Ready to Roll

by Suzanne Brockmann

  I remember lying there in the sand, thinking, I cannot be rolled. I will not be rolled.

  (Laughs) So I’m roller-coastering, emotionally. Oh, crap, I’m dead. Nope, not dead thank you, Jesus. Oh fuck me, I’m gonna be rolled, and I’ma have to do Hell Week all over again, and next time’s gonna be without my swim buddy, Seagull.

  So I get back on my feet, and I’m thinking, My right arm still works even though my left’s useless. And it doesn’t hurt that bad, maybe no one will know.

  Except that whole doesn’t-hurt-that-bad thing is only true when I don’t jar it. And I jar the crap out of it every time I move.

  But move I must, because Boat Squad John has picked that log back up, and we’re running again, and I’m trying not to scream.

  Of course, one of our instructors is this legendary SEAL named Izzy Zanella. He doesn’t miss much, and I see him watching me, hard, as we head back up the beach with our log overhead.

  Because, yeah, I’m holding it with only my right hand. I’ve got my left arm tucked in tight at my side.

  “You okay there, Jackson?” Zanella calls as we drop the log onto the sand.

  And I’m like, “I am, but this chafing’s getting pretty intense. I need to shake some of this sand free.” And then—to this day, I don’t know how I did it—but I snapped off a jumping jack, both arms up and over my head, and then back to my sides. I nearly passed out from the pain, but I’m like, “Hoo-yah!” At the top of my lungs.

  And Seagull’s all call-and-response with his own “Hoo-yah!” because he’s Seagull, and you can’t fool him. He sees what’s what, and he knows I need help, so he brings all of Boat Squad John in around me, close. And they’re holding me up and essentially blocking me from Zanella’s view as they move me off down the beach.

  I remember the Gull asking, “How bad is it?”

  I say, “I’m okay.” Except, yeah, the pain made me puke, so everyone knows I’m lying.

  And John Q goes, “Wow, Deeb, you musta broke your collarbone. It’s swelling like a mofo.”

  There’s this awful silence, so I say it again, “I’m okay.”

  And it’s Schloss—that giant, whining pain-in-the-ass—who goes, “Damn straight, you’re okay. It’s not your foot or your leg. You can walk, you can run… Together, we can hide this. Together, we’ll get you through.”

  And suddenly, I’m the giant load everyone’s gonna be dragging around, right?

  But Seagull’s just as absolute, and he starts firing off exactly how we’re gonna do each exercise or drill or whatever—to hide the fact that I’m hurt.

  And right now? Telling this story? (laughs)

  I recognize—I do—just how ridiculous it was to think we could hide an injury of this magnitude. I mean, it’s one thing if it was just avoiding a cursory glance from the instructors, but we’re coming due for a full-on med check. And there was no way in hell that I was going to get a broken collarbone past anyone with eyes in their head.

  But we were sleep-deprived and stressed to the max. And we were a team. And in that moment, we really wanted to believe that my injury wasn’t going to slow us down.

  We were, after all, Boat Squad John—soon to be part of the U.S. Navy SEALs.

  * * *

  Ryan Spencer:

  That was probably the scariest day of my life.

  And my mother’s in the Navy, so I’ve had some really scary days—like when I know she’s out there in what the SEALs call the “real world,” and reports come in of a helo getting shot down, or… (shakes head) You immediately wonder, Was she on that helo? What are the odds? Your imagination just blows up.

  So it’s not like I don’t know what scary is.

  I also know how to keep breathing. Sometimes that’s all you can do.

  But that day, I had another job.

  Adam—you know, Wyndham? The movie star? (smiles) He and Ben came up with this crazy plan, and I remember as they were explaining the details to us, that I looked over at Wade and thought, Wow, this just might work.

  (Leans forward) I also thought if it didn’t work—Ben and Adam’s plan—Wade could do it. You know, tell Cody he’s gay, so that Cody’s head explodes, except maybe in this scenario we’re all there to stop Cody from killing Wade. Who then comes home and lives with me—happily ever after.

  But yeah, I knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

  Because I also knew that Wade wasn’t ready.

  To come out.

  I mean, I know he wants to be with me, and I know he’ll do it eventually, he will. But I also know that he’s on track for this amazing football scholarship. It’s his only real shot at going to college, and I know how badly he wants that.

  And yeah, it’s 2010, things should be different, but seriously, if Wade tells anyone that he’s gay, he can kiss that scholarship goodbye.

  Eventually there’ll be out gay football players, but it hasn’t happened yet.

  Anyway, we’re all standing in Wade’s living room, and Adam says, “Okay, Wade. I’m gonna assume you have your reasons for wanting to keep living in this palace, locked in what is surely a very disgusting closet—”

  I interrupt and tell him about the scholarship, and Wade says, “I don’t have to go to college. Eff college. Eff football. If making sure Angel’s safe—” and then he turns and looks at me with those amazing eyes and says “—if making sure you’re safe means I don’t go college, then I don’t go to college.”

  But Ben says, “But what if you can have it all?”

  Wade’s just shaking his head as he stares at Ben, whose face is a mess because Wade hit him, you know, back in Ms. S’s office. When he finally speaks, it’s barely a whisper. “Why would you do this for me? It’s too much. I wouldn’t do it for you.”

  Ben shrugs. And he says, “Maybe I’m not doing it for you.” And he looks over at me.

  And Wade’s so jealous, which, okay, can be really hot when it’s not annoying. So I know Ben’s just BSing him. Ben’s really respectful—he knows how much I love Wade. Really, Ben’s just giving Wade a chance to be, I don’t know, a little less vulnerable about all of this, maybe?

  Of course, Wade bristles and starts spitting out more F-bombs. Eff you, a-hole.

  “I’ll take that as plan approval,” Adam says and he turns to me and asks, “You know what Cody’s truck looks like?”

  Of course I do.

  Adam says, “Ride your bike to the Irish Pub, and make sure Cody’s still there. Don’t do anything—just report back to us. Do not talk to him, do not approach him. If he leaves—when he leaves—come back here.”

  “No,” Wade says. “Don’t come back. Rye, go home. Please.”

  “No.” Adam’s certain. “Wade, we need Ryan to help sell this. You need to trust him.”

  And I see that Ben’s looking at me, and he knows that just like Wade’s feeling sketchy about the part I’m gonna play in this, I’m equally worried about Wade. So he says, “And you need to trust Wade.”

  I go, “I do,” right when Wade’s telling Adam, “I do.”

  And we both laugh, only I’m thinking, If we live through this, then yeah, I’m absolutely going to marry you. And then I kind of get lost in Wade’s eyes, because he’s smiling back at me. And when has he ever smiled at me like that when anyone else is around, you know?

  (Stops to compose himself, forces a smile) Someday I’ll have that kind of smile all the time, and it’ll be worth the wait.

  “Ryan, go,” Adam says because Wade and I are just standing there grinning at each other like idiots. “But when you get back here, you have to remember, absolutely, that you’re Ben’s boyfriend, okay? Ben’s. Wade is a homophobic bully and you hate his guts.”

  I nod as I look at Wade again. We’ve played this game before—we can do it again.

  But I can’t leave before I tell him, “Be careful.” And just like with that I do, we’re in unison, because he says Be careful, too.

  We do it again with “I love you,” and that really surprised
me. I never in a million years thought Wade would ever say that to me in front of anyone.

  So I go with the time-honored Han-Solo-inspired classic, “I know,” and of course, he says it, too.

  “Oh, my God,” Adam says as he grabs my arm and pushes me out the screen door. “The cuteness! It burns!”

  And as I grab my bike, I can hear Adam from inside of the house as he claps his hands. “Okay, boys, time to dress the set and rehearse the scene!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Still Thursday

  Something weird was definitely going on with Boat Squad John.

  Izzy wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. Tony V’s gaze was aimed in Jo(h)n-to-the-fifth’s direction as the entire class of tadpoles slogged into the water for their pre-sunset surf torture.

  “Huh,” Tony said.

  “Yeah,” Izzy agreed. “Someone’s hurt.”

  Tony glanced at him. “But who?”

  Izzy made a duck mouth as he shrugged. “I can’t figure it out either. And I’ve been watching ’em for a while.”

  As they’d sat down in the water, the men from Boat Squad John hadn’t intertwined arms, which was the usual BUD/S surf-torture position of ultimate strength. It kept the candidates locked together in the pounding surf.

  Instead, Team BSJ sat even more closely together—hip-to-hip close. As if one—or more—of them was having hypothermia issues, and needed the extra body heat.

  But if that was the case, Izzy would’ve expected skinny Seagull to be the guy needing the assistance. He would’ve expected the Gull to be in the middle of a giant Schloss and humongous Timebomb oven-sandwich. But the little dude was on one of BSJ’s ends, his right arm locked at the more traditional elbow with Fark, his left arm tight around Timebomb’s waist. He and da Bomb had locked legs, too, as had all of Boat Squad John.

  Schloss was on Timebomb’s other side, and he, too, had one arm around Bomb’s waist, and the other around the waist of John Q. The bland-looking John who’d been nicknamed Doe was at the very end of the less-longer-these-days line of candidates, on Q’s other side.

  “Broken rib?” Izzy posited. “Look at Q and Timebomb.”

  Both Timebomb and Q weren’t holding on to their squad-mates with their arms. Instead said arms were folded tightly across their own chests as they let the others do the brunt of the work. The don’t-let-the-crashing-waves-scrape-your-face-on-the sand work of surviving surf torture, that is. The freezing was unavoidable.

  “I dunno,” Tony said. “They both had their squad’s top times on the last beach run. You ever run with a broken rib?”

  “I have,” Izzy said. “You?”

  “Yes and ow.” Tony frowned. “Maybe they’re just… trying to conserve energy…?” He didn’t sound convinced, still it was the most logical theory. “Taking turns doing less of the work…?”

  “Whatever it is,” Izzy realized, “they didn’t talk about it before going into the water. I mean, did you notice any kind of discussion about how they needed to sit closer, lock legs, yada yah?”

  Tony was already shaking his head no.

  “But they definitely discussed it at some point. I mean, they all went into the water, knowing exactly where to sit and what to do. It was practically a synchronized swimming routine. Ergo,” Izzy concluded, “whatever’s going on here, they planned for it—and talked about it—way in advance.”

  Tony didn’t look properly impressed by Izzy’s words, so Izzy added more words. “Ergo, we gotta throw some kind of exercise at them that they haven’t done yet,” he told his teammate. “At least not during Hell Week. Something that they don’t expect. See if a little spontaneity will help us figure out what-the-fuck.”

  “Or we could just blow a whistle and call over the medical team,” Tony suggested.

  “Unless that’s Seagull’s diabolical goal,” Izzy pointed out. “To get a little extra not-wet-and-freezing rest time for his guys—all of his guys, because we don’t know who to check.”

  Tony laughed. “If this is an elaborate plan to get that, then… maybe he deserves it…?”

  “Yeah, you’re no fun,” Izzy said. “Go to OTS already.”

  Tony laughed. “I’m thinking about it. You know. After.”

  Izzy did know. After meant after DADT was gone for good, and Tony was finally able to serve openly. Maybe even after he and Adam got married. That was definitely on their “gay agenda,” but it would be insane to try to plan a wedding while attending officer’s training school.

  Right now, though, Tony was thinking about Boat Squad John. “How about we bring them back to the beginning, with a little drown proofing?”

  Drown proofing was one of the first exercises that a new class did upon arrival at Phase One BUD/S. The candidates’ hands were tied behind their backs and they were tossed into the deep end of the pool.

  Their job was to not panic. Instead, they had to let themselves sink all the way down to the bottom where they’d use their legs to push themselves back up, exhaling as they went, so they could fill their lungs with air when they finally broke surface. At which point they’d hold their breath as they again sank to the bottom, whereupon they’d rinse and repeat.

  Izzy shook his head. “Too easy.”

  Tony shot him an oh really look, and Izzy realized that drown proofing was the younger SEAL’s kryptonite. Tony suffered every time the team locked out of a sub, for example. The sensation of being in a crowded space, sans rebreather, as it slowly filled with water was unnerving even to someone like Izzy, who’d gotten fully drown-proofed as a kid. Having older brothers who regularly threw him into the deep end of the pool—or sat on him, tickling him until he couldn’t breathe—was, he’d realized during his early days at BUD/S, a gift that kept on giving.

  “I just mean it really needs to be a teamwork exercise,” Izzy explained. “Also, it’s too easy to hide and even cope with an injury in the buoyancy of the water.”

  Tony nodded as a particularly large wave broke over the candidates’ heads.

  The breeze had kicked up another notch, and despite the late afternoon sunshine, a chill was in the air. “Brrr.” Izzy shivered.

  “W W G D,” Tony said.

  “What would…” Izzy figured it out, “Grunge do. Hmmm, really good question, TV. Let me channel the master, or in this case the lieutenant…” He closed his eyes and stood, palms up, as he imagined Grunge being faced with this particular dilemma.

  And then he laughed, because the solution was so obvious.

  “Rock portage,” Izzy proclaimed. “Daylight practice run.”

  “That’ll do it,” Tony agreed.

  “So now the question is, W W S D?”

  “What would Seagull do? With a squad of five, with a potentially serious injury to one?” Tony thought for just a moment. “Put whoever’s injured into the middle of their duck and have him just sit there. Claim it’s for balance or rest or whatever.”

  “Ding,” Izzy said. “That should give us our answer.” At which point, they’d call in the medical team.

  Tony nodded. “I’ll take it to Big Mac.” The large red-headed officer was down at the other end of the beach, deep in conversation with Jenk and the other instructors.

  “Tell him it was Grunge’s idea,” Izzy called after Tony as the wind blew a spray of surf into the air.

  Damn, it was getting ca-ca-ca-cold.

  * * *

  Ben used his cell phone to talk to Ryan, who was watching the Irish Pub from the safety of the convenience store across the busy street.

  Ryan reported that Cody’s black truck was still parked in the Pub lot. “He’s there—assuming he hasn’t walked home,” the boy added.

  “I think we’re safe to assume Cody’s still inside the bar if his truck’s outside,” Ben reassured him. He knew that Ryan was worried for Wade. He had every right to be. Sure, if this plan worked, Wade and Cody would be on the same side—today. Realistically, though, how long would that last? A few days at the most?

 
Of course, the goal here was for Wade to survive his brother’s initial burst of rage. Ben knew from his own experience that the key was to avoid getting hit during that very first wave of anger. After that, it was hit or miss, pun intended.

  “Okay, that’s it,” Wade said now. “Everything’s in place.”

  “I’m going to be in my car, lurking, at the end of the street,” Adam told them, not for the first time. “I’ll pull up, with tires screeching, horn honking, right after Wade comes out of the house.” He looked from Ben to Wade and back. “Y’guys want to run that part of it one more time?”

  Ben shook his head as Wade said, “I’m good.”

  “Lose the knife,” Adam reminded Ben. “Down the storm drain. And if something goes massively wrong, if Cody comes out of the house first, instead of Wade, run like hell.”

  As Ben nodded, Wade took a deep breath and exhaled hard. “Okay. I’m doing it.”

  “Wade’s calling Cody,” Ben relayed to Ryan, and put his phone on speaker, so that Ryan could hear Wade, too.

  “It’s ringing,” Wade reported, then said, “Yo. Code. You there?” He paused, then, “Yeah, I know you’re at work—” he rolled his eyes in a clear what a liar “—but you better get your ass home. ASAP. Angel packed a suitcase, man. She’s talking crazy, about going to stay with her sister, about… I don’t know what’s going on—if you guys had another fight or—”

  He held the phone away from his ear as Cody’s voice buzzed on the other end. “Don’t you goddamn let her leave that house!”

  Wade looked from Ben to Adam as he spoke into his phone. “Dude, I’m ahead of you. I already locked her in the bathroom and she’s way not happy about that.”

  It had given Ben a jolt—seeing that deadbolt on the outside of the O’Keefe’s bathroom door. It was a keyless bolt with only a thumb-turn—the kind that you couldn’t access from inside of the room. It was for one thing, and one thing only—for locking someone up. Making them a prisoner. Ben’s stepfather had installed a similar lock on their bathroom door in Vegas.

  This bathroom, however, had a window. It was tiny, though, and up near the ceiling, which was probably why it wasn’t sealed shut.