by Lynn Cooper
SEAN WAS GRITTING HIS teeth. The bugle had sounded fifteen minutes ago, and still Blythe was nowhere in sight. The rest of the staff was standing at attention before him, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, awaiting his orders. Turning his attention to Shelly, he growled, “Go get her.”
“Sir! Yes, sir!” Shelly shouted. She couldn’t help but giggle at his gruffness as she scurried off to retrieve her bestie. Shelly had known Sean all of her life, and his tough exterior didn’t fool her one bit. Sure, he was a lethal warrior. Of that, she had no doubt. She wasn’t privy to his classified missions but knew being a SOCS was crazy dangerous. Special ops was not for the weak of mind, body or spirit.
Sergeant Warrington would willingly fight to his last breath in order to preserve the freedoms most people took for granted on a daily basis. To protect his country and the people he loved.
But underneath all his hard armor beat a heart bigger than all outdoors. And what made it beat the loudest and strongest were the kids who would be showing up at Camp Semper Fi this afternoon. All of them were sweet sixteens—juvenile delinquents, one conviction away from long-term imprisonment. Their lives had been anything but sweet.
Sean would turn things around for them. She had seen him do it countless times. He had a gift. A magic that transcended all logic. He took what was broken and made it whole again. He instilled worth and esteem where none had existed before. He fortified and strengthened what fear and hate had weakened. His success rate with the troubled teens who attended his camp was one hundred percent. With him, failure was never an option.
SHELLY AND BLYTHE WERE walking up the hill toward him and the rest of the group. Their arms were linked together like a couple of school girls. He couldn’t make out their feminine chatter, but the animated expressions on their faces told him the conversation was cheerful.
Sean’s breath caught in his throat when Blythe caught his gaze. Her face broke into a beaming smile and, even though he knew it wasn’t intended for him, he cherished it just the same. His chest tightened at the sight of creamy, curvy thighs peeking out beneath her khaki shorts. On the morning breeze, a ponytail of thick brown hair playfully bounced against her shoulders. His fingers itched to release that glorious mane, allowing it to flow freely down her back. God, she was even more beautiful today than she was yesterday.
When they got to within earshot, he barked, “Glad you saw fit to join us, Counselor.”
The expression on her face turned from lighthearted to disdainful. He tamped down a grin. There was a price to be paid for insubordination.
As they filed into a horizontal line, he lifted the pen from his clipboard. Looking to his left he yelled, “Potato Peeler!”
Private Kean’s face turned bright red. “Present and accounted for, sir!”
Moving down the line, his eyes rested on a petite, blond-haired, green-eyed woman in a white, tight-fitting dress. The top two buttons were open, revealing an abundance of cleavage.
“Nurse Nightingale!”
She batted barely-visible lashes. Her voice was soft and breathy as a summer breeze. “At your service, sir.”
Oh hell. The last thing he needed was a member of his staff crushing on him. He gave her a curt nod and moved on down the line.
“Shelly Bellybutton!”
“Here, sir.”
He made a check mark on his board and grinned wickedly.
“Honeybun Hottie!”
He patiently waited for the storm which was sure to come.
Blythe whirled on her best friend. Steam was practically coming out of her ears. This time he could hear their exchange loud and clear.
“What the hell?”
Shelly cajolingly nudged Blythe with her elbow. “Everybody gets a nickname at summer camp,” she said, smiling. “It’s fun. It’s tradition.”
“It’s embarrassing. You blabbed to him about my stash?”
“He asked me. What was I supposed to do?”
“You could have told him it was none of his damn business. Isn’t there some sort of military code concerning this type of thing? He asks, you don’t tell?”
Sean couldn’t suppress the chuckle bubbling from his chest. Walking over to them, he placed a strong hand on Blythe’s sweet shoulder. “It’s ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell,’ Honeybun Hothead. And we stopped not asking and not telling in September of 2011.”
She shrugged off his hand and smirked. “Which is it then? Hottie or Hothead? I’ll not answer to both.”
Sean winked at her. “I haven’t decided yet. When I do, you’ll be the first to know.” Turning on his heel, he yelled back over his shoulder.
“Dismissed.”
THE GIGANTIC GREYHOUND BUS came barreling through the campground gate, boiling up enough dust to reduce visibility to zero. Blythe couldn’t see her hand in front of her face much less the campers exiting the bus. When the reddish-brown cloud cleared, she gasped in surprise. She had expected at least a hundred screaming children ranging in ages from seven to seventeen. Instead, there was a grand total of five teenagers—three boys and two girls, all looking to be around the same age.
The expressions on their faces ran the gamut from smug to detached to angry to docile to combative. A Hispanic boy standing closest to the front of the group reared his hand back and aggressively swatted the girl beside him on the behind. Her eyes brimmed with tears while the other three snickered.
Blythe’s heart clenched with empathy. Being a counselor, she recognized all the outward signs of inner turmoil. Being both a victim and a survivor, she also understood suffering. She might not have had the same experiences these kids had, but pain was universal. A bleeding heart feels the same no matter the circumstances surrounding it.
Everything from the teenager’s attire to their actions and attitudes was a reflection of emotional misery. Despite the well-placed metaphorical masks covering their faces, eyes can never be concealed. The slashes across their souls were open and raw for the world to see if it bothered to look.
She shivered at the intensity creasing Sean’s brow. It was the only physical reaction he had to the incident. Holding five folders in his big, strong hands, he silently thumbed through them until he found the one he was looking for. He scanned it quickly, then turned his eyes on the boy who had not been able to keep his hands to himself. Once he had made eye contact, Blythe watched with bated breath as Camp Semper Fi’s leader slowly walked over and stood toe to toe with the offender. Sean towered a good six inches over the teenager, forcing him to crane his head backwards.
In a low yet commanding tone, he said, “State your name, camper.”
Defiantly, the boy flipped up the collar of his well-worn if ill-fitting leather jacket. Despite the warm temperatures, he wasn’t sweating. His voice was cavalier. “You got papers on me, Pops. I don’t got to answer no questions.”
Blythe cringed inwardly. She barely knew the powerful soldier standing before them. One blind date and a couple of brief exchanges didn’t tell her who he really was, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.
Sean took a step backwards before speaking again. “Okay, Leather, apologize to Butterfly.”
It took Blythe a moment to register what her marine was doing. Her marine? When had she gotten so possessive? Probably the moment Nurse Nightingale had practically pushed her boobs in his face at roll call. Blythe shook her head and refocused her attention on the girl whose derriere had been smacked. She was wearing a pretty, shimmering butterfly clip in her hair. It was in direct contrast to the drab, tattered clothes hanging off her slumped shoulders. Sean was giving them nicknames. What was it Shelly had said? Everybody gets a nickname at summer camp. It’s fun. It’s tradition.
Leather didn’t look like he was having fun.
“Yo man, what kind of bullshit name is that? I’m Rocky Hernandez, and I ain’t apologizing to her. Besides, Butterfly’s used to getting that ass blistered.”
Blythe could tell the young man was pleased with himself for throwing one of Sean’s nic
knames back in his face.
Other than a slight clench of his jaw muscle, she detected no other sign of displeasure in Sean. In her professional opinion, he was exercising a great deal of patience and restraint. Especially for a macho military man.
Sean’s eyes scanned the tiny group, lighting on each of their faces. “Whatever any of you are used to out there, it won’t happen in here.” He addressed the boy next. “Leather, I have a zero tolerance policy when it comes to disrespectful behavior. Especially when it’s directed at a female. This is your last chance.” He quickly glanced at the second folder in the stack. “Apologize to Skyler.”
Blythe was intrigued by Sean’s method—how he had purposely chosen to use the nickname he had assigned Rocky, but used Butterfly’s real name during this pivotal maneuver.
“And if I don’t? What you gonna do, tough guy? Beat me to a bloody pulp like my old man does?”
Tears stung Blythe’s eyes.
Sean’s voice was soft but authoritative. “No. I’m going to do the saddest thing I’ve ever done. Something I’ve never had to do in the history of Camp Semper Fi.”
Everyone’s eyes grew big with expectation.
Holding a red pen poised above Rocky’s folder, he said, “I’m going to write, ‘Too far gone to help.’ Then I’m going to put you back on the bus and mourn the life you could have had if you’d stayed here.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Everyone was anxiously waiting to see what Rocky would do.
A few seconds passed. The sullen teen kicked the dirt in front of him with the toe of his tennis shoe. The rubber edge was coming loose from the sole. The glue had cracked, no longer holding it together. “Screw you, man. I don’t apologize to nobody.”
Collectively, everybody exhaled a sigh of defeat. It was looking like Sergeant Sean Warrington was going to lose one after all.
He silently placed the ball point of the pen onto the paper. The first mark sounded like a razor slicing through a sheet. Blythe along with the other campers gasped. Tension was high. Rocky’s nostrils flared with the second stroke of the pen. The third brought a bead of sweat to the boy’s brow. The color had drained from his face, turning his olive-colored skin ghostly pale. Just as Sean was about to make the final mark, the boy shouted, “Hold up, man!” Turning to face Skyler, her eyes wet and shining brighter than the butterfly clip holding her jagged haircut, Rocky said, “I’m sorry. We good?”
She nodded.
Sean slid the ink-stained document back into its folder and saluted Leather.
Blythe could barely catch her breath as she watched Sergeant Warrington disappear into the treeline at the edge of the woods. If she were guessing, he needed a few minutes to decompress. The scene she had witnessed was beyond intense and touching. For the campers, she suspected it was life-changing.
Blythe caught Shelly’s eye and gave her a little wave. She had been standing beside Private Kean who was now marching the campers to their cabins. Since there were five smaller cabins adjacent to the staffs,’ Blythe assumed each teen would have their own private quarters.
When Shelly walked over, they casually linked arms.
Playfully bumping Shelly’s shoulder with her own, Blythe teased her bestie. “Looks like you were getting pretty chummy with Potato Peeler.”
Shelly giggled. “Look at you playing the nickname game. If you must know, I am definitely hot for Private Kean. I’m going to help him out during his KP duty. If things go as planned, we’ll be cooking in the kitchen during the day and in my cabin at night.”
Blythe fanned herself as though she had the vapors. “It would seem fortuitous of your childhood friend to give each of us our own cabin.”
“Yeah. I think he was hoping to get you alone one of these sultry summer nights. Tell me, Bly, what do you think of Sergeant Warrington now?”
She took a deep breath. “I think he was amazing with those campers.”
“He sure was, but that wasn’t what I asked you. Has he changed your perception of marines?”
“Is that why you set me up on a blind date with him?”
“I’m not loving this question-for-a-question thing. But, yes, it’s exactly why. Sean is as steady, stable and sane as they come. He would never intentionally hurt you.”
Blythe smiled sadly. “Michael Dalton didn’t intentionally hurt me either.”
“No, but your dad was sick. Sean isn’t.”
“He could become that way though. I don’t think my dad would have developed a psychosis had he not been in the military. Who’s to say the same thing won’t happen to Sean?”
“No one can say for sure, Bly. Any of us could reach our breaking point at any time. Life is a gamble, and love is the biggest bet of all.”
“Do you think I’m ready to make such a huge wager? Do you really think Sean can help these kids?”
“No doubt on both counts.” Shelly stopped walking and took Blythe by the shoulders. “Trust me. Sean’s a safe bet. A winning hand.”
“Alright then, I’m off to double down at the blackjack table. Wish me luck. It’s winner take all or bust.”
PACING THE DOCK WAS becoming a habit in times of stress. Sergeant Warrington’s body was buzzing with electricity. The expected jitteriness often followed an adrenaline rush. Today was as close as he had ever come to losing a troubled teen. The thought of turning Rocky Hernandez away made him nauseous. But the success of this program—one he had designed and spearheaded—rested on a strong foundation of trust. The first step to building it was to show those kids his word was his bond. His mouth always had to be backed by his actions.
He was confident he had proved himself to them today. Now if he could only find a way to build a bridge between him and Blythe. Like all good soldiers, Sean was a trained multi-tasker. He had the ability to focus on what was directly in front of him while also taking in everything and everyone on the edges. He registered her every reaction at the bus. He sensed her slightest nuances along with a shift in her attitude toward him. For the first time since their blind date, he felt a glimmer of hope. With a little luck, he just might win her over.
Sean knew she was there before he turned around. He could feel her. Hear the soft crunch of her feet on the grass. Smell her sweet, tropical scent filling the evening air. Standing at the top of the dock near the water’s edge, she was so damn lovely. A reflection of perfection. He made his way to her, wanting more than anything to take her in his arms. To kiss her passionately. To absorb her heat into his own. A few steps more and he froze, trying to control his breathing. He offered her a reassuring smile before speaking.
“Blythe, whatever you do, don’t move.”
She gave him a quizzical look. “Why not?”
Slowly crouching, he lifted the pants leg of his uniform and removed his service weapon from his boot.
She gasped. “Oh God, no. I thought you were different, but you’re just like he was. Always seeing danger where there is none,” she cried, stomping her feet in frustration.
“Blythe, don’t!”
It was too late. The second her foot vibrated the ground, the water moccasin struck her ankle. Sharp fangs hooked her flesh. Sean called on his sharpshooting skills to pick the snake off, preventing it from milking any more of its venom into her bloodstream.
Jumping to his feet, he scooped her up and broke into a dead run. He needed to get her to his cabin and inject pit viper anti-venom into her ASAP.
She was clinging to his neck, shaking and crying. Her fear and pain tore at his heart, making him wish he could stop and comfort her. But both of them would have to wait for that luxury.
Despite trembling on the inside, his voice was steady and soothing. “Take slow, deep breaths, Blythe. I need you to stay calm.”
“E—easy for you to say,” she whimpered.
“I know, but the more upset you get, the faster your heart beats, spreading venom to places we don’t want it to go. You’re going to be fine. Trust me.”
“Trusting a
marine isn’t my strong suit.”
“Because of your dad?”
“Yes. How’d you know?”
“Shelly.”
“God, she’s such a blabbermouth.”
“A blabbermouth who loves you very much,” he said, realizing in that moment, he loved Blythe, too.
Kicking his cabin door off the hinges, he whisked her across the threshold. The second he had her situated on his bed, he made haste getting the anti-venom. She was still sniffing back tears, but he was proud of how calm she had been. Gently taking her extended arm in his hand, he felt for the best vein. He quickly swiped the injection site with alcohol and tied the tourniquet above her brachial artery. Then he inserted the needle into the vial, filling the syringe with the precious, life-saving drug. With a steady hand, he injected it.
He watched her closely as she let her head drop back against his pillow. She sighed and smiled.
“I think it’s working already. The god-awful searing pain in my ankle has stopped. I don’t feel like I’m going to toss my honeybun now.”
I’m glad,” he said, winking. “That would be a terrible waste of a pastry.”
She giggled. “I know, right? By the way, did you ever decide on my nickname? Am I Honeybun Hottie or Honeybun Hothead?”
He smiled. “Well you’re a hottie for sure, but stomping around, provoking a poisonous snake was a pretty damn hotheaded thing to do.”
The look on her face turned serious. “I’m sorry, Sean. I should have trusted you.”
“It’s okay. In all fairness, trouble seems to find us anytime we’re together.”
“True. But now that you’ve disposed of an assassin and a deadly reptile, we should be in the clear for a while.”
He nodded. “One can only hope.”
AS RAYS OF EARLY morning sunshine streamed across the bed, Blythe yawned and stretched. For a few seconds she felt disoriented, not remembering where she was. With her head still resting against the pillow—his pillow—it all came flooding back.
