SEAL'D In Deep

by Jolie Day

  But he shook it off as he felt Liz’s fingers slip through his. She squeezed his hand and leaned against his side, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. And suddenly he was annoyed.

  Annoyed because Liz had never even met Dr. Maxwell. Annoyed because she was crying and, while he felt empathy for this widow who had just lost the love of her life, he couldn’t. Because he had no idea what it was like to lose somebody like that. And he had no desire to ever find out. The woman currently holding his hand, however, was making that more and more impossible with every second that passed with her pressed against his side.

  Carter slipped his hand away from Liz’s and pretended to run his fingers through his hair, then stretched his arm alongside the back of the bench they were sitting on, making sure that his skin never touched hers as he continued to listen to the Captain’s words. He felt Liz’s head turn toward him, but refused to look down at her to see what was likely an expression of complete confusion. He clenched his jaw until he knew that she had stopped staring at him, but still his body remained stiff.

  He didn’t relax until the service was over and he had an excuse to stand up.

  Leaving Liz in the pew, he made his way to the widow, who held the tearful little girl in her lap, hugging her and rocking her back and forth. He stood at attention, waiting for her to address his presence. He didn’t have to wait very long.

  “At ease, soldier,” she said, a wet smile on her lips. Carter relaxed.

  “Lieutenant Carter McIntyre, Ma’am,” he said. “I was a patient of your husband.” He took a deep breath. “He was an intelligent man. You must have been proud.”

  “Naturally,” the widow said in a quiet voice. “And terrified, most of the time.”

  “Terrified, Ma’am?” Carter asked.

  “Of him in the wars he fought,” she explained. “We married just before his first deployment and I had our eldest son while he was overseas. When he was officially discharged, with honors and medals that resulted from the limp he received in the Gulf War, he became a psychiatrist for Military Veterans, which terrified me even more.”

  “May I ask why, Mrs. Maxwell?”

  “Doctor,” she corrected, gently. “We met in medical school. He decided to change paths and go into psychology. I’m an oncologist.” She laughed bitterly. “Not that it helped. But I also know a little something about PTSD and how violent it could make some people. Especially soldiers who had seen the worst of this world. I was terrified that he’d be hurt by one of his own patients. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Carter assured her.

  “My husband always trusted his patients to keep their cool, even when they proved him wrong. He got many injuries during certain appointments, but he never left a patient, much to my disapproval. I begged him to take a gun with him to work, but he refused that, as well.”

  “Trusting to a fault.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “It was always something that I loved and hated about him.” She smiled, wistfully as a new wave of tears filled her eyes. The girl in her lap hugged her more tightly. Carter opened his mouth to offer a little more comfort—even as he wracked his brain to think of some—but before he could let out so much as a syllable, there was a voice from behind him.

  “Ma’am?” Carter turned as the widow and her granddaughter glanced up at the young soldier standing at attention with a folded flag in his hands. “Dr. Maxwell?” he asked and she nodded, standing with the girl on her hip. The soldier nodded back, handing her the flag. Widow Maxwell kissed her granddaughter’s forehead and allowed her to slip to the floor, before straightening her back and reaching for the flag. She took it and pressed it against her chest, tears dripping down her face even as it turned to stone. She thanked him with a bow of her head and he saluted her, before turning on his heel and marching away.

  Carter watched this all and felt a distinct ache in his chest. He ran a hand through his hair as if to distract himself from it and then held out the opposite hand to Dr. Maxwell, who still held the flag against her breast, her shoulders shaking just slightly.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss, Doctor,” he said. She glanced up at the sound of his voice, as if forgetting that he had been standing there. She stared down at his hand and gave him a gentle smile. Then she reached out for his upper arm and pulled him, with surprising strength, against her body, hugging him tightly as she buried her face in his shoulder.

  “God bless you,” she murmured into the cotton of his shirt. Carter’s eyes widened at that, but he didn’t resist her. He didn’t hold her tighter, either. He just held his hands cautiously at her back and allowed her to take comfort in his embrace.

  Over the widow’s shoulder, he could see Liz watching him with a soft smile. There was something in her eyes; something that sent his heart racing.

  Both in excitement and fear.

  *****

  Liz and Carter entered their building together, but there was a certain level of separation between them that Liz couldn’t help but notice. He had been different since the funeral, since Dr. Maxwell’s widow had held him in her arms for several long moments and just cried. She had watched them with her heart getting fuller by the second.

  She was sure that the love she was starting to feel for him—which she had tried to keep hidden, for the most part, since she knew that Carter McIntyre didn’t really do emotions or sentimentality, for that matter—was clear on her face for several long moments as she gazed at Carter and the way he comforted a woman he just barely knew. He had patted the small woman’s back as she held onto him with all of her strength. Liz hadn’t missed the discomfort on his face, but she also hadn’t missed the glitter in his eyes that had disappeared within seconds.

  When they’d met eyes, she tried to pretend that she wasn’t thinking about their wedding day and how handsome he would look in his tux—or perhaps he would wear his uniform from the Navy—and whether or not he would tear up when he first spotted her walking down the aisle on her eldest brother’s arm. But it was already too late, she could tell. There was a stricken expression on his face that quickly left his face as he pulled away from the widow, but he was less receptive to Liz’s affections after that.

  On the ride home, his body was stiff with her arms around him. Usually, he relaxed on his bike; it made the curves and turns easier to meet. This time, however, she felt as if the bike could turn on its side at any second, because his spine was so straight and he just barely leaned into them.

  By the time he parked in front of the building, Liz was certain that something was up, but she didn’t dare ask what. Instead, she hopped off the bike and waited for him to join her on the sidewalk.

  He took his time.

  When he finally got to her, Carter didn’t say a single word. He just motioned for her to precede him into the building and followed her trail to the elevator. They rode up in silence and Liz debated whether or not to get off on her floor or to follow him up to his.

  Her decision was made for her when the doors opened.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Carter said, not looking at her. “I need some time.”

  “Okay,” Liz replied, taking a chance as she leaned up and pressed a peck to his cheek. “See you later?”

  Carter nodded and she left him alone on the elevator, making her way to her apartment. The second she unlocked the door and stepped inside, she felt unfathomably lonely. Her heart ached in her chest and she found herself tracking every one of Carter’s movements inside the apartment with her eyes. She remembered him making eggs for the both of them for dinner, his shirt off to reveal the tattoos and scars that littered his back. She recalled him falling asleep on her couch, his head pillowed against one of her thighs as she edited and sent out her photos.

  Walking through her apartment, Liz began to remove her black funeral clothing and tried to ignore the images of Carter stripping the clothes from her body as they made their way to the bedroom, as well as the images of him removing his own clothing. It was hard, though, a
s her heart ached to have him here with her, back in her arms, kissing her and making her body sing with his hands.

  In her bedroom, she imagined his body spread out over the sheets of her bed. She walked over to it and sat down in the dark, taking a deep breath as she laid back and finally let the tears fall. She had no idea what to do now, if she and Carter would ever be more than what they currently were—or if he even wanted them to be. Her heart ached like it never had before as she allowed herself that moment to mourn what could have been.

  When the moment was over, however, she stood, taking deep, calming breaths as she made her way back out to the living room. Steeling herself and schooling her features, Liz reached for her laptop and opened it up, connecting her camera to it.

  She wasn’t about to mourn something that she never had, she decided as she began to work, opening up the photos she had taken of Carter. She ignored the pang of hurt that vibrated from her chest and began to edit and organize them into her latest collection. She was going to be productive if it killed her.

  *****

  Carter ignored his phone for as long as possible.

  He knew, already, that it wasn’t Liz. For one thing, as annoying as he’d originally found her, Liz didn’t push. She gave him his space, without question, and waited for him to come to her.

  Most days, anyway.

  Sometimes, there was something too important for her to wait for him to get over himself (her words, not his) and, at those times, she ended up at his door. Only once had their definitions of ‘important’ not matched, and that was when Liz just wanted to show him some photographs of a squirrel on her balcony. The pictures had been of the squirrel balancing its acorn on its head, so they weren’t all that lame, but Carter had still acted annoyed even as she continued to smile that sunny smile.

  He had cracked after a few moments, rolling his eyes as she elbowed him in the side and teased him about it.

  So he knew that, since nobody was knocking down his door, whatever it was could wait. At least, until after he’d showered and changed and had something to eat. Liz had made them both breakfast that morning but Carter had been unable to swallow more than two bites of toast and a sip of his coffee. His plate and mug were still sitting on the kitchen table, practically untouched. He picked both of them up and threw them, as hard as he could manage, into the trash. When he heard them hit the bottom with a sickening crash, likely breaking apart, he took a deep breath. Some of the stress slid off his shoulders and he felt as if he could finally breathe.

  Carter stripped off his clothes, piece by piece, as he made his way into the bathroom, leaving his phone on the floor, in the center of his living room. By the time he reached the shower, he was completely bare from head to toe. He reached in and turned the faucet for the hot water, turning it as high as it would go. Then he stepped in and gritted his teeth.

  The water felt like flames, consuming his body as the air around him began to steam, soon filling up the room. His body got used to it, quickly, and he reached for the soap, lathering up his body and scrubbing as hard as he could at the scars and tattoos that ran along his chest and arms and the side of his neck. It was as if he thought that he could take them off. As if all he needed to do was press hard enough with a bar of Irish Spring and he would come out of the shower a clean slate.

  But that’s not how this worked. He knew that. There was no pain in trying, though. Was there?

  When he finally stepped out of the shower and looked at himself in the fogged up mirror, Carter was sure that the pink hue of his skin was there to stay. He didn’t so much mind it, though. He felt alive; invigorated. He ran one hand though his sopping wet hair and growled when his fingers tangled in the blonde locks.

  Okay, he thought, there was at least one thing he could do without. He crouched and reached under the sink, pulling out a pair of scissors and a razor, placing both on the counter. The mirror was still slightly fogged-up, but it would do.

  Holding the scissors firmly in one hand and a lock of his hair in the other, Carter began to cut.

  *****

  It was dark when Liz finally looked up from her laptop. She hadn’t even noticed the sun going down, her gaze was so laser-focused on the screen before her. She blinked a few times, then reached for the lamp on her end table, switching it on and flooding that portion of the room with light. She had to blink a few more times for it to focus completely, but when it did, she realized that she was still alone.

  Liz reached for her phone, her heart thumping away against her ribcage, but upon lighting up the screen found herself without any messages from Carter. She grunted and tossed it to the other side of the couch, pressing her forehead against the arm. She was hopeless.

  And hungry, she discovered as her stomach began to growl. She had skipped lunch and barely ate breakfast, despite the fact that she had made bacon and eggs and toast for herself and Carter. He had been unable to keep anything down, it seemed, so, out of sympathy, she had just picked at her own, as well. Now she was starving.

  Stretching out her legs, Liz got up from the couch and padded into the kitchen on wobbly legs. She flicked on the light and began raiding her own cupboards and fridge, hoping to find some kind of leftovers that were less than a week old.

  All she found were the ends of a loaf of white bread, a cracked, frozen egg, and a half-empty container of juice, surrounded by containers of mostly eaten take-out. She checked each one and compiled a plate that was one-part Indian, two parts Thai, and a thin slice of pizza that had a bite missing from it.

  She popped it all into the microwave and tossed the empty containers and bread out, making a list in her mind of what she would need when she went grocery shopping in the morning.

  As she was waiting for her food to warm up, Liz heard the tell-tale chirp of her video-messaging application and ran to plop down on the couch. The face of one of her clients popped up on her screen and Liz’s eyes widened.

  Mr. Sagawa had been a client of her father’s for nearly a decade before he passed away and then, in order to help her after his death, had asked her for a few photos of her travels. She’d even been to Japan a couple of times to meet with him in person.

  Liz clicked ‘Accept’ and bowed respectfully to the older man.

  “Good evening, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Sagawa greeted. “How are you doing today?”

  “Very well, sir,” Liz replied. “How are you?”

  “I’m well,” Mr. Sagawa assured her. “My daughter just got back from having her baby.” He held up a picture of a tiny blue bundle against a woman’s chest. “It’s a boy.”

  “That’s wonderful, Mr. Sagawa,” Liz said. “Congratulations! How is Chiaki doing?”

  “My Chi Chi is fine,” he said. “Perfect delivery. Perfect baby. His name is Mako, but they are moving to America soon, so they call him ‘Mac’.” He shook his head and laughed. “He is very good baby. Hardly cries.”

  “That’s good,” Liz commented. “So what can I help you with today, sir? Do you need a photograph of anything specific?” Mr. Sagawa only asked her for her work on rare occasions, but he always paid handsomely. One order from him could keep her comfortable for a year.

  “Yes,” he said. “Well, actually, I’ve been looking for some new work for my gallery in San Francisco. I am made to believe that you live close by?”

  “Sort of,” Liz laughed. “I live in Los Angeles, which is about a six-hour drive. Or a two-hour flight. I’d love to provide you with some of my work.”

  “I’d pay handsomely, of course.” As if Liz didn’t already know. “Also, my daughter would like you to take photographs of Mako. I would pay for that, as well, of course.”

  “I’d be happy to take pictures of little Mako,” Liz assured him. “You just tell me when and where and I’ll start making plans.”

  “Thank you,” he said, in Japanese. “Now, for my gallery…”

  “Yes,” Liz said. “What were you thinking? I could take a few landscapes or…” She paused, biting he
r lip as her eyes flickered to the tab still open behind the Skype window.

  “Or what?” Mr. Sagawa asked. “Did the screen freeze again?” He muttered a few curses in his native tongue as the camera shook. Liz imagined him tapping on the side of his laptop and chuckled.

  “No, it didn’t freeze,” she said. “I just…well, I have been working on a new project and I did just finish shooting it. But I’m not sure if this is what you want.”

  “Might I see one and make the determination myself?” Mr. Sagawa requested, with the upmost respect in his voice. Liz nodded and brought up the folder, flicking through various image files until she found the one that she had decided to use as the cover for her collection.

  It was of Carter laying in her bed, shot from the side, when he wasn’t looking at her. He had his muscular arms folded beneath his head, showing off his tattoos and scars. You couldn’t see his face from this angle, as it was turned away, but you could see the glint of his dog tags. And the ridges of his abs. And the scruff on his chin. His bottom half was cut out of the photograph, altogether, but it had been covered by a white sheet, anyway. You couldn’t even really tell who he was without already knowing him.

  Without thinking twice about it, Liz sent the picture off to Mr. Sagawa and waited for him to open it. When he did, she saw the smile that stretched across his face.

  “A human subject?” he asked. “I haven’t seen one of these in your work in years. What is the occasion.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you marrying this man?”

  “No, Mr. Sagawa.” Liz laughed, though she couldn’t fight the stutter in her chest. “He’s just my subject. He was—is a Navy SEAL, on leave. He allowed me to photograph him for the last couple of weeks for this project. Lovely, though, isn’t he?”