Hero Hair (The Real SEAL Series Book 2)

by Rachel Robinson

  “I’m going to look around,” I tell his wide, muscular back.

  He grunts his approval, and I take my mug of steaming coffee and wander down the hallway on the opposite side of the house. The guest bedrooms are over this way.

  “Careful in the back room. I’m building a bookshelf and there’s some equipment in there,” he calls out.

  It truly is a marvel what this space looks like now compared to what it did when I first came over. He turned it into a home. I can imagine myself spending time here. My stomach starts spinning, but I don’t let it control me. I open a door and see a large, disassembled bookcase. Books are neatly stacked in piles, lining the bare walls. Some titles I recognize as the classics. The thick tomes that you have to be in just the right mood to tackle, he also has an equal number of non-fiction works. The types of books you read when you want to read, but you also want to learn. I’ve never really understood that practice, but I can appreciate it.

  I walk in and head for the back window. It’s long and rectangular. The view is just as stunning as my view at home, yet completely different. The sun is rising and the colors are magnificent. Buildings block my view of sunrise. The pinks create a halo around the burnt oranges and reds. It’s silent still. The time of morning I usually spend by myself, flipping through social media on my phone, huddled over oatmeal before I head in to teach the early class. I swallow at the reminder of change. Not all change is bad, or even that life-altering, I remind myself. Some change happens without disturbing anything else. It’s possible. It has to be.

  “Your gourmet oatmeal is ready. I sweetened it with honey and raisins. Figured it was a morning to celebrate,” Macs says, his voice commanding the small room. His bare feet make a firm noise as he approaches from behind. “Some view, huh?”

  “I was just making a pros and cons list. This might top my view and I never thought it possible.” Because I never considered any other options. The dark of night is giving way to the dark royal blues of morning, the sky lighting the surrounding area.

  Macs pulls me against him, my back against his chest. My head tilts back automatically. “What time do you have to go into work?” he asks, his lips already skirting the edge of my neck. It’s a whisper of a kiss.

  Tilting my head to the left so he can continue his assault, I close my eyes and grin. “My thighs are still sticky from sex less than an hour ago, Macs,” I breathe.

  There’s no conviction in my statement. He knows it. My appetite for him is probably even larger than his for me. My core clenches a few times at the thought of having him inside me again.

  “Let’s go eat and then we can take another shower,” he rasps into my ear.

  I make a joke about the zoo, and he holds my hand all the way to the high bar in his kitchen. He goes to switch on the news, but then turns the television off again. He’s not used to having company in the morning. Old habits die hard. I understand completely.

  “Should we talk about last night?” I ask, in between bites.

  The oatmeal is a little firm. I make a face when I crunch on a bite. He apologizes with a cute grimace.

  Macs has a way of masking any emotions he may not want to show. The thing is I now know when he’s doing it, so I’m able to see when he’s trying to hide something. It’s just as telling. He does it now. I clear my throat.

  “I’m not sure what to say. Can we let last night speak for itself?” he asks, taking a bite.

  I take a sip of coffee. “The thing is I’m going to have to answer to people and I’m not sure what to say and it seems crazy I even have to ask. But assuming makes an ass out of you and me.” Humor. Again.

  He shrugs. “Call it what you want.”

  Macs doesn’t comment on the fact that all of my friends know about us, but his friends don’t even know what the hell is going on. He’s like me. A master at evasive techniques. We decided not to label it, so I decide we’ll be together. That’s good enough for me.

  We finish our breakfast and our coffee. The conversation is light and breezy as we discuss the facets of his kitchen. I don’t have to pretend to be interested. I truly am. I tell him I want to redo my kitchen and his eyes light up at the prospect of another project. He takes our bowls and mugs to the sink and disappears down the hall to the bathroom. It’s where my stuff is, so I can’t get ready yet. Approaching the sink, I wash the dishes myself.

  I startle when someone pounds on the front door. My heartbeat leaps into my chest as I peek around the corner to peer out the window. His driveway is hidden by the garage, but I see the uniform right away. I’ve never seen Macs wear it, but I know merely by sight this is one of his teammates. The severity of the slamming on the door forces me over. I unlock the deadbolt and pull the door open as quickly as my fumbling hands allow. This man, this beast of a man, looms over me like a goddamn nightmare. Where Macs is beautiful, this man is…rugged. His eyes flare the second the door opens and he sees me.

  “Oh,” I say, pulling at the hem of my shirt. “I’m sorry. You didn’t seem very patient,” I explain. “I’ll go get Macs.” For a second I think I should introduce myself, but then decide against it. Macs should do that.

  He shakes his head, closing his eyes. “I knew it. I fucking knew it,” he says under his breath.

  Macs rounds the corner with his towel slung over his shoulder, wearing only his boxer briefs.

  His whole demeanor changes when Macs sees this man. “Tahoe. What the fuck?”

  “Time to stop playing fucking house. Grab your shit. We need to leave. Like now. Like fucking yesterday,” the man named Tahoe explains using a gruff, emotionless voice.

  I step to the side and take a few steps back.

  I’ve never seen this side of Macs and I watch his face change as he processes the vague information given to him. His brow furrows, and his lips turn down in the corners. No dimples or smiles, or warm eyes. His face is made of stone and ice. You could carve a fucking swan out of it and set it on display on a cruise ship. This is work Macs, and I don’t know him.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask. No one looks at me. “Macs,” I say, my voice pleading. I look between the men and it’s only been a matter of seconds since Tahoe spoke, but it feels like years.

  Macs is heading back into the bedroom, and I’m left standing in this beautiful room with a man who looks like he deals out death for a living.

  “What happened?” I ask, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. It matches the pit in my stomach that sinks further and further every second.

  The beast named Tahoe flicks his gaze to me instead of the hall Macs disappeared down. “Stay here today. Don’t go out,” he says.

  My brow crinkles in confusion. Tahoe doesn’t notice, though. He’s eyeing my bare legs up and down, wearing a smile that looks like it belongs in Shark Week. The dread is so deep I don’t even give him a zing or readjust the tee. I stare at his uniform. The camouflage printed fabric that looks starched to death, the seams, his boots, the collar and Trident emblazoned over his heart. It’s weird to see it, but I know what it means. I can’t look at it another second. I retreat to the bedroom. The first thing I notice is the bed. It’s still in a disarray, the covers and sheets a tangled mess from our morning sexual escapade, then I see Macs. He has the bags out of their hiding place and he’s tucking his white shirt into his twin camouflage pants.

  “Macs,” I whisper.

  He glances over his shoulder and his face looks pained. “I’m sorry I have to go. I keep a spare key under the doormat. Take it. Okay?” he approaches quickly, his pants still unbuttoned. His hands embrace my cheeks. “I’ll call you.”

  “Is everything all right?” I ask.

  His face closes down. “I’m sure it is. I’ll call you,” he says again. “I missed a bunch of calls this morning.” Macs shakes his head, irritated.

  I frown.

  “It’s my fault. For being so into you.” He tries on a smile, but it fails. No dimples or happiness. He kisses me slowly, lips and tongue and the
desire that always simmers when our lips are joined is there, but he’s not. He’s already the other person. He releases me. “Stay put for a second.”

  I sit down in the middle of the bed. I hear him talking to Tahoe in hushed whispers and when he comes back to collect his bags he’s a different person.

  “Will you be gone for a long time?” I ask, quickly.

  He shakes his head. “I have no idea. I need to get into to work and figure this out. Bye, Teala.” He leans over, putting his palms flat on the bed to reach me for another kiss.

  I lean up on my knees to wrap my arms around his neck.

  “Be safe,” he whispers.

  “Text me.”

  A small grin starts to appear on his lips, but disappears just as quickly. He tells me the same thing Tahoe did about staying home and then he’s gone. Trusting in someone other than myself might be the hardest thing I’ll ever do. I don’t know what the hell is happening, and I’ve never had to accept half-truths before. I grab another cup of coffee and open the sliding glass doors in his living room. The sun is a burning ball in the sky now. Somewhere in between him holding me and Tahoe banging down the door, I know something huge changed.

  I won’t heed their instructions to stay home. I shower and dress quickly and pull my wet hair into a bun on the top of my head. On a whim I take a photo of the messy bed before I make it and send it to Macs. He doesn’t reply right away, and I know he won’t. I grab the key from under his welcome mat, lock the door, return the key to its hiding spot, and head for the yoga studio. I call my mom on the way, but it goes straight to voicemail. I narrow my eyes at my phone and try it a dozen more times. My Bluetooth must be glitching, so I turn it off completely. The radio automatically picks up where my morning playlist left off. It’s not Adele blasting through my speakers anymore. It’s a frantic radio host screaming about a terror attack.

  “Tone it down, buddy,” I say, grimacing.

  I mute the mayhem with a shake of my head and try my mom again by doing it the ancient way, with my phone pressed to my ear. It’s still going straight to voicemail. “Where are you?” I ask the air. “Call me back, Mom. Where are you? Why is your phone going straight to voicemail? I have news I need to talk to you about ASAP. Call me back. Your phone never goes straight to voicemail. What is going on?” I hang up the call and my fingers twitch on my steering wheel, tapping out a furious rhythm of annoyance. I park my car in the empty parking lot and check my watch to find it’s ten minutes before nine. I unlock the mirrored door to the studio.

  The business phone is ringing off the hook. I run over and answer it by leaning over the counter. I answer with the standard greeting.

  “I’m going to the mall,” Carina rushes. “What was the name of that tea you made the other day? I want to grab some while I’m there.”

  We talk for a few more minutes, and she’s happy, and I’m happy. I forget I can’t reach my mom and I’m worried about tea and everything is right in the world.

  And then it’s not.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Macs

  Here’s the thing, when you have something you care about you want to keep that thing next to you at all moments. You want to protect it. You want to shrink it and put it in your pocket incased in a steel bubble. And any time you want, you can put your hand in your pocket and feel it there. It’s reassuring. When the thing you care about is a person, you can’t keep them in your pocket. You can’t keep them at home either. The key is under my doormat, but Teala’s car is gone. I curse at the top of my fucking lungs.

  A woman is the very last thing I need to worry about right now, but wouldn’t you know, she’s the fucking first—the only thing I can think of after the fucking terror attacks erupted. It’s war. We’re going to war. Not the kind of war you see on the news in far off deserts with a definitive line between good and bad, either.

  When we got to work, we were introduced to intel that warned of terror attacks that would span the whole fucking planet. By the time the intel reached us, the first attacks were already happening. Widespread. Death. Destruction. Life-altering, world changing attacks on humanity. They aren’t concepts that are unfamiliar to me. IED explosives, car bombs, suicide vests, M4 wielding bad guys spraying metal into crowds of innocents, but the spotty footage of the terror was something I will carry with me until the day I die. I watched it happen on US soil. I heard the screams of civilians crying for help. They were confused and rightly so.

  Multiple bombs in San Diego alone. Two at shopping malls affected so many of the guys that after the reports came in everyone dispersed. It’s fucking melee. Cell towers are down and traffic is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I wanted to take a motherfucking chopper to my house, but those were all being used, go figure. They sent us to check on our loved ones, because even in my line of work family comes first, but I know we’ll be shipping out to spots around the United States to protect our citizens from the monster that lurks within.

  That’s the worst part. The terrorists weren’t obvious. They were neighbors, friends, unsuspecting men and women who planned this for God knows how long and by what means. For them to skirt our intel and pull off a feat at this scale, means there were some big financiers behind this. People who pose as our friends. The death toll was in the hundreds of thousands when I left our compound to find Teala. Tahoe and a few of the other single guys stayed back to formulate plans and get everything ready. The confusion isn’t something I’m used to. No one ever thought it would happen here. In the land of the free and the home of the brave. Tactics will have to change. Everything we knew about being SEALs will be turned on its head.

  I listen to the scratchy radio in my car as I speed toward her yoga studio using back roads. I dial her at least five times as I go. Her cell is going straight to voicemail and the studio line beeps back at me in a busy signal. The news anchor has replaced the radio DJs and they’re reporting on the attacks. They list the US cities first, and I match them to the corresponding states and realize I don’t think any states were left untouched. They move on to the international attacks, and I find myself gritting my teeth and surrendering to the pure rage coursing through my veins.

  Some get scared. Hell, I saw fucking terror on several of my brothers’ faces. Others process things of this magnitude in a more ambiguous manner. They’re methodical. Tell them what to do and they’ll do it.

  The news anchor does a recap that’s meant to be swift, but it’s anything but. “Sixteen elementary schools, fifty-five shopping malls, four theme parks, one hundred multi-level parking garages, three cruise ships, eight beaches, two hundred and still counting restaurants, commuter trains, airports, and tourist destinations.”

  I have to switch it off. It’s all information I know and hearing it twice gives me the equivalent of rage goosebumps. I swerve in and out of traffic and cars stopped lining the highway. They’re either afraid to continue or they’re so absorbed in the news anchor’s words they can’t focus on driving as well. It makes for a trip longer than it should be.

  When I finally pull into the parking lot, my satellite phone rings on my passenger seat. Thank God for technology. I answer with a swift, “Newstead.” And listen to Moose rattle on about our plans. He’s calling me from his car and tells me that Smith’s girlfriend was likely affected by the attack at the mall here in San Diego. My stomach goes sour and I find it hard to reply to that. It’s my biggest concern. I reached my parents earlier and they reassured me that our family was safe. Logically I know Teala is only one of three places, but not knowing is driving me fucking batty. Hearing about Smith’s girlfriend only adds to that anxiety. I ask if our hospital was affected, and he confirms it hasn’t been hit, but it will be overloaded and understaffed. I rattle off a few things I need from my cage to complete my go bag, and he agrees to get them for me if he gets back to base before I do. He asks if I’m going to Teala’s, and he knows, because everyone fucking knows without me saying a thing. I’m in love with her and I never told another s
oul. I didn’t even tell Teala. I roar out a string of swear words that would make my grandmother roll in her grave and wish him luck. I don’t answer his question about where I’m going. There’s no need.

  The door to her studio is locked when I get there, but I spotted her car in the parking lot from the street. She’s here. Teala is somewhere and all of a sudden this fucking plaza doesn’t feel safe. It feels like a trap. Real life feels like a trap. My gaze scans the parking lot as I’m comforted by the weight of my weapons on my hips. People are erratic. There’s no way to judge a person when the state of panic is so severe that no one is thinking clearly.

  It’s hysteria and the fact it isn’t just confined to one shopping plaza makes it all the worse. This is happening all over the world. It’s only a matter of time before the president hands down the order for martial law. Our entire country has already been declared in a State of Emergency. I shiver. I won’t be here by then. My steel ball in my pocket will be rolling around all on her own. I bang on the glass of her window, peering in. She has to be inside there. She wouldn’t be dumb enough to go anywhere else. The attacks hadn’t stopped when I left work. The larger attacks were fading, but the smaller ones in grocery stores and gyms were gaining momentum.

  I see Teala’s terrified face peek from the corner of the yoga room. My heart hammers out a staccato similar to when I’m getting ready to kill someone. It feels the same. It confuses me even further. I can forget everything else for the moment by the sheer look of relief that washes over her face when she sees it’s me.

  She unlocks the door and pulls me inside and she’s folded around me in her next breath. I lock the door because she failed to and relish the weight of her in my arms.

  “You’re okay,” I whisper into her hair.

  Teala pulls away to look at me. “What’s happening, Macs? What the fuck is happening out there? It’s not real, right?”