Wanted: Wife 4 Navy Seals: A Military romance

by Dee Palmer

  “Yes, he was protecting me because, funnily enough, people are very quick to judge what is none of their fucking business,” I snap, and he balks at the strength of pride in my retort.

  “I’m sorry, Finn; this is a bit of a shock. Give me a minute.” He drags his hand through his hair, and I watch as he tries to process what I’ve told him.

  I feel an unpleasant claw and twist in my gut when the sadness and hurt begin to filter into his dark eyes. I hurt him, I can see it as clear as day, and I’m ashamed to say I knew I would when I spewed the words like I did. He’s a proud man, but if he really wants me, he has to know the truth. I won’t lie, and I may not be proud of the way I told him, but I’m not ashamed of where I am and who I’m with. He straightens his shoulder after a moment and inhales a deep, steady breath, and for the second time in almost as many minutes he renders me speechless. “I don’t care, Finn. I want you back. I love you, every part of you. Please be my wife.”

  “Dave, I… How can you say that?” I shake my head at his nonsense. “I know you. You loved the fact that you were my first and only, and now you’re just fine with me—”

  “Don’t…please. I get it, and believe me, the visual is cutting my heart right out as we speak, but I pushed you to do this. This is my fault, so I have to forgive you, and I do. Everyone deserves a second chance, Finn. Don’t I deserve mine?” I can’t look at him and see his tortured face, even though tears cloud my eyes and are streaming unchecked and relentless. I hear him calling my name, panic and pain in his voice, but I can’t. It hurts too fucking much. My feet are pounding the rough dirt road, legs burning from a speed I didn’t know I was capable of as I run blind, hopeless and heartbroken.

  I crash through the back door of the house with the intention of seeking the sanctuary of my bedroom and a locked door, but I run into a brick wall of hard, hot, T-shirt-clad muscle.

  “Hey, angel. You nearly knocked me out—what the hell?” Charge lifts my head with his large hands, making me feel so small and safe, protected and cherished. His worried eyes search mine, and my heart just about breaks all over again. I don’t know what to do. “Angel, what happened?” His soft voice is my undoing, and I collapse against him, knowing he’ll catch me.

  His arms circle me like a shield, and after a brief and comforting squeeze, he lifts me into his arms and carries me into his study. He sits us back on the low soft sofa, and I just hold him right back, as if that connection is my lifeline.

  My breathing steadies, and the sobs begin to subside, but he still hasn’t pushed me to explain myself. I take an unladylike sniff and shuffle back out of his hold, mourning the loss of his heat, but I need to find my own strength to process this complete and utter clusterfuck. Pulling my T-shirt up, I pat my cheeks dry and wipe my runny nose. He chuckles, making me smile, though I can’t quite laugh. I have too much shit weighing me down to do that.

  “Would you like a tissue?” He arches a comical brow.

  “Little late for that.” I shrug, dropping my soaked shirt, opting for the back of my hand. God, I’m a mess.

  “What happened? Because if he hurt you, angel, we have plenty of space to bury the body.” His tone is teasing. He takes my hand as I try and wrap my arms around my curled legs, needing not only to become as small as I can but impenetrable too. No such luck. He tugs me back into his hold, his hands soothing my skin, his soft lips in my hair.

  “He asked me to marry him.” His breath freezes as his whole body turns rigid as rock beneath me.

  “I see.” He speaks into my hair, his mouth still not moving away.

  “I told him about us…all of us. Why I was here.” I explain.

  “You wanted to push him away, so you didn’t have to make that choice.” Charge states his insight like its fact.

  “What? No! Maybe. I don’t know. I wanted to hurt him.” I rub the fresh trickle on my cheek dry with my clenched fist.

  “Did it?” His voice is a little clearer since he has lifted his head from mine.

  “Yes, but he still wants to marry me. He still wants me.” I look up as he looks down, his blue eyes like a stormy ocean, deep and dangerous.

  “I understand.” He holds my gaze, unwavering and penetrating. “We all want you, angel. I may not like the man, but he’s obviously not a complete idiot.”

  “Not a complete idiot, no,” I scoff.

  “So?” He tips my chin high, keeping the eye contact, as it starts to drop.

  “He said everyone deserves a second chance and…” I can feel the tears bubbling beyond my control and my stuttered breathing fails to contain the sobs.

  “I understand—”

  I snap my interruption as I pull from his light hold.

  “I swear to God, Charge, if you tell me you understand one more time, I will kick you in the goolies so damn hard—”

  “The what, now?” He coughs out a shocked short laugh.

  “Goolies, nuts, balls, knackers, testicles.” I go on.

  “Right. Okay, angel. I don’t want that, because if you choose us, I will definitely be needing them later.”

  “What? I didn’t say—” My heart feels the icy slice of truth piercing the flesh with his understanding and kindness.

  “Angel, I don’t think for a moment you wouldn’t be thinking about his offer. You loved him for a long time; you said so last night. All I will add, because I can see this is tearing you apart, is that just because we haven’t known you as long, doesn’t mean we don’t want you just as fiercely.”

  “I…I don’t know what to do, Charge. I can’t breathe for the pain. I feel the same, but I’ve loved him for so long, and he knows me.” I drop my head to my chest, and he lifts it again with a single finger.

  “I know you, angel.” Both his tone and his glare sear right through me, but I shake my head.

  “No, he really knows me, Charge. Everything. Things I haven’t had the courage to tell. All that ugly shit a person saves for a rainy day. All the shit someone keep locked in a dark corner in their mind… or under a T-shirt.” I frown, because I don’t mean for this to be about him. I don’t want to push him like this. That isn’t fair.

  “I know, angel, and I hate that I can’t give you what you want, but nothing you have in here is anything to be afraid of sharing.” He places his large hand over my heart.

  “I could say the same.” I exhale a shaky breath, my eyes raw from the endless stream of tears.

  “Maybe.” He wipes the collection of drops at my jaw, but they are relentless.

  “He knows me.” I sigh, defeated.

  “He knows what?” He slides from beneath me and walks across the room, agitation and frustration radiating off of him.

  “Charge, I’m not meaning to push you. Really, I want to know, but not like this. I’m just struggling to feel my way through this, and my head’s a fucking mess.”

  “I know, angel.” He’s swiftly back to sitting beside me, my hands clasped between his. “Don’t let your mother leaving you on the doorstep make you settle for just anyone because you feel you’re not worth wanting. Everyone who was supposed to protect you failed. Everyone who was supposed to want you—your mother, the abortion, your gran and how she treated you are all deplorable, but you’re—”

  “What did you say?” I stutter, and he freezes, his mouth making tentative sounds but his whole face is a picture of horror.

  “That you’re worth—”

  “No, not that.” I snap, and he flinches. “What did you say about an abortion?” His face pales as my world falls away. “Charge?”

  “You knew we did extra research, a little above and beyond,” he mutters, his eyes dipping away from mine.

  “The binder…my file, you mean? Because what you just said is a bit fucking more than above and beyond, and you wouldn’t look so fucking sick if it wasn’t.” I stand, and I’m shaking with rage. “Show it to me.”

  “What?” He obviously struggles to swallow.

  “Did I stutter?” His eyes narrow at my ca
llous tone, but not only do I feel like my heart has been ripped out of my chest, I feel as if his big heavy boots have left a big fucking imprint as they stomped down on it. He walks over to his desk and slowly pulls the top drawer. Lifting a slim lever-arched folder out, he hands it to me. I take it with shaking hands; my fingers grip tight to stop the visual display of my breaking body. I flick it open, my eyes scouring, dates, time, statistics summarizing my life. There are some pictures I haven’t seen for a while, but my eyes start to glaze with a fresh flow of tears. I snap it shut and hold it out to him. “Show me. Show me where it says all that,” I demand, my damn voice catching. He steps toward me and I can see the devastation in his face when I step back, away from his comfort. “Don’t. Just show me, Charge.”

  “Finn.” His plea makes my eyes screw shut as if that will block the sound of his voice, too. He grabs the folder, and I take no comfort in the fact he looks as broken as I feel. “It’s not in here.”

  “How did you find out? Did you hypnotize me or something?”

  “No, no! Nothing like that. You…” He lets out the heaviest sigh, dragging his hand through his spiked hair before he has the courage to openly break my heart. “One night you started talking in your sleep.”

  “And I just gave you an unabridged monologue of my childhood and fucked up mother?” I ask, the words fall like acid from my tongue.

  “Not exactly.” His jaw tenses at my hostility.

  “Oh, please, don’t be coy now,”

  “I asked you some questions, and you told me your story.” His calm tone is ineffective.

  “You did what?” I cry out, bending at the impact, I feel this like a direct hit in my chest.

  “I’m sorry, Finn. You were crying, and I thought it was something I had done. I needed to know you were okay. I should’ve woken you. I’m so sorry.” He raises his hands and lets them fall as I level him with my disbelieving stare.

  “You won’t even show me what’s under your damn shirt, and yet it’s okay to delve into my unconscious mind and have a good old rake around.”

  “I didn’t mean to pry.” He straightens his shoulders, taking the accusations blow for blow.

  “You didn’t pry. You violated me, and the really sucky thing here, Charge, is I would’ve told you, if you’d asked. It’s probably why my mind didn’t shut down. Even in my sleep, I felt safe with you. Shame you don’t feel the same.”

  I stand, dumbstruck and heartbroken. I can’t even look at him because I know he reflects my devastation. I know he’s sorry, but not as sorry as I am. I turn and leave the room. Dave is hovering in the hall, and I don’t know how much he heard, but it really doesn’t matter.

  “Help me pack. I’m coming home.”

  DAVE REMAINS WISELY SILENT AS I throw my belongings into my suitcases. I know he must be pleased, but the tears haven’t stopped streaming down my face, because I’m so far from sharing that pleasure it’s unreal. I rush to the toilet for the second time to throw up my nonexistent breakfast.

  “We don’t have to fly today if you’re not feeling up to it. We could stay a few days, maybe keep the car, drive down the coast to Mexico.” His voice sounds light, optimistic even.

  Jeez, the last thing I feel like doing is having a vacation.

  “I just want to go home,” I mumble, as I wipe the saliva from my chin. I’m a physical and emotional wreck. I’m probably not fit to travel, but I can’t stay here. I need time to work out what I want, but I have never felt so betrayed, so exposed, so lost.

  Five suitcases, packed in record time, but then there was little folding or care taken. I didn’t bother with the toiletries, and I’m not going to bother going through the laundry for stray garments. Slipping my sweater on, I keep the hood folded as far over my head as possible and still be able to see ahead. Dave is on his second trip to the car, and I drag the last case along the corridor and thump it down the stairs. It’s not like there’s anything precious, or fragile; there’s nothing left to shatter.

  The boys are all standing near the door, and I bend at the sheer agony slicing me open at the looks they level at me. They are distraught and stoic, but their eyes are soft with understanding, which hurts the most. I start to drag my case, and Charge walks forward and lifts it from my hands without hesitation. He turns briskly and carries it to Dave’s waiting rental car.

  I shuffle over and fling my arms around Tug. He hauls me up his body, burying his face into my messy bun.

  “I’m so sorry, darling.” He holds my gaze and softens before my eyes, as they start to fill with more tears. He places me on the ground and Toxic does almost exactly the same—same hold, same gaze, and exact same words.

  “So damn sorry, sugar.”

  “You change your mind, don’t fucking hesitate, you hear me?” Pink states, his breath catching and he hides it with a wide, sincere smile. His hand sweeps away the damp tendrils sticking to my tear-stained face, and he leans down to kiss my cheek.

  “I love you all. You know that, right?” I blurt, and it’s a shitty time to say it, but I can’t leave without them knowing.

  “You gotta do what makes you happy, darling, and everyone deserves a second chance. Just know we love you too, all of us.” His words are so damn kind, meant to ease my pain, I’m sure, but nothing will, because at this time I’m so fucked up I don’t know what is causing me to hurt the most, this decision or Charge.

  He’s standing back from the rental, his arms crossed with taut, tense muscles and a stern expression that looks as hostile as the glare he had fixed on Dave. I start to walk to him, and he turns away. The last little beat of my heart flatlines. I swallow back the sob but can’t hide the devastation. My face crumples, and I scurry to the car, slamming the door and burying my head in my hands. Dave gets in the driver’s side and starts the engine. I nearly jump out of my skin with the loud bang against my door window. I turn and am faced with piercing, soul-sad, sorrow-filled eyes—Charge’s. I press the window down and his hands swoop in to cup my face. His lips are on mine as if this kiss might just save his life; it just saved mine.

  “You’ve already chosen, Finn, you need to listen to your heart. I know you’re angry. I fucked up, but this is one assumption you should trust, and you know it.” He grits the words out, his eyes boring through me, his jaw twitching with the effort to keep control.

  “Damn right, she’s chosen. She’s in my car, so back off.” Dave leers over my shoulder, but Charge doesn’t break the gaze.

  “I will fight for you, Finn. This being wanted goes both ways. Don’t think for one second it doesn’t. If this was the right decision, you’d feel better now. Do you? Do you feel better, angel?” His soft voice is like a balm to my soul and I lean into his hands.

  “I…I don’t—” I jolt in my seat as Dave floors the car, pulling away in a cloud of dirt and skidding tires. I snap my head to Dave, but then back round to where Charge was just standing. Large billowy clouds of dust settle, but the air fills with the hollow roar of Charge cursing to the heavens in a guttural cry.

  “Fuck!”

  “What the hell, Dave? You didn’t need to do that. I’m in the damn car. I didn’t get to say goodbye!” I choke out my words with a cry.

  “Ripping the Band-Aid, Finn. You think he’d feel better with you wailing and crying and then still get in the car? Trust me; this is better.” Dave’s hand squeezes my thigh, at least I think he does, I feel so damn numb.

  “It doesn’t feel better.” I turn and look at the retreating view of my home. This is my home.

  “Maybe if you put this on, it will.” He holds the engagement ring flat in his palm then wiggles it between his thumb and forefinger.

  “I never said I’d marry you.” I actually flinch back into my seat, away from his hand.

  “But you came with me. We’re going home.” A harsh edge clips his tone.

  “Because I need time. We need time.”

  “You’re right, I’m sorry. I want to make this work. I want to be happy again, and
you make me very happy.” He palms the ring and slips it in his pocket, then places both hands on the wheel. Despite the lack of air conditioning in the car, I get a chill in my veins that makes me shiver top to toe.

  “Yeah.” I force my lips to twist upward, though it’s an effort. As long as you’re happy. Why do I get a tiny but intense feeling in the pit of my stomach that I have just made a colossal mistake?

  Dave moaned about the weight of my cases but quickly offered a placatory smile when I narrowed my eyes and quite obviously bit my tongue. The tears may have stopped, but I can’t seem to move forward from going over and over Charge’s last comment. If this was the right decision, I should feel better. And what did he mean, I’d already made my choice? I chose Dave; how could that make him happy? It didn’t make any sense. Unless… Have I chosen Dave, really? Or did I leave because I had to, because I was hurt. Because, let’s face it, I didn’t leave, I ran like the fucking wind, and one thing is absolute, I don’t feel better; I feel like shit. I can’t think straight, because my head is such a fucking mess. I just want to go home and then it hits me like a cartoon anvil.

  I don’t actually have a home.

  “Hey, Finn, please don’t cry. It’s going to be all right, I promise.” Dave pulls me into his firm arms, and I break all over again. He feels good, but not right. He pulls back, and his hand lifts my dropped head until my sore, puffy eyes meet his. “I’ve missed you so damn much. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right, baby. I want us to be a family.” That’s possibly the sweetest thing he has ever said to me, and he seals the sentiment with a soft and loving kiss. But it doesn’t seem to make a toss of difference. I feel numb, like I’m on autopilot and it’s only his guiding hand that’s keeping me moving forward. Through check-in and security, through the departure lounge, every step farther away, every step feeling more final until I’m sitting at the gate waiting to board.

  I’m not a great flyer, but I don’t even feel my normal nerves. I feel empty. Did I really expect them to come charging after me, crashing through the airport to stop me from making a horrible mistake, declaring what they already professed, which I threw in their faces when I walked away.