t even describe how I feel. You bring a slut between us, some bimbo with tits—”

  “Hey! That’s offensive,” the brunette said, her hand on her hip.

  Both Jameson and Lizzie yelled back at her, “Shut up!”

  Her eyebrows rose, then she turned slowly, revealing a just as impressive backside, and, approaching the bed, sat on the edge and crossed her legs to wait.

  Lizzie picked up her satchel and held her arm out when Jameson got up again and began to approach her. “I said don’t touch me or I’ll scream and cause a scene. Stay away!”

  “Honey, you’ve got this all wrong. I didn’t do this. She did.”

  “And how did she get the key? Obviously she expected something from you. Why would someone just break into a stranger’s room light candles and leave fuckin’ rose petals everywhere—”

  “We’re old friends, sweetie,” the brunette said coyly.

  “Oh! So this is an old flame? Perfect! I hope you two have one helluva night.”

  “No. This is not what it looks like. I got back and she was just here. Honest. I don’t even remember meeting her before—”

  Lizzie could see he regretted the misstep. He stopped, his face drawn and obviously in pain, but she didn’t want to see that. Nothing could match the betrayal she felt toward him.

  “You know, Thomas told me what a foul mood you were in. Now I fully understand. You had to just go fuck something to feel human. That’s what was wrong. And here I’ve been feeding that addiction.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks, as she let her anger fly. She didn’t care what she looked like or even if she made any sense. “You gave me all this bullshit about—”

  “Just hold on a minute, Lizzie. This isn’t right.” He pointed to the brunette. “You get the fuck out of my room or I’ll call the cops myself. You have no business—”

  Lizzie stopped him. “Don’t bother. She looks expensive. You might as well get your money’s worth.”

  Lizzie turned and left the suite. She could hear the two of them arguing and then heard the sounds of Jameson running down the hallway after her.

  “Don’t go. Lizzie, I can explain.” He reached out to grab her arm and she withdrew.

  “I said don’t touch me. I never want to see you again. When you get home, I’ll be gone. And don’t try to find me, either.”

  The elevator doors opened. “I can’t let you go! You can’t do this.” He grabbed her, trying to stop her fingers from scratching his face. She kneed him in the groin and as he doubled over, she pushed him to the floor like she’d been taught in her classes. She slapped the elevator button with the palm of her hand and the doors reopened. Her last sight of him was lying on his side, crying like a fuckin’ baby.

  She stood tall, inhaled, waited for the doors to close, separating them, and then she burst into tears.

  Chapter 17

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  “Listen, sweetie, I left my card—” the brunette started to say, pointing to the coffee table.

  “Get the fuck out!” He pushed her shoulder through the doorway and slammed the doors.

  He’d been trying to get Lizzie on her cell, not paying attention to the lady who was taking her sweet ass time in getting dressed and babbling on about one of her ex-husbands. As if he wanted to hear anything about her. As if he even cared she was a human being. He didn’t want to have anything to remember her by, not her history, not her body, not what she’d tried to do and he sure as hell didn’t want to talk about her sex life or what they’d done before. He just wanted her gone.

  Lizzie wasn’t picking up. He threw the phone on the bed, where it bouced and then safely landed next to the little divot made by the brunette’s butt cheeks earlier as she sat and waited.

  Christ. You are a major asshole and a half. The biggest colosal fuckup in the history of fuckups. You suck the guts out of bugs that live in rotting corpses. You deserve to eat dogshit the rest of your life!

  Nothing matched in words what his insides felt like.

  With his elbows on his knees, hunched over on the couch, he wanted to rip his hair out by the roots. He’d never been so angry. He wanted to blame the brunette. Wanted to blame Lizzie for not believing in him. Blame Thomas for getting him into this concert mess in the first place. But in the end, the only person he could blame was himself.

  Being perfectly honest, he knew something like this could have happened in real life if he’d remained a performer. He knew he was a shit. Worthless and not deserving of anyone’s love. Especially someone like Lizzie.

  Had he just been fooling himself? Thinking somehow he wasn’t that guy who came into town, knocked up the pretty little girl, smooth-talked her parents, looked her father in the eyes like the louse he was. Looked right at him, with the words screaming in his brain, “I’ve been fucking your daughter. I’ve fucked her in the horse barn, in your bed, on the lawn in the backyard and in the woods you can see from your living room.” That’s who he really was. He was just a worthless singer who enjoyed the fantasy of being a hit songwriter. He didn’t even have Thomas’ guts to strut around for twenty years or more pretending. He wanted quick fame and fortune, expecting so much and deserving so little.

  So maybe becoming a SEAL wasn’t about defending his country and their way of life. Maybe it was just a way of atonement, making up for being such a worthless piece of shit. Something he could show everyone and say, “See me? I’m really more worthy than you!” Was it that? Was that what it was about?

  It hurt, but he hung his head and realized Lizzie would be better off without him. The pain of losing her, of losing Charlotte, which was the worst of it, was nearly unbearable. The poor little thing had just found her daddy, and now he’d destroyed her mother’s life. Taken away the only thing she could give him at four years of age: her trust.

  He contemplated taking his life, but didn’t pack his gun. He should go after her, but why? He was dead to her. His coming back into her life, even if she’d let him, would only cause her more pain and heartache. It was best to let her go. Maybe she’d have a change of heart, and then he’d have to be strong and walk away. That was what was best for everyone.

  How was he going to get over the next few hours until he could get himself back to San Diego? He didn’t want to be here. He never wanted to come back to this town again. Should he go out and get drunk? If he did, he’d not be able to use a car, but he could take a Taxi, or the train, or fly home. Should he just get drunk and pass out here? Then he’d have to talk to all those people—Thomas and the execs—and explain why he couldn’t go on stage tomorrow. Ask them to leave him alone. “Thanks for the ticket and the room and all, but I’m passing on the whole thing.”

  He covered his face with his hands. He had to find her to make sure she was safe. But she would run away from hi
m. Who would she call? Who could he contact?

  Kendra!

  He scrolled down his phone and found her number. It went straight to voicemail. No doubt, Lizzie had already contacted her. He was impatient with Kendra’s long greeting.

  “Kendra? This is Jameson. Hey, Lizzie and I have had an awful fight and she’s left. She came to Nashville. Not sure if you knew that or not. She might run down to see you in Charlotte. I just want to know she’s okay, because it’s late and, well, I was a stupid sonofabitch. I’m calling just to beg you to try to find her. She won’t have anything to do with me now. Please find her, and please tell me she’s okay, that she’s safe. And I’m real sorry about this cryptic message. I’m just torn up inside. You have my number.”

  As the reality of what had occurred descended further, he remembered that in five days he’d be on a plane to Africa to conduct a high-level secret mission to capture a Somali warlord. Closing his eyes, he surveyed what was left of his insides. He was grateful for the conclusion that he had what it took to enter into that arena.

  Maybe if he was lucky, he’d get shot and that would be the end of everything. But there was a problem with that. He couldn’t do that. SEALs don’t give up. They might die fighting, or die defending someone or another Team Guy, but they sure as hell don’t give up.

  He knew he’d been trained to put the chaos of this part of his life to the side. Put a lid on that urn filled with the smoldering ash that was his marriage, and place it on the shelf out of eyesight. Because what he had to focus on was keeping his buddies safe. If he was thinking about his marriage, and if he couldn’t stop thinking about Lizzie, he had no business going on the mission. He’d put all the men on Kyle’s squad at risk and the civilian population as well.

  Can you do this? He asked himself this question over and over again.

  The answer came to him crisp and clear like a ice blue lake in the Sierras.

  Yes!

  Chapter 18