TRITON: A Navy SEAL Romance (Heroes Ever After Book 2)

by Alana Albertson

  “Scared? Scared of what? You? Love? You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. You don’t know the meaning of the word scared. Get the fuck out of my face. If you want to talk about our relationship, I’m sure your friend would love to hear more stories about how repulsive I am.”

  Her mouth flew open. “What are you talking about? I never said that.”

  “Whatever, Isa. Just get your shit and go.”

  She stormed off to her room, cursing under her breath. I threw my cell phone at the wall, hoping it would shatter. That way, I’d be unreachable. Any minute now my phone would be blowing up with sympathetic texts about that article.

  She emerged a few minutes later, clutching her suitcase. “Grady, I read the article. I didn’t say that I swear. I told Mirasol that—”

  “Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to hear your excuses. Just stop.”

  “No, you’re going to listen to me. I didn’t say that. I said your scars are horrific and clearly you’ve suffered so much, but you’re sexy anyway. Please believe me.” Her voice was choked with emotion.

  “It’s more than that. This will never work. I just want to be alone.” And I meant that with every cell in my body. I didn’t need this internal anguish, this humiliation. I didn’t need her.

  I grabbed her luggage. As we walked toward the door, I could sense her mood changing. A scowl graced her face.

  But she wasn’t my problem.

  We walked outside and I loaded her luggage in the car.

  She clutched my arm. “Grady, I didn’t say that. If you aren’t aware already of how the media skews everything, you need a crash course ASAP. You’re in the public eye, whether you want to be or not.”

  “That story is on national news. You still told someone about our agreement for the book deal, something you told me to keep quiet.”

  “Yeah, I did. I told my best friend. That’s what friends do—they share. And I texted Marisol—she swore to me she didn’t say that to the press, and I believe her. I trust her. Someone overheard us and then sold a false story to the tabloids. This happens every day. I can give a statement and it will go away.”

  I wanted to believe her. But it was too late now. The entire world now saw me as a joke.

  She caressed my waist and I wanted to feel her hands on me this one last night.

  “You’re an amazing guy. You’re heroic, strong, sexy, and surprisingly sweet. But you have PTSD. You need help. I can’t walk out of here today and regret not telling you how I feel. I think we could really have something beautiful here. We could even have an amazing life together. I love you, but I can’t be with you if you don’t love yourself. And you don’t even want to try. You risk your life to save your friends, but you won’t even attempt to save yourself. You’re worth it, I’m worth it. If you go get some help, I’ll be here when you’re finished. If not, I’m not going to the ball with you. Promise or no promise.”

  I clenched my fist, using every bit of self-control I had to not plunge it into the car door.

  “So it’s all my fault this won’t work? I’m not the only one fucked up here, Isa. You’re a mess too. Always trying to save everyone—me, your dad. What makes you happy? What are you running from? Your mom killed herself and you found her—well, that’s pretty fucked up. Have you dealt with that? What are you doing to take care of yourself? At least I admit freely that I’m a wreck. That I’ll never be able to do the one thing I’ve wanted to do my entire life—be a sniper. You want to be a clinical psychologist to help people, I get that. But I’ve seen you dance. Not just here with me, but I used to watch you every week on television with my grandma. And once I discovered who you are, I watched old clips. You loved dancing, you glowed. I’ve never seen that glow on your face, that light in your life. You claim you want to live your life free and not hide from anyone, but you are hiding from yourself.”

  Her face reddened and her nostrils flared. I expected a smartass retort, but her silence infuriated me more. She had to know I was right. Instead of trying to help everyone around her, Isa needed to help herself.

  Her face softened. “You’re right. I’m damaged too, and I miss dancing. But I’m going to do something about it. I hope you will too. And no matter what happens with our relationship, I hope we can remain friends.”

  Friends? Fuck that, I could never be a friend to a woman I’d fucked. The thought of another man touching Isa, fucking her, killed me.

  I gritted my teeth. “Not going to happen. I never want to see you again.”

  A grimace lingered on her face and her chin trembled. “You don’t mean that.”

  She kissed my scarred cheek, and I resisted the urge to grab her, kidnap her, throw her over my back like a caveman staking his property. Before I knew what had happened, her car disappeared behind the pines.

  32

  Isa

  I drove away from the lake house, rage, hurt, love, and guilt consuming me. I bit my nails, sped on the freeway, and blasted music.

  How dare Grady try to psychoanalyze me? Maybe he was just trying to project on to me?

  Except that he was right.

  Even worse, I loved him. Completely. We had spent such a short time together but every moment had seemed so intense. Like we crammed all the stages of a relationship into a week.

  I had to get him back.

  And Marisol—I could kill her. She claimed to have been trapped by the press and that she was in fact telling them that I actually liked him despite his scars but they misquoted her. If Grady never took me back, I would never forgive her.

  I plugged my phone into the car and pressed the button for my ballroom mix, long hidden from my ears. First song that came on was a foxtrot, “You’re Nobody Till Somebody Loves You.” Dean Martin’s soothing voice penetrated deep into my soul. Memories flashed back of competing at Blackpool in England, Pasha leading me around the floor, the crowd screaming our number, my mom shouting louder than everyone.

  Grady was right. I missed dancing—not the drama, not the show, but dancing. When my mom died, I’d banished that entire part of my life. It took being around a man who’d lost his own dream to realize how my own heart ached for mine.

  I pulled over at the next shopping area and set my eyes on a coffee shop. But I had something important to take care of first.

  One last dance, for me, for Grady. Maybe if he could see me face my fears, he could conquer his.

  I dialed the numbers, my hands shaking.

  “Hello?”

  Benny. I hadn’t heard his voice in years. My former mentor. My master coach. Benny held one link to my past. A past I refused to ignore anymore. “Benny, it’s Isa. I’m ready to dance again. Is there anyway you can find a place for me on the show?”

  33

  Grady

  I was alone in this amazing but now tainted house, the scent of Isa still lingering in the air. I was due back on base for my next round of treatments by tomorrow. Useless treatments that hadn’t helped me at all.

  Had Isa meant what she’d said? That she not only loved me but thought that we could have a beautiful life together? Even if she’d told me the truth about what she’d said to her friend, the damage was done.

  And she baited me. “But I’m going to do something about it.” I’d once been a leader; men followed my orders, lived and died by my decisions, they entrusted me with their lives.

  A leader takes action, fixes what’s wrong, and doesn’t sit around and give up.

  I’d never look the way I had before the war, but I could be that man again.

  I logged into the computer and searched around, finding a list of residential treatment programs I’d been referred to. I’d always refused to even consider attending in the past. But experiencing a glimpse of happiness with Isa made me want to see if I could really heal.

  After an hour of searching, one program stood out to me. Thirty days, on a working ranch, hunting, fishing, living off the land. Of course there was the usual bullshit, daily therapy, group and ind
ividual.

  Once I saw the price tag, my hopes were dashed. But I knew I needed this. I’d find a way. Maybe when I finished treatment, I could start over with Isa. But I wasn’t doing this for her, or even as a way to get her back, I was doing this for me.

  34

  Bella

  Benny had pulled some strings, and I’d been asked to come on the show as a member of the troupe. The troupe. A backup dancer to younger dancers. Dancers I’d trained. But I had no problem eating my humble pie. This gift helped me in two ways—I needed the money and it would also provide me a way to heal my soul. Reconnect with dancing. Fall back in love with the passion that had consumed my life.

  I hadn’t danced in years, and I was grateful for this opportunity.

  Benny Brooks, my larger-than-life former coach and resident jerk judge, strolled into the studio wearing a purple suit with a black dress shirt and a bolo tie. At almost sixty, the self-proclaimed Silver Fox still commanded a room and even had recently married a dancer forty years his junior.

  “Isa, luv, I knew you’d be back. That was surer than a bum in the bucket.”

  I laughed as he embraced me and gave me the required cheek kiss. I’d missed his crass Australian humor. “Thank you for giving me the opportunity.”

  “Well, that’s not all, lassie. I read that you’re involved with that hero, that soldier.”

  Great. Grady was right, the story had gone viral. “He’s a Marine, not a soldier.”

  “Right. We’ve been after him for a year to come on the show. Maybe you could sway him?”

  Ha! That was almost laughable. “He’s not even speaking to me now.”

  And that was the truth. Grady had gone radio silent. My texts went unanswered, my calls went straight to voicemail. Even his Facebook page was offline. Nothing. It was like he had vanished from the world, like he’d only been a figment of my imagination.

  Benny started to say something, but I tuned him out as an idea hit me.

  “Actually, Benny, maybe I can reach him. Will you let me dance a tribute to him on a show?”

  Benny squinted his eyes. “Of course, luv. We can do sometime in the next few weeks if you like. Just let me know what you need.”

  I squealed and hugged him. I couldn’t wait to choreograph a dance for Grady. Show him with my body what I hadn’t been able to say with words.

  But how could I make sure he’d be watching? I quickly hatched a plan.

  I picked up my phone and called a reporter—the same reporter who had written that horrible article about him.

  After leaving a quick voicemail, my phone rang.

  “Miss Applebaum, thank you for reaching out to me. Did you want to go on record regarding Grady Williams?”

  “Yes. I did. Yes, we had a deal, but along the way, I fell in love with him. Grady’s the most heroic, romantic, and sexy man I’ve ever met. I love him. I’m dancing a tribute for him in a future show. Please make sure to include that.”

  I answered some more questions and agreed to send him pictures of Grady and me.

  This plan had to work. He would see the article, and hopefully, see me dance.

  35

  Grady

  The blue sky had threads of purple and amber running through it. Sunset approached, but for the first time in years, I wasn’t scared.

  I’d been in Montana for the past four weeks, riding horses, taking care of the farm animals, and inhaling the fresh air.

  I missed Isa. Her smile, her warmth, her love. We’d had no contact at all, and I wondered if she had tried to get in touch with me. But I wasn’t allowed a cell phone, internet access, or even the daily newspaper here, and I loved being disconnected from the world.

  But not from her.

  The more time I had away from her, the more I realized how much I loved her, no matter how ridiculous that sounded. We’d spent a week together, an amazing week. But we’d been together twenty-four hours a day, and I’d opened up to her more than I’d ever opened up to anyone. In addition to her physical beauty, she was compassionate and was able to see me for me. And I loved her feisty personality, the way she called me on my bullshit, trying to make me a better man. She made me want to be a better man.

  I’d do whatever I could to get her back. Glimpses of myself pre-accident started reappearing in my personality. Could she love the badass Marine instead of the fucked up vet? Time would tell.

  “Hey, Grady. Pull up a seat.” Ben, a fellow Marine with PTSD, hovered around the television. We were allowed to watch one hour a week of TV, and since we didn’t get any access to porn, Ben had decided Dancing under the Stars was the closest alternative.

  “Nope, not interested. My girl used to be on that show.” My girl, was she still my girl? Was she ever?

  “Yeah? Which one?”

  And then, as if my eyes were deceiving me, Isa’s incredible body appeared on the screen. Not a clip from an old show, but live. Her hair was now jet-black, her skin was tanner, but luckily she hadn’t lost any of her luscious curves.

  “That one.”

  The announcer spoke: “And join us next week for a special treat when two-time Dancing under the Stars winner, Bella Applebaum, will be dancing a special tribute to an American Hero, Sergeant Grady Williams.”

  What the fuck?!

  The show showed an old clip of her dancing with Pasha, that jackass leading her around the floor. I wanted to kill the motherfucker for ever touching her.

  “Damn, dawg. She’s fucking hot. Look at those fucking legs. Did you hit that?”

  “I’m about to hit you if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

  But I couldn’t blame the boy; Isa was hot. Gorgeous. She teased me with glimpses of her thighs, her gown seemed to be painted on her incredible ass, and her chest glistened in the glow of the spotlight.

  “Dude, I’m out.”

  I went back to my room to pack, my treatment was up this week anyway.

  I had to go get my girl.

  36

  Grady

  I arrived in Los Angeles feeling strong and confident. Turns out, Isa had given an interview to a reporter talking about her relationship with me and clarifying that she was in no way repulsed by me.

  I’d secured VIP tickets to the show and an all-access pass to the back lot. My truck pulled into the back gate at the television studios, and I shook my head as I took it all in. I’d been on a few news shows after receiving my medals, but those shows were nothing like this Hollywood mind fuck. Dancing under the Stars had a huge lot, trailers for makeup, hair, and the “celebrity guests.” The trailers reminded me of war bunkers, and my anxiety was on high alert.

  Taking a deep steadying breath, I parked and walked toward the dressing trailers.

  Before I’d even walked ten feet, I instantly recognized Pasha. He stopped mid-stride when he saw me. This time his hair was wavy and scrunched together in a man bun. He sported a face full of stubble and was dressed in gray sweat pants and a too-tight white T-shirt. He looked like a member of a 90s boy-band.

  I held my cool, imagining Isa being fondled by this guy. How he’d touched her thighs when they’d danced. How he’d called me a freak.

  “Allo, Grady. Welcome. I want to apologize to you. I was out of line. No hard feelings.”

  He stuck his hand out, but I refused his handshake.

  “I am sorry about what I said to you in Tahoe. You’re the man! I can’t believe it that you jumped on the bomb. That’s crazy, bro. Bella won’t shut up about you.”

  “It wasn’t a bomb, it was a grenade.”

  “That’s cool.” He lit a cigarette and it caught me off guard. Didn’t dancers take care of their bodies? I expected that shit out of my Marines, but not this guy.

  “Let me get Bella for you.”

  “No. She doesn’t know I’m here. I want it to be a surprise.”

  “Okay, man. She will be around here. I can take you somewhere to hide until show time.”

  Why was he being so cool to me? This guy was a snake�
�I’d already seen his true colors and I didn’t trust him at all. But I didn’t want Isa to see me before the show. “Sure, that would be great. I really appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome. And tonight you will see Isa dance together with me. But I assure to you, it is just dance.”

  The rage built in my chest. She was dancing with this motherfucker? After what he had said to me? Some loyalty.

  Pasha stared at me, as if he was trying to read my face. “No, no, man. It is not like that. We were partners, for years. The fans, they want to see us one more time. She’s crazy about you. There is nothing going on together with us. And I’m really sorry about that day I came at you. I was wrong. Bella, she is like my kid sister, and she grew up. I was jealous.”

  “It’s fine, man.” It still pissed me off, but I realized she probably hadn’t had a choice. Either way, I had to go with my gut—this guy was full of shit. When I’d met him, he’d been a dick to Isa and me. Now it seemed he was going out of his way to convince me that he didn’t like Isa and that he thought I was a good guy? Sorry. I wasn’t buying what he was selling.

  He led me to a room on the floor above the stage. “Stay in here. The dancers will be walking down the hallway. Before we go on, I’ll bring you down to VIP sitting area. She won’t see you until she dances. It will be in a few hours. Can I get you something? Water? Something to eat?”

  “Sure.”

  He put his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t even mention it, seriously. I know I’m just dancer, but I love America. Back in Russia, I used to dream of coming to here. I am refugee; I was beaten in the streets. My parents risk our lives to come to here. Men like you are why we are free. I thank you for your service.”