Big Daddy SEAL

by Mickey Miller

  One

  “Excuse me,” the woman’s voice was as sweet and distant as a pleasant dream.

  Grass beneath me, the sounds of cars busily rushing by, the briskly intermittent breeze and the bathing warmth of the sun.

  Fuck, I was outside.

  I hated waking up outside.

  The birds were the worst pressure point on my massive hangover. Their sharp tweets cut through my ears like an ice pick.

  “Hello, shirtless man? You can't be here,” said the voice more insistently. Was I still dreaming? It sounded way too familiar to be anything but a dream.

  I covered my face, fighting the waking world, determined to go back to sleep. I had no idea what time it was, but I knew that it was way too damn early for me to be coherent.

  “Excuse me,” the woman repeated, getting closer. She was trying to hide the bookish timidity from her voice.

  That voice was crazy familiar...

  “For Christ's sake you're excused.” I grumbled as loudly as I could, shifting my arm to further shield my face the relentless sunlight. “Now let me sleep.”

  She scoffed at my bluntness.

  The kick in the ribs I received wasn't bookish or sweet.

  “Fuck me, that's a rude way to treat a guest.” I recoiled, rolling away onto my stomach. My long, dirty-blond hair cascaded down both sides of my face as I lifted myself from a push up position. Once I got my knees under me I shot a quick glance at her, but my eyes hadn't adjusted fully so I only caught a glimpse before the intensity of the sun forced me to look away.

  Her long, layered, brown hair had soft curls and was pulled back into a ponytail. She had a slight, yet athletic frame, and wore a gray dress. Was that the glint of glasses I saw?

  Wasn't the girl last night a redhead? I also didn't remember her being this gorgeous...

  “Rude?! Guest?!” Her tone screamed the gall of this man!

  That didn't make any sense. I distinctly remember being invited to the party last night by a few fans. They wanted me here. Why was I being yelled at?

  My ears were still faintly humming from all the music I had played.

  I carelessly rubbed my sore chest and abs to get off the matted grass and dirt. It was a useless effort; all my tattoos made the mess impossible to see, let alone brush off. I desperately needed a shower. I cocked my head to the side, and through my hanging hair caught the pretty brunette gawking.

  She could try to hide it, but I could tell that she liked what she saw. Damn right, I thought. I don’t work out five times a week to not look good.

  “Yeah, guest. You invited me.” My long hair blanketed my head like an overturned mop. With the speed and precision of someone who was just hit by a car, I grabbed the wadded fabric in my back pocket and pulled out a purple G-string. “These are yours aren’t they?”

  “Eww, no! And this is school property. No one invited you to sleep here!”

  “What?” I flipped my hair back and took in the surroundings. If they weren't hers, then where the hell was I?

  The long rectangular building loomed nearby, obviously some kind of school. I spotted the playground peeking out from the back of the nicely remodeled building.

  Oh wonderful. I'm shirtless and reeking of booze in front of an elementary school. Definitely not one of the high points of my life... Yeah, this won't make it into my autobiography. I was glad it was Saturday.

  At least I hoped it was Saturday...

  Either way there were no children around, thankfully. Although, I'd probably make a good example of what not to do when you grow up.

  Then it got worse. I spotted the name on the building—Matt Baker Elementary school. Matt Baker. That's where I was?

  “Oh shit…” I muttered. That's why she looked and sounded so familiar.

  “Your eyes... Hazel,” she said in wistful tones, not trusting her own eyes.

  My face puckered up and my eyes clamped shut as if bracing for a hit. Stupidity always hurt much more than physical pain. Of all the places I could've drunkenly stumbled last night, why'd I pick here?

  I fucked up. Bad.

  “Luke?” Molly Baker gasped; the dream of her past finally becoming real.

  Just waking up, being hung over and crashing in an unfamiliar place was a perfect storm for my brain to be a fucking wreck. Still... There was no excuse. I should've known much sooner.

  I'd heard that voice every night while I slept for ten long years.

  I snapped my eyes open and saw her. Really saw her. Suddenly I was as awake as someone who got a shot of adrenaline straight to the vein. My heart began to claw its way into the back of my throat.

  It really was her...

  She was impossibly prettier than I remembered.

  “Molly.” The name tumbled from my lips. I needed a few more lifetimes to figure what to say to her. I'm sorry. I didn't know. It wasn't my choice to leave you. Every day I wanted to come back for you.

  Every single day.

  I knew every inch of Molly's sun-kissed skin and the way her light freckles were only visible in some light. Her lips were glossy pink pillows made of clouds on a perfect afternoon and her eyes were the color of amber at dusk.

  I'd always thought about what this moment would be like if it ever happened. I'd planned it a thousand times in a thousand ways. Sometimes she'd be walking by when I'd stop her and tell her how much I missed her. Other times I'd just show up at her door, and ask her out so I could explain everything. Every time I met her in my head it was on my terms and usually with a bouquet of flowers.

  So much for best laid plans…

  I at least thought I'd have more clothes on when we met.

  “Molly I—” the crack of her knuckles stole the rest of my sentence and snapped my head back.

  “Ow, shit. That hurt!” Molly's arm recoiled. She scowled, shaking the pain out of her hand.

  “OK, I deserved that.” I wiped the blood trickling down my nose. It was a good punch, but she didn't break anything. It did however kick my headache into overdrive. Fortunately it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. Especially not when there was so much to say.

  “Where'd you learn how to punch like that?”

  “I picked up a few things in the ten years since you abandoned me.” Molly rubbed her sore knuckles.

  “Molly, I'm—”

  “Don't you dare.” She balled her fists back up. Was she going to punch me for trying to apologize? “You don't get to do that. You can't just roll into town without a word, say you’re sorry and expect everything to be forgiven.”

  “This wasn't the way I was hoping this would go.” I licked the blood off my teeth and wiped my mouth and light beard again.

  “We don't always get what we want, do we?” Her beautiful brown eyes narrowed. “I see you've stayed busy.” Her eyes flicked down at the thong in my fist.

  “These aren’t mine.” I sighed. No shit. “I mean these aren’t what you think—”

  I wish I wasn’t so hung over. This looked much worse than it was. The redhead at the party stuffed them into my pocket and said they were the key to her bedroom. I left shortly after that. I never made it into the house, let alone her bedroom. I definitely never touched her.

  “You know what? I don’t even want to know.”

  Fuck!

  There was no way Molly would believe what really happened. I was a rock star with all the trappings—fans, groupies, the whole nine yards...

  Hell, I wouldn't believe me.

  What no one knew was that getting underwear thrown at me was a surprisingly common occurrence. Sometimes it didn't even happen while I was on stage. There's another side to fame that no one gives a shit about.

  The sad, honest truth was that I hadn't had sex with anyone in a long time.

  I looked around for a trash can and saw one near where my bike was parked, but I wasn't ready to leave things like this with Molly. I shoved the panties back into my pocket.

  What else could I do? I wasn't about to throw them on the lawn
of an elementary school, especially not one named after her dead brother.

  “The new school looks nice.” I began remembering how I got here. This was my first stop when I came into town last night. I heard the renovations were finally finished and I had to see it with my own eyes.

  “Anonymous donation. It turns out there are nice, thoughtful people in the world after all.”

  “Yeah… I’m sorry to hear about Matt.”

  “Don’t. Just…” Molly took a deep breath and exhaled. “I want you to go, Luke.”

  “Molly. Wait a second.” I took a step in and grabbed her arms. Her perfume wafted up between us. She smelled like heaven. Now that she was so close, it was hard to stop myself from hugging her like when we were kids.

  If I did that I'd never be able to let her go.

  Why couldn't we have that again?

  I could see the spark in her eyes and it wasn't just because I was half naked. I knew those looks. I saw them all the time from girls that only saw me as a rock star or as a ripped piece of meat.

  Molly's was different.

  Yeah, I could feel her pulse and breath racing. I knew she was still attracted to me, but there was so much more in those brown eyes. There was pissed off anger and pain. And beyond that there was something else.

  There was still a glimmer of the girl I used to know back before it all fell to shit.

  And I could never truly give up on that girl. Ever.

  Her expression softened and her eyes turned up, then closed. She was allowing herself to just feel. So much time had passed, but what we had was truly special. You couldn’t just recover from something like that.

  It stayed with you for the rest of your life.

  “A day hasn’t gone by where I didn’t think about you.” The distance between us evaporated like boiling water. “I’m so sorry I had to leave.”

  “This time don't come back.” Molly pulled her arms away at the last moment and turned her back on me. “I've moved on.”

  Molly walked away from me.

  Richard

  Two

  “Greetings, Master King. I'll be your driver for the duration of your stay in Caldwell Hope.” The driver introduced himself once I stepped out of the open door.

  I nodded in acknowledgment, and he immediately began loading my luggage from my jet into the short white limo.

  Even through my dark sunglasses, my eyes needed a moment to adjust against the midday glare that boiled off the runway's tarmac. The cloudless sun turned my throbbing hangover into a stabbing spike.

  I desperately needed coffee.

  I snapped open the top button of my collared shirt. It was hot in a way that only the southwestern states got in late spring. It was probably going to be a scorcher of a summer.

  Fortunately I wouldn't be here long enough to find out.

  My driver finished with the luggage, then straightened his posture and opened the limo door for me. He thoughtfully added, “Welcome home, Sir.”

  “Home,” I rolled the word around in my mouth like an expensive wine that was too bitter for my palate. Not for me. Not anymore.

  Once this meeting with my father and brother was finished, Caldwell Hope, would go back to being a place I rarely thought about and never visited.

  The lovely British flight attendant leaned against the doorway wearing only a towel and a satisfied smile. My white Panama hat hung limply in her hand. She was a talented girl and was just what I needed to make the trip back here tolerable.

  I gave her an easy smile and a kiss on the cheek, then took the hat and put it on. That was better. I straightened my vest and brushed down my tailored pants, then stepped into the air conditioned car. With a good hat and a nice watch I could be buck naked and still feel comfortable.

  “Are you from around here, James?” I asked the chauffeur. He was surprisingly young. I was thirty-one, and this was the first time I'd ever had a driver who was younger than me.

  “Yes, Sir. Born and raised.”

  “Fantastic. Do you know the way to the Village Bean? I need a coffee.” There was no way I was going to deal with whatever my father had in store for us without some caffeine to clear my head. “Call me Richard. I get enough 'Sirs' at the office.”

  “I'm sorry, S-” James had to catch himself as it probably went against everything he'd been taught. “The Village Bean closed about ten years ago I believe. I know another place that's just as good, if you'd like.”

  Ten years? Had I really been gone that long? I quickly did the math and realized it was actually longer than that.

  What else had changed?

  I agreed and James drove us into town. My quiet, little prison had apparently flourished over the years and become quite the vacation spot. The familiar low mountains framed the downtown strip, but almost everything else had changed or been updated.

  Bouquets of pink and white flowers hung in the rough-hewn brick buildings that connected several trendy looking shops. The whole area, down to the signage, had a unified, quaint theme about it.

  It had certainly grown more charming in my absence.

  We slowed to a stop outside a record store. I was about to ask him about it when I spotted the A-shaped sign on the sidewalk in front of the store. “Black Rocket Records,” the sign said.

  Beneath that it bragged, “We dare you to find a better damn cup of coffee.”

  The place had style. That's for sure.

  James asked what he could get for me, but I waved him off. The record store had piqued my interest, and after the long flight I wanted to stretch my legs anyway.

  I took my hat and sunglasses off as I walked in. Black Rocket Records was more than just its namesake. There were racks of old books, records, novelties, coffee bar and even a stage for live music. Teenagers' paradise.

  Heads started turning and a few people stepped out of my way. It might have been a long time since I'd been back here, but people had TVs and smart phones. They knew who I was.

  I smiled back at a few pretty girls and shook one guy’s hand who let me cut in front of him at the coffee line. I wasn't looking for special treatment, but who was I to say no? The line was only a few people long and no else seemed to have a problem with it so I stepped up to the ordering station.

  “Hello?” I asked, looking around. The wall behind the register was lined with all sorts of fancy presses, slow drips, steamers and brewing stations. They were all actively in the process of doing…something.

  I leaned forward resting my cufflinks atop a glass counter top—which encapsulated an elaborate collage of Alice in Wonderland pictures—and asked again, louder this time.

  It was all very trendy, but where was the barista?

  “One second!” A strained female voice sharply called up from beneath the bar. “How many?”

  “I'd like a coffee?” Why would they want to know how many before what kind?

  “Yeah, no shit. How many?” The annoyed voice snapped back.

  I cocked an eyebrow at the rudeness of the disembodied voice. I couldn't even remember the last time someone took that tone with me. No, thanks, I thought prepping to leave. There are plenty of other coffee places in town.

  I was in the process of turning to leave when the barista finally popped straight up with a stack of cups in each arm.

  She was short, petite, had a shock of short black hair and was pale enough to make a vampire envious. She wore a faded, black, obscure band T-shirt, had glittering studs running up both her ears, and eye shadow dark enough to drain the light from the room.

  I'd never been into the alt-rock girls, but right away I could tell there was something very different about this one.

  I glanced down her slight form for a name tag, but of course she didn't have one. Maybe it was that she was so far from the perfect blonde Hollywood type that got my blood pumping. Or maybe it was her eyes. She had these light gray irises that crackled like storm clouds before a hard rain.

  Suddenly coffee was the last thing on my mind. Who was t
his girl?

  “Well?” the barista asked impatiently, wiping the sweat from her face with the crook of her elbow.

  “Caffè Macchiato,” I started my order, but was quickly interrupted with an annoyed look and an upraised index finger.

  I followed the pointing gesture to a sign above her head that read, “Coffee made our way. Deal with it.”

  “Are you always this rude? Or am I just the lucky punching bag today?”

  The barista narrowed her eyes. “That's kind of our whole deal here. That and I don't like those that cut in line.”

  How had she even seen me? Was she part ninja?

  I was just about to protest that they all let me pass when a tall blonde woman stepped up behind the barista, cutting her off.

  “Hi there! I'm Judy.” She was as chipper as the dark haired girl was not. It was a stark contrast. “I saw your interview on the Late Show. You did such a good job. So handsome in that pinstripe suit! It's so nice to meet you! We're more of a self serve kind of place, but we can make an exception for one of the Kings of Caldwell Hope. That was a Caffè Macchiato, right?”

  Her voice was cotton candy and her cadence was rapidly popping popcorn. Did this woman ever breathe? Now I desperately needed the coffee just to follow this conversation.

  “Hi.” I squeezed the greeting in somewhere between her flood of words. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Gloria makes it much better than I could ever dream of!” Judy switched from me to her raven-haired partner. “Would you mind?” She held up her hands in a pleading motion then mouthed the word “Please.”

  I smiled at their unlikely dynamic. It was obvious that they were peers, probably co-owners.

  How did that work?

  I couldn't imagine two people more different. They were the sun and the moon.

  Gloria sighed at Judy's cheeriness, then walked off toward the self service station without giving me another glance. I couldn't take my eyes off her as she left. When she stepped out from the bar I could see her mid-thigh-length black skirt and milky, smooth legs.

  The sight of her slight form swaying got my blood pumping.