Ready to Roll

by Suzanne Brockmann

“Nothing bad,” Ben reassured him.

  “Okay, I need a little more than that,” Dan insisted.

  “And I’m sorry, but I really can’t tell you.” Ben sounded genuinely apologetic. “But I promise that I’m safe—and that I’ll be safe.”

  Dan sighed. “God, Ben.”

  “You trust me, right?”

  “Yeah,” Dan said. In the living room, Colin woke up and started to cry. “Shit. I do.”

  “That means a lot to me.”

  “You are so playing the adorably-sincere-little-gay-brother card to get me to do exactly what you want,” Dan pointed out. He peeked around the corner to see Jenn standing and doing the dance they’d dubbed the Crying Colin Shuffle. She held the baby up so that his belly was on her shoulder and she jiggled him, just slightly, as she moved back and forth.

  Ben laughed. “That’s cold!”

  “But true,” Dan said.

  “Ginger,” Ben admitted. “Adorably-sincere-little-gay-ginger-haired-brother card. Works every time, Brah.”

  “I should come to this meeting just to find out what-the-fuck,” Dan grumbled.

  “Seriously, it’s just not that big of a thing,” Ben said.

  “It better not be,” Dan warned him. “Don’t make me regret this.”

  “Later,” Ben said, and Dan pocketed his phone as he went to help Jenn.

  * * *

  When it came to Hell Week, there wasn’t a lot that Izzy loved more than showing up for morning number two well-rested and wearing clean, dry clothes.

  The same could not be said for the candidates in BUD/S class four billion and twenty-eight, who were desperately pretending not to be weary, wet, and cold.

  Today’s bright sun would change that—giving them the bonus of potential sunburns.

  Which wouldn’t mix well with their salt-water-stiffened-and-sand-encrusted uniforms.

  Still, Izzy knew the rapidly warming sun would provide a welcome change from a night consumed by the cold.

  Grunge was lingering even though he’d already met with Big Mac—Lieutenant MacInnough—the morning shift officer, to share the events of the previous night. Izzy approached with caution, because Grunge was wearing his what the fuck face as he watched the candidates wolfing down mountains of scrambled eggs and carb-loading entire loaves of toasted bread.

  He was watching… Hey, skinny lil’ Seagull was still in the game. How ’bout that?

  “FYI, sir, I’ve figured him out,” Izzy told Grunge, at the exact same moment that Grunge said, “He wants the abuse.”

  “That,” Izzy agreed. “Is exactly what I was gonna—”

  “So I took it from him.” Grunge cut him off and because he was an officer, Izzy yielded the floor. “If he needs us to scream in his face that he’s gonna fail, I’m not giving that to him anymore. All night long, my order was to ignore him, but… He’s still here.” He laughed. “Fuck here, he’s more than here. He’s leading his squad. Their CO got rolled. Broke an ankle.”

  Lieutenant (junior grade) John Potts, the impossibly young officer in charge of the whimsically named Boat Squad John was a good guy. Maybe a little too serious—he was one of those head-down, plow-forward, straight-A types. His biggest strength—when he was in the zone, he was in the zone—was also his biggest weakness. He was not very good at listening or coloring outside of the lines.

  And Izzy knew from experience that the SEAL Teams needed leaders who could do both.

  “So, wait,” he said now to Grunge. “What about Potts’s swim buddy, Ensign Johns?”

  “Clem Johns rang out about two minutes after Potts rolled,” Grunge reported. “No big surprise there.”

  That news definitely made sense. “So Seagull’s leading Boat Squad John?” Izzy clarified.

  “Not officially,” Grunge told him. “Hans is making noise like he’s in charge, highest ranking enlisted—but only because he’s been in for the longest—blah blah blah-bah-dee blah. But…” He laughed again. “Fuck me if Seagull’s not the one who’s keeping the squad going. Plus, he’s doing it covertly, so Hansie doesn’t even know. Which, frankly, is about all that’s keeping Hans going, and I’m pretty sure Seagull knows that.”

  With the loss of Lieutenant Potts and Ensign Johns, Boat Squad John was down to six, all enlisted: Seagull, Timebomb, Schloss, Olympic Jake, and the buddied-up pair of nondescript Johns who’d been dubbed Q for John Q Public, and Doe for the obvious. Izzy still didn’t quite know which was which.

  “Huh,” he said.

  “Yeah,” Grunge agreed. “It’s a double-fuck of a huh. Buddy up to the Gull today, Z. Find his kryptonite. I want to push this son of a bitch past his breaking point. In fact, it’s my new mission in life.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Izzy said, as Grunge walked away.

  “All right, all right, all right!” Marky-Mark Jenkins shouted into the megaphone to announce the end of breakfast. “Let’s go, let’s move, let’s go!”

  Izzy ran with the candidates back toward the shore, glad to stretch his legs, and really glad that he wasn’t approaching thirty-six hours without sleep.

  * * *

  Wade was unusually subdued.

  Ben sat on one end of the pleather sofa in Ms. Standfast’s office, and Wade sat all the way on the other, while the guidance counselor droned on about mindful meditation as a means of avoiding violent altercations.

  Wade hadn’t looked up at Ben once, not even when Ben first came into the room.

  The larger boy’s misery was radiating off of him in waves. Now that Ben knew what Wade’s always-simmering anger hid, it was impossible to un-see it. But his anger was a good disguise. If Danny had come with Ben the way he’d wanted, the SEAL would never have spotted Wade’s pain beneath that barely contained rage.

  But Ben had managed to keep his brother from attending, which meant he could pass Wade the note that Ryan had written without Danny asking a crapload of questions about it.

  And Kelly Standfast was so earnestly and sincerely Kumbayah that she wouldn’t question the transaction. Not even if Ben handed the note to Wade right in front of her, saying, I wrote a poem for Wade explaining how I feel. And, I’d prefer not to share, Ms. S. It’s private. Maybe next week I’ll be ready to talk about it. We’ll have to wait and see.

  It was now five minutes before the homeroom warning bell, and Ben knew that he’d never have a better opportunity, so he interrupted Ms. Standfast, mid-May you be free from suffering; may you be at peace.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But our time’s almost up, and I’d love to have a private conversation with Wade. I feel like we’re both really ready—we’re both in the right place and the right emotionally safe space—to take that important step.”

  He was speaking her language, and he could see all the feels flashing in her eyes.

  Wade, meanwhile, had finally looked up at Ben. His “feels” were radically different—and possibly homicidal. Or at least that was what he wanted everyone to believe. But Ben could also see a bit of panic peeking out.

  Probably not for the first time, Wade was wondering exactly what Ryan had told his “new boyfriend” about his ex. Like, maybe, his identity…?

  So Ben nodded an emphatic oh yes, as he met Wade’s eyes. “Right, Wade?” he added. “You’re ready, too.”

  Wade nodded jerkily in response. “Yeah,” he said, smart enough to echo Ben’s words. “I’m ready for this… important step… in this safe space.”

  Ms. Standfast’s happiness might’ve made her tear up a little as she gathered her things, but Ben didn’t have time to feel bad about his deception as she closed the door behind her.

  He turned to Wade. “Ryan told me everything.” Ben dug the note out of the pocket of his jeans and dumped it onto the couch next to the other boy. “He asked me to give you this. We’re not dating, we’re just friends, he’s still in love with you—enough to want to join you in your shitty dark closet until God knows when. And—news-flash—you’re insane to walk away from that.”

&n
bsp; Wade swallowed as he looked down at Ryan’s carefully folded note, but he didn’t reach for it. He didn’t move at all.

  So Ben kept going. “I know from what Ryan told me that things at home aren’t very good for you—”

  “You have no idea.” Wade finally spoke, cutting Ben off.

  “Actually,” Ben said quietly, “I do. You might’ve noticed that I don’t live with my mother. Not anymore. I wasn’t safe in her house.”

  “Yeah, well, obviously you had somewhere else to go,” Wade said flatly.

  “Not at first,” Ben said. “Not for a long time. And not until I asked for help.”

  “Fuck that. And fuck you. Frankly, I got bigger things to worry about right now.” Wade stood up. But he took Ryan’s note, cramming it into his pocket unread.

  Ben stood, too, blocking the other boy’s path to the door. “When I said Ryan and I aren’t dating, I should’ve said yet. We’re not dating yet.”

  Wade winced. He tried not to, but he couldn’t help himself. Speaking of yet, he’d yet to admit that Ryan meant anything to him. Not out loud anyway. The fact that he’d taken that note, though, spoke volumes.

  But before Ben could apologize, Wade laughed and said, “Fuck all of this—and fuck you, twice. I could use a few days off.”

  And he punched Ben square in the face.

  * * *

  SEAL Candidate Petty Officer Third Class

  John “Seagull” Livingston:

  It’s true. Not only did I go through Hell Week with a target on my back…

  But I was the one who put it there. That target. Intentionally.

  And yes, I know that sounds crazy. But one of the things I’d noticed about myself during the first weeks of BUD/S was that when the instructors got in my face, when they screamed at me, saying that I wasn’t good enough, or strong enough, or tough enough, or smart enough, or whatever-the-hell enough… When they told me that I didn’t have what it takes to be a Navy SEAL…? Well, that was when I would rather die than quit.

  And I recognized that. I figured that this was the ticket to my safe passage through Hell Week. My guarantee. We’d all heard the horror stories about just how big of a screwing it was going to be—and I figured I’d make sure I had that extra motivation to see me through.

  So, week before Hell Week, I’m that guy. The one who’s always messing up and pissing off the instructors. (smiles) And because I’d made myself that guy, I figured I’d surf through Hell Week on a beautiful sea of abuse. And at first the instructors came at me—hard. Which was exactly what I wanted.

  Scream at me, and I will not quit. Tell me I can’t—I will get it done. That’s a good thing to know about yourself, you know? It gave me an advantage over some of the other guys who didn’t have that… (laughs) instant and readily available motivation from the instructors. And hey, I’m not saying it works for everyone. On the contrary. But it worked for me.

  Until the instructors figured it out.

  But I’d anticipated that, too. (smiles tightly) John Schlossman was my Plan B. (in faux-German accent) Ja, Hans, Ja! God, what a douchebag.

  You know that old saying, Keep your friends close, keep your friends who are douchebags closer, especially if your name is John Livingston and you’re going through BUD/S…?

  Hans Schlossman was my own private naysayer and personal shit-slinger. With Hans around, I didn’t need the instructors’ help to receive that constant message that I was going to fail—to which my visceral response was Hell no!

  Was that why I did what I did for Schloss, after the Around-the-World?

  Maybe. Yeah.

  But even just a few hours after that, everything changed. We were all learning—myself included. I still had to figure out… Well, SEAL Team, right?

  SEAL Team.

  It took me a while, but by the end of Hell Week I finally understood exactly what SEAL Team means. That’s why we did what we did on that last hellish half-day, when we were countable hours from being secure. And everyone makes a fuss about it, but it wasn’t that big of a deal.

  Anyone with half a working brain would’ve done the same.

  * * *

  “I deeply, deeply regret this.” Danny’s voice was measured but dangerously low.

  Jenn knew from the look on Ben’s face that the boy recognized just how angry his older brother was.

  “I do, too,” Ben said as he looked imploringly around the living room, from Dan to Izzy to Eden to Jenn. “I swear I didn’t see this coming.”

  Wade’s punch hadn’t broken his nose or given him a concussion, thank God. And the ER doctors had done a nice job of cleaning Ben up. But his redhead’s pale complexion meant the scrape on his chin and a slightly swollen lip looked worse than it was. And the bruise on his cheekbone was only going to get more colorful as the day wore on.

  “Do we need to get a restraining order?” Eden asked, as usual getting right to the direst bottom line.

  “No,” Ben said. “Wade’s not dangerous.”

  “Have you looked into a mirror?” Eden asked, incredulous.

  “This wasn’t personal,” Ben insisted. “Well, maybe it was a little personal, but… Seriously, guys, right before he hit me, Wade goes, I could use a few days off. He only punched me because he wanted to get suspended.”

  After the school had called with the news of Ben’s latest suspension, and after that ER run, they’d all gathered here, at Jenn and Dan’s house. Sam and Robin had shown up for emergency Colin-duty so that all four of Ben’s legal guardians could be in on this meeting.

  Izzy had been the last to arrive, coming directly from the Naval Base. He hadn’t changed out of the cargo-shorts-and-clunky-boots version of BDUs that SEALs wore as their default BUD/S instructor uniforms, and his olive-drab T-shirt was stained with sweat. He was trying his best to stay downwind of the rest of them, but now he leaned in. “I know you’ve prolly told the play-by-play of what happened a zillion times already, but I haven’t heard it.”

  “Ben talked me out of going to the meeting,” Dan said grimly. “Because I’m a flipping idiot.”

  “Bro.” Izzy looked up at Dan, shaking his head in mock sympathy. “That’s Ben’s job. As a teenager. To talk you outta babysitting him. And it’s our job, as the so-called grownups, to do exactly what you did: To let him talk you outta babysitting him, because he’s a big boy. Now, I’m not saying you’re not a flipping idiot—”

  “Quit while you’re ahead, please.” Jenn cut Izzy off. “Let’s hit pause on any and all joking for the moment, can we?”

  “Mistakes happen,” Eden interjected. She turned to her little brother. “What I want to know is why you got suspended for getting punched in the face.”

  “Well, there was no one else in the room,” Ben explained.

  “Whoa,” Izzy said. “Wait. I missed the part between you talking Danny out of going to the meeting, and you suddenly being alone in the counselor’s office with Wade O’Keefe, the school’s biggest homophobic load of crap.”

  Ben shook his head and Jenn sighed as both Eden and Dan attempted to explain to Izzy that for some reason, triple exclamation points, italicized, and underlined, Ben asked Ms. Standfast for a chance to talk to Wade ALONE!!!

  Izzy looked at Ben, eyebrows up. “To talk about what?”

  “That’s what he won’t tell us,” Eden and Dan said in near-perfect unison.

  “Okay.” Izzy nodded. “Clearly Ben’s conversation with Wade was meant to be private.” He turned back to the boy. “But dude, taking into consideration the regular hospital ER visits, and oh, you suddenly being suspended for fighting—again… That puts a slightly different spin on things, you know what I’m saying?”

  Ben nodded solemnly. “I do,” he said. “I get it. But I made a promise not to tell anyone.”

  “Is one of your friends in trouble?” Eden asked, and Jenn knew she was remembering the girl that Ben had befriended back in Las Vegas—which had gotten him targeted by some very bad men who ran a human trafficking r
ing.

  “No,” Ben said. “This isn’t like Neesha. It’s nothing like that. This is high-school level drama. But still. This secret is not mine to tell.”

  “A secret like what, like Wade’s gay?” Izzy asked, unable to keep himself from slipping into the joke zone. But as the words left his mouth, he figured out—they all did—that not only was that not a joke, but that he’d probably hit the truth right on the head. “Holy shit, Wade’s gay?”

  Ben sighed, closed his eyes, and shook his head.

  “Oh my God,” Jenn realized. “If he’s gay…”

  “Living in that house,” Eden said tightly, “with those parents…”

  “Forget his parents,” Jenn said. “His brother’s a monster.” She leaned in to ask Ben, “Does his brother know that Wade’s gay?”

  Ben sighed again. “No,” he said. “At least that’s what Ryan believes. Ryan, who knows these things because he’s been Wade’s boyfriend since last summer. Although Wade just broke up with him, but Ryan’s in full-on torch-carrying mode.” He looked around at their astonished faces and sighed again. “Please, you can’t tell anyone, because if Wade gets outed, he’ll definitely be in danger. And Ryan probably will be, too. Jenn’s right. Wade’s brother Cody is a sociopath.”

  Eden was the first to speak, and Jenn knew she was thinking about Ben’s mad crush on Ryan Spencer, who was the boyfriend of Wade O’Keefe. “Oh, Boo-boo,” Eden said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Please let me handle this,” Ben implored them all. “I’m in the middle of something that really sucks. But if you all get involved, it’s only going to get worse. Ryan’s my friend, all right? And he sees something in Wade that, you know, we don’t. Or can’t. See. And I know Wade just punched me in the face, but I kinda punched him back, so yeah, I was fighting, too. And yes, I should’ve curled into a ball and meditated or whatever, but it hurt and I was mad so I hit him back. And I know that I made him mad, too. I purposely pissed him off right before he hit me, and I know that’s not an excuse, but again, I think he wanted to get suspended—I don’t know why. But I do believe that the only reason Wade hit me was because he wanted to go home, and I was in the right place at the right time. Also, I’d just told him I was into Ryan, and that I’d steal him if I could. Which is true.”