Hot Alpha SEALs: Military Romance Megaset

by Sharon Hamilton

That was the last thing he remembered for several hours.

  When he next woke, the sun had moved up the sky beyond the window frame. There was a sandwich under plastic on a plate next to the bed, with a note tucked underneath. ‘Had to go out for a while. Be back soon. L.’

  Max pushed up from the bed, feeling fairly rested. He padded into the bathroom to take a leak and decided to hop in the shower, get some grime off of him. He was disgusted with himself when he realized he still had crap on him from rolling in the street while he got his ass kicked, and he’d taken it to her bed.

  It took him a while to get all the bandages off his appendages. When he was done, he decided he’d been less scary with them on. Snorting, he stepped into the shower, the hot water scalding as it ran down his battered body, but there was an edge of pain that actually felt good. He’d been floating through a fog for so long, just drifting along waiting for fate to realize she’d forgotten to snatch him on the way out. Lacey’s concerned, tearful look when she’d sat with him last night gave him hope that somebody in this life would regret his leaving it. His parents were oblivious, living separate lives, shaking their heads at their wild child. They’d long ago washed their hands of him and the constant worry.

  His team…well, his team was gone. And there was nobody to blame for that but himself.

  Max lowered his head under the water, letting it sheet down his face.

  Lacey was a nice lady. And as tempting as she was, he didn’t think it was fair to get involved with her. Already he wanted to just open up and talk about everything that had ever happened to him. He wasn’t normally so open, but he wanted to bask in her calm-headed, easy personality.

  Using her fruity shower soap, he scrubbed himself as clean as he could around all his scrapes and stepped out, grabbing a towel from the rod. It was only when he was fairly dry that he realized he didn’t have any clean clothes to put on. Damn. He needed to get into his apartment.

  Anxiety began to creep in as he sat on the bed and took a bite of the sandwich. He’d missed his morning meds. His skin began to crawl as he looked at the clock on the table. Twelve hours without anything.

  The sandwich turned to dust in his mouth as he imagined the flashbacks that were going to invade. The pills controlled most of that. Sweat began to bead his brow.

  As gross as it was, he put his dirty clothes back on to call maintenance. Frustration ate at him though when he realized they weren’t on site. It was Sunday, the only day the office wasn’t staffed. He listened to the answering machine message and wrote down the emergency number. This was definitely an emergency.

  Three hours. No sooner. When he finally got through to the head of maintenance, the man was on the beach down the coast. It would take him a few hours to get back.

  Max began to pace.

  Chapter Six

  ‡

  When Lacey got back an hour later, Max was at a boiling point. It was obvious he’d worked himself into a lather worrying. About her or what was going on with his life, she wasn’t sure.

  “Max, what’s going on?”

  His fierce eyes targeted her. “I need to get out of here. I have no fucking clothes, no pills, I don’t even have a key to get out of your place without being locked out. You left me stranded.”

  Lacey blinked at the aggressiveness of the outburst. “Actually,” she murmured, “I didn’t.”

  She crossed to the bedroom and returned with the note she’d left beneath the sandwich. Taped to the bottom was a gold house key. Not that he’d have known that, because he hadn’t eaten the sandwich or even moved the plate.

  Max let out a harsh yell of frustration and for the first time, Lacey actually feared what he would do. He gripped his head in his hands and headed for the door. Lacey reached out to grab his arm, but he flung her away. She had just enough time to see him disappear through the doorway before she tripped on the startled cat. She crashed to the floor, her head cracking on the tile.

  Feet pounding the black asphalt, Max ran in five-minute bursts until he started to see spots in front of his eyes. He couldn’t breathe and the pain in his ribs was excruciating, but it kept him grounded enough that he wasn’t breaking into random houses looking for meds like his own to ease his anxiety. He wasn’t a great judge of time, but when he thought an hour had passed, he started back to his building. The maintenance supervisor would be there soon and he needed to apologize to Lacey for his outburst. She’d only been kind to him. In return he’d been shitty and difficult.

  Maybe he could beg some more of those ibuprofen from her.

  When he trudged up the concrete steps to the second floor her door was open. Lacey sat at her dining room table, a bloody dish cloth held to the back of her head. Another woman, a tiny blonde who looked vaguely familiar, stood over her fussing. The blonde looked up, her eyes furious, and stomped toward him.

  “Who the hell do you think you are taking advantage of Lacey this way? All she’s been is nice to you and this is how you repay her. Leaving her bleeding in her own living room.”

  Though he’d caught his breath from running, those spots danced closer in his vision and he focused in on Lacey. He’d left her bleeding?

  Dodging the blonde, he walked forward and dropped down in front of Lacey. “What did I do?”

  She shook her head, wincing. “It wasn’t you, really. I tripped over Frank and went down. Don’t worry about it, Max.”

  His fists clenched in frustration because he knew she was lying to protect him. Leaning up, he peeled back the cloth. Blood welled from a small cut on the back of her head and he felt like the lowest scum. Another mark on his sterling record.

  “Does this need stitches?”

  She nodded. “I’m going in to the office to do it. Dr. Petrovic can do it in there. I just wanted to wait long enough to let you know what I was doing. You don’t read notes very well.”

  She gave him a crooked, chiding smile. Max’s throat tightened with emotion and he had to look away. She leaned forward to press a kiss to the top of his head and he all but lost it. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her tight for a long minute, gathering his scattered control. Arms quivering, he kissed her back on the chest, just above her heart and pulled away. “I wouldn’t hurt you for anything,” he whispered.

  She nodded against him. “I know.”

  Swiping his hands over his eyes, he made sure there was no evidence of his loss of control when he turned back to the neighbor.

  “Be careful driving her in.”

  The woman nodded, eyes watching him carefully as he lifted Lacey to her feet. In spite of his aching chest he walked her down to the car and watched as they pulled away. He trudged back up the steps but turned to sit on the top one, deflated. His emotions over the past week had bounced from one extreme to the other and he craved the fog he’d lived in for the past few months.

  The fog dulled the pain and let him hide from his ghosts.

  He could admit to himself though, that his life was going to hell. Lacey, as little as he knew her, had become the brightest shining spot in his life. She was vibrant and actually made him feel better about himself.

  Which was incredibly sad. A woman he barely knew had become what he was going to live for.

  The maintenance supervisor arrived and let him into his apartment, handing him a spare set of keys he’d had made on the way. Max accepted them gratefully, feeling less like a total leech now that he could get out of Lacey’s apartment.

  He walked into the bathroom and tugged open the medication drawer. For the first time in a long time, he actually took inventory of all of the pills he took every day. There were a lot of fucking pills. He read the label of each one and realized that there were several that did the same thing. The symptoms were what caught his attention though. He took pills to get rid of the violent flashbacks, but others he took for his anxiety caused flashbacks.

  No wonder he was so fucked up.

  The thought of trying to get an emergency appointment at the VA made his head h
urt. And his regular check-up was months down the road. He walked to the kitchen and dug in the trashcan. The paper with Lacey’s pretty writing was at the bottom of the can. Looking at the numbers for several long seconds, he made himself pick up his phone.

  When Lacey arrived home with three fresh stitches in her head, she was concerned that Max wasn’t in the apartment. The maintenance man had probably arrived and let him in his place. That didn’t necessarily ease her worry though.

  Hannah puttered around, trying to make sure Lacey was as comfortable as she could be. She even offered to run upstairs and check on Max, but Lacey shook her head. “No, if he needs something he knows where I am.”

  In her heart, she wanted him to come down and check on her because he was concerned, not because he felt guilty.

  But she didn’t hear from him all that night.

  Hannah stayed with her overnight, even though Peter-dick didn’t believe she had a concussion. Lacey frowned at the nickname she’d begun to adopt. It was going to get her in trouble one of these days. He had released her from work on Monday, though.

  As soon as Hannah headed up the stairs to her own apartment the next morning, Lacey gave in to her curiosity and headed up to Max’s. There was no response when she knocked on his door.

  For a long moment, fear held her immobile. What if he’d finally done it? She knew he’d thought about suicide. It was in his eyes. The desolation and despair. The need for some kind of release.

  The day wore on and there was still no word from him. When she went down to get her mail from the bank of boxes, she found the butterfly stationery she’d written Eric’s number on for Max. A note had been scrawled on the back and shoved into the slot.

  Lacey,

  I appreciate the help you’ve given me this past week. You’ve seen me at my worst but still been able to smile for me. You have no idea how precious that is.

  I have to go away for a while, but I will contact you as soon as I’m able. I know, after what I did to you yesterday, I have no right to ask, but I’m going to anyway. Think about me when I’m gone.

  Max

  Lacey’s throat closed up and it was all she could do not to burst into tears as she read his words. Of course she would think about him.

  And she did.

  Lacey settled into a routine, going to work, coming home, meeting with friends and in general keeping herself busy. She took drives down the coast to explore and went to the beach. But it wasn’t enough. She was lonely for Max. When she got home from work every day, her eyes drifted to 4C in the parking lot, though it stayed empty. She didn’t know if Max had gotten his bike back from the repair shop or not.

  Though he didn’t contact her directly, he let her know that he was thinking of her. One day she came home and there was a box on her doorstep. Inside were six of the plumpest, juiciest chocolate covered strawberries she’d ever seen. Using extreme willpower, she allowed herself to eat just one of the divine treats, then put the rest away. All week she nibbled on those strawberries.

  Then a couple weeks later she arrived home to another box, this one long and narrow. Inside were twelve pale yellow roses. They made her cry because her father had been the only other man to give her roses, on her graduation from nursing years ago. He’d died not long after that. The roses had been the last things he’d ever given her and the last time she’d seen him.

  Lacey sat and stared at the flowers for a long time. When she went to bed that night, she dreamt of her father, urging her to walk on the stormy beach. Max sat on the sand with his back to her, but he looked up at her and smiled when she stopped beside him. And while the storm raged around them, they were safe and cocooned in a little bubble of love. Lacey woke up smiling at the hoaky dream, wiping tears from her cheeks.

  If only he’d left her his cell phone number…

  She took the time to hand write a note, then sent it to Eric at the center. It would take a few days to get there, but her mind would be eased that she’d told him thank-you and that she missed him.

  When she came home one day in summer, two and a half months after he’d left, there was a sporty red Fiat parked in Max’s spot. Throwing her crap inside the door of her apartment, Lacey rushed up the stairs to the fourth floor and pounded on Max’s door. A woman answered, looking surprised at the commotion.

  “Oh,” Lacey sputtered. “Sorry. I thought Max was home.”

  The pretty red-haired woman shook her head. “Nope. Sorry. Is he the guy that lived here before?”

  Lacey nodded and forced her hand out. “Welcome to the building. I’m a couple floors directly below you.”

  Ashlynn Crane seemed like a nice enough lady, but she wasn’t Max.

  As Lacey trudged down the stairs to her apartment, choking disappointment overwhelmed her. There had been no word from Max for ten weeks now, other than the gifts, and she was worried. She debated calling Eric to check on him, but she doubted her friend could even tell her anything with the HIPAA laws in effect.

  He couldn’t have been redeployed. Even if Eric had worked miracles, Max wouldn’t have been ready physically or emotionally. Whatever had happened to him months ago had been bad, so bad that he’d medicated himself to the point that he didn’t care. And the doctors had helped him do it. That couldn’t be fixed quickly.

  Lacey tried to be outgoing and engaging, but it was hard. Twice she’d made the four-hour drive to her old stomping grounds, hanging out with her girlfriends from Walter Reed. But even that didn’t satisfy her. There was a general feeling of discontent in her life that was very irritating. Ideally, she had everything she needed. Friends, a good paying job, a nice place.

  The only thing she didn’t have? Max.

  Chapter Seven

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  Max looked at himself in the full-length mirror, tugging at the tight collar of the button-down shirt. He looked like a damn banker.

  “Quit messing,” Eric grumbled. “You look fine.”

  “It’s just going to look fucked up when I get off the bike anyway.”

  “No, it won’t. I don’t think she’ll actually care what you’re wearing anyway.”

  Max looked at the guy who had become one of his greatest supporters. Eric O’Hanrahan, with too many letters after his name to remember all the certifications, had been as great as Lacey had said. When Max had called him that day weeks ago, Eric had balked until Max had mentioned Lacey’s name. Then he’d arranged for a taxi to pick him up and deliver him to the drug and alcohol treatment center in Silver Spring, Maryland. When Max had realized where he’d been delivered he’d almost turned around. Silver Spring Rehabilitation Center. But as he’d looked over the grounds and the people moving around, it had seemed like a decent place to be. Eric met him at the car and as soon as he’d met the man in person, Max had felt at ease. As they walked around the grounds of the facility, he hadn’t had the skeevy reaction he’d expected.

  Eric admitted that they were fully booked at the time, but that special arrangements had been made to make room for him. And there was a clerk assigned to making sure the government covered his treatment.

  “Lacey must have been a pretty good friend,” Max commented, unable to keep the curiosity from his voice.

  Eric had glanced at him and his lean face cracked into an easy smile. “Lacey Adams is a gem. She’s not a counselor, but she has the instincts of one. She was there for me at a time when I truly needed it.”

  Eric leaned down and lifted his right pant leg. A metallic prosthetic shone in the light.

  Max lifted his brows in surprise. He hadn’t even noticed a hitch in the man’s gait.

  “She cared for you at Walter Reed?”

  The other man nodded. “Lost it in Fallujah eight years ago. Then I had shrapnel in several other places they had to dig out. I was in the hospital for about five months. Lacey was my nurse from beginning to end. And when I had issues letting go of the props, like you are it sounds like, she guided me to get treatment. Even years ago she was aware of the dangers
we faced when we came home.”

  Max frowned. He must have been so obvious to her. But she’d still taken a chance.

  Eric started him off with a bang, so to speak. A full detox from everything he was on. Max occupied one of the few locked areas in the treatment facility for a solid week, and dealing with the detox quakes and tremors while he had three broken ribs was one of the most painful physical things he’d ever done. They gave him more drugs to counteract the tremors and nausea, but they didn’t work as well as promised.

  Once he’d made it through the worst of the detox, the actual counseling kicked in. Max realized that most of the patients here were former military, all branches. Many of the counselors themselves were former military. Eric was a former Marine. There was an understanding that the situations could be talked about, just not the specific details of the ops themselves. Even knowing he had the option of doing that didn’t make him any more comfortable about talking through the most traumatic event in his life.

  Max left the lock-down facility feeling more clear-headed than he had in six months. Most of the drugs were out of his system and he was on a drug that supposedly helped with addictions. It seemed backwards taking more pills to get off the ones he was on, but the process seemed to be working. Since he’d only been on the overload of pills for a few months, the addiction hadn’t set its claws as deeply as a long-time user.

  The only hiccup came when he realized there was no bed for him in the main facility. It had been overbooked for years, literally, dealing with all of the returning service members that Walter Reed couldn’t get to.

  Eric offered him the spare bedroom in his own home. “Dude, you don’t have to do that,” Max protested.

  Shrugging, Eric had given him that easy smile. “I owe Lacey. She’s sent me people before, but I can tell you’re different.”

  Max looked away, praying what the other man said was true.

  He had the option of writing Lacey, but he had no idea what he would say. He refused to beg for her to wait for him any longer than she already had. That seemed too lame. She knew he was safe. Maybe when he was further along in his treatment, when he knew it would stick, he’d send her a letter.