The Only Reason: A Novel (Trident Trilogy: Book Two)

by Donna Schwartze

  I shake my head and sigh deeply as I release her. “Okay, Miss Independent. Go get ’em.”

  She walks confidently to the bar and starts working her way through the drunks. Some douche in a suit immediately grabs her by the shoulder and starts flirting with her.

  I watch them for a few minutes until Charlie shoves me. “You notice the suit over there hitting on Millie?”

  “Yep.”

  “And this restraint you’re showing—is this part of the new give-Millie-more-space initiative?”

  “Yes it is,” I say, whistling a long breath out through my teeth.

  “And on a scale of one to ten, how badly do you want to punch that guy right now?” He laughs as he looks down at my clenched fists.

  “Ah, man, I passed ten the second he looked at her. I’m at about five thousand right now. Give or take a hundred.”

  “Well your restraint is impressive, brother,” Charlie says, patting me on the back. “You think Millie’s back-off order applies to me, too? Because I am more than willing to go string that guy up by his tie.”

  “Sorry, man. I think it applies to anyone who wears a trident on his uniform.”

  “That’s too bad.” He pulls up a chair next to me to watch the show unfold.

  Millie now has a scrum of drunks talking to her, and despite her best efforts, she hasn’t made it any closer to the bar. She tries to squeeze through two of them, but gets rejected again as they close ranks. She turns slowly to look at me and walks a few steps back toward us.

  “Umm,” she says, biting her lip. “I think I might need your help—just a little bit.”

  I don’t even try to stop the smile that explodes on my face. “No, babe. You’ve got this. You were only a few feet from the bar.”

  “If you’re trying to prove a point with this,” she says, waving her hand in front of my face, “it’s not working.”

  “What point could I possibly be trying to prove?” I lean back in my chair and fold my arms, still smiling broadly. “Go on. Go get your drink. You can do it.”

  “This is not a good look on you,” she says, pressing her lips together in her best attempt not to smile.

  She rolls her eyes at me and whips back around toward the bar—a new determination in her step. She makes it through the first layer of drunks. Since she’s now in the middle of them, I don’t see exactly what happens next, but the crowd parts in time for me to see Millie kneeing a guy in the balls. When he crumples over, she puts her elbow hard into the back of his shoulder. She backs up into a defensive mode—her dress swaying wildly from side to side. Probably not the best outfit for a bar brawl. Before the guy recovers, I grab her around the waist and carry her back to our group.

  “Okay, killer,” I say. “That’s plenty.”

  Her victim manages to stand upright again. “What the fuck?” he says as he points at Millie. “You need to learn how to take a joke.”

  Still holding Millie in one arm, I push him back with the other and then turn calmly toward Chase. I hand Millie to him. “You want to take care of this for me?”

  “Yeah. I got her,” he says, grabbing her arm as I put her down. He pulls her behind him and Charlie.

  “I totally had him,” Millie says to Chase, rubbing her elbow.

  “I know, sweetie. You were really impressive.” He puts his arm around her. “Let me see your elbow. Did you hurt it?”

  Charlie puts his hands on her shoulders and looks at her intensely, like he’s instructing a boxer on what to do in the next round. “Millie. When your victim leans over to grab his balls, instead of striking his shoulder, try putting a hard elbow right into his ear. It’s a softer target for you, and it hurts your attacker like hell. Plus if you’re lucky, the guy might lose his hearing.”

  Millie nods and gives him a fist bump. “Good tip, Charlie. My dad never taught me that.”

  Charlie nods thoughtfully. “Yeah. He was probably a more principled fighter than I am.”

  Chase laughs and shakes his head. “You obviously never met Mack.”

  From the corner of my eye, I see Millie’s attacker trying to walk around me to get to her. I grab him and quickly wrap his arm behind him. I turn him to face his friends as I spread my fingers across his throat.

  “All right,” I say loudly to the group. “We’ve got two choices here. First choice: I’m one small move away from breaking his arm with my right hand. That’s the most efficient choice—very quick, very easy. Or second choice: I’m two moves away from breaking his neck with my left hand. This choice is a little more complicated for me, but I’m more than willing to put in the extra effort if that’s what you choose.”

  The drunks are suddenly quiet. A few of them look back at Chase and Charlie—probably trying to guess if they’re going to join in if the group tries to overpower me. They look away pretty quickly, so I’m guessing they think the answer is yes.

  “Or I’ll add in a third choice just for you,” I say as I pull up slightly on the guy’s arm, causing him to wince. “I’ll let him go—unharmed—if all of you leave the bar right now. Pay what you owe, leave generous tips for the bartender, and be on your way. This option expires in twenty seconds.”

  The group looks at me in stunned silence. Charlie walks up to stand next to me. “Mase. Did you say twenty seconds or twenty minutes? Because I’m not really getting a sense of urgency here.”

  “I said seconds, Charlie. And we’re down to ten now.” I pull up on the guy’s arm again for emphasis.

  Suddenly, there’s a flurry of credit cards and cash flying at the bartender. I let the guy go and push him over to his friends.

  “I need a dirty martini and a double whiskey when you have a second,” I say to the bartender. “And let me know if they don’t leave you at least twenty percent.”

  Millie’s looking at me when I turn around.

  “I know. I know. I’m in trouble again for protecting you,” I say as I sit down and pull her onto my lap.

  She puts her arm around my neck and whispers into my ear. “You’re not in trouble right now, but I’m definitely going to have to discipline you when we get home tonight.”

  “Promise?” I say as I spread my hand over her butt and give it an ample squeeze.

  As I start to kiss her, Charlie leans down inches from our faces and says loudly, “All. The. Time. Everywhere.”

  Chapter Seven

  Virginia Beach, Virginia

  July 25, 2011

  “Damn, Mack. You’re shooting like a sniper today—all fifteen rounds right in the head,” Chase said as he watched Mack empty his rifle into the target down range. “Must have been that visit from Carol last night.”

  Mack snapped his head toward Chase. “How’d you know she was here? You stalking me?”

  “Believe me, I have no desire to know what you do on your free time. My wife, on the other hand . . .”

  “So what? Mariel is stalking me?”

  “I guess Mar and Carol are friends now.”

  “What? How’d that happen?”

  “Apparently, that’s what women do when you introduce them,” Chase said, shaking his head. “I told you not to bring her around the bar unless you wanted everyone up in your business.”

  “They only talked for like two minutes that night. How does that work itself into friendship?”

  “Mariel works fast. You already know that. And she wants you married off. Carol’s the only decent woman you’ve brought around in, well, ever.”

  “We’re not getting married. We’re just friends.”

  “With benefits, apparently . . .”

  “Wait. Carol told Mar we’re having sex?”

  “No, but you just told me,” Chase said, laughing.

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “Like I don’t know that already.”

  “Man, don’t te
ll Millie about Carol,” Mack said.

  “How am I going to tell her anything? I literally have not seen that child since you brought her back from Bosnia. I still don’t know why you don’t bring her around here.”

  “I told you I don’t want her anywhere near this base—near this life. This shit is totally separate from her. She’s sweet and gentle. She doesn’t need to know this life any more than she already does. Besides, I’m out in two months. Too late to bring her around now.”

  “Why don’t you want her to know about Carol? Doesn’t Millie like her?”

  “She loves her. Carol is like the closest thing Millie has to a mother. She’s been friends with Carol’s daughter, Chloe, since she was about three.”

  “So why wouldn’t she want you dating her?”

  “She would want me dating her. In fact, she’s told me to date her,” Mack said as he ejected the empty mag and started taking his rifle apart to clean it. “I don’t want to get her hopes up. Carol and I aren’t getting married.”

  “Well, I can see if she doesn’t want to marry you. She could do better.”

  “It’s not like that. Millie and I are moving soon. Carol’s entire family is in the Outer Banks or just around there. It wouldn’t work out.”

  “And you’d have to give up your harem.”

  “I’d gladly give them up. That’s just stress relief. Not even in the same class with Carol.”

  “I don’t know, man. I saw the way she was looking at you at the bar. I think she’d move to California to be with you.”

  Mack shrugged. “Maybe. It’s not time for that, though. We’ll see what happens. Millie and I need to get out there first and get established. She’s the most important thing, and then we’ll see what happens.”

  “I get that. I’m looking forward to re-meeting Millie. You’re going to let us around her out in San Diego, right?”

  “You—definitely. I’m not so sure about Mar, though,” Mack said, shaking his head. “I think Millie might be a little young for that kind of energy.”

  “You’re way too protective of her. She’s going to get to college and go hog wild. Got to let them experiment a little bit.”

  “Fuck you. You didn’t let your daughters do shit when they were teenagers. And I’m not convinced you don’t have them under surveillance at college.”

  Chase sighed. “I wish. Every time they come home for a visit, they’re wearing less clothes. Mariel told me they wear more clothes than she did when I was chasing her.”

  “Is that supposed to make you feel better? I saw how you went after her.”

  “Right? Like I want some asshole pursuing my daughter like I did with Mar. I’ve always said we should start a business where retired SEALs keep an eye on active SEALs’ daughters.”

  “Worst plan ever. Like we could trust them not to hit on our daughters themselves.”

  “Yeah. You’re not wrong. I’m glad you and Millie are going to be out there with us, though. I’m struggling a little with hanging this all up. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with my time. It makes me nervous. Mar and I are already fighting about it.”

  “You’ll figure it out. Mar’s feisty, but she’s crazy about you. She’ll help you through it. And what she doesn’t help you with, I’ll pick up.”

  “You’re going to help me? Like what? You going to go into therapy or something?”

  “I’ll help you drown your problems in beer and whiskey. Just like I do now.”

  “Appreciate it, brother,” Chase said, chucking Mack on the shoulder. “Seriously, man. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Chapter Eight

  Millie

  San Diego, California

  2020

  “Do you want to get married?”

  We’re sitting on the back porch eating burritos. I’m thinking about how I wished I ordered extra guacamole.

  Wait. What did Mason just say?

  “What?” I mumble with my mouth still full of beans and cheese.

  “Married, Millie. Do you want to get married?” He says it like it’s the most normal question to ask right at this very moment.

  “Are you proposing to me, or is this just a general conversation?” I say slowly, trying to give my brain enough time to catch up.

  “Which do you want it to be?”

  I finally look across the table at him to see if he’s kidding. I’m desperately hoping to see the twinkle that lights up his crystal-blue eyes when he’s teasing me. It’s not there.

  “I’m not sure that’s the way it works.” I try to keep my tone casual so it doesn’t reflect the panic that’s starting to surge through my body. “It’s either a proposal or it’s not.”

  I’ve only seen his eyes look this intense once, and that was seconds before an enemy force started firing on us. It happened six months ago and only a few weeks after we met. So much has happened since then. Most days it seems like a lifetime ago, but now, with those battle-ready eyes staring at me, it feels like yesterday.

  His eyes suddenly soften. From the day I met him, Mason has been able to read my mind. Right now, he’s definitely sensing my panic. “Let me back it up a little,” he says in the soothing tone he uses when he thinks I’m about to overreact to something. It works on me like the sound of the ocean works on most people.

  “So not a proposal?” I sigh, relieved at the bullet I just dodged.

  “I didn’t say that,” he says gently.

  “Mase. We haven’t even known each other a full year. Don’t you think it’s too early to think about marriage?”

  He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “In the past half year: we met, survived a brutal firefight, took out a terrorist network, moved to the same city, and fell in love. How is anything we’ve done so far on a normal timeline?”

  “That’s just it,” I say, pushing my half-eaten burrito away from me. “Nothing we’ve done is normal, so why do we have to get married and be normal? What we have is just as good—if not better—than marriage.”

  “So you don’t want to marry me?” He tries to hide his disappointment with a half-hearted laugh.

  “Babe, I told you the other day. This has nothing to do with you. I need some time to figure out me—what I want to do—before I can figure out anything else.”

  “Yeah. I know. I heard what you said. I thought getting married would give you more solid footing in one area of your life.”

  I walk around the table, sit on his lap, and rest my head on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around me and kisses the top of my head.

  “We’ve never talked about marriage before,” I say softly. “I didn’t even know it was something you wanted.”

  “Yeah, I want it. I want it with you for sure. You don’t want it?”

  “I don’t know. I guess marriage has never been important to me. I haven’t really thought about it much.”

  “It seems like a deeper commitment to me. You know? Like we’re locking it in.” His face starts nuzzling my hair. “And if we have kids, I think it’s better for them.”

  I sit up quickly, almost falling off his lap. “Wait. So now we’re having kids?”

  “I mean, yeah, I want kids. I’m thirty-five. I’d like to have a few kids before I’m too old.”

  I shake my head, hoping to clear the swirling tornado that’s rapidly forming. The shaking makes the tornado stronger. I try to stand up, but fall back against Mason’s legs.

  “Mills. Settle down,” he says, steadying me. “We’re just having a conversation. Yeah. I want to get married and have kids, but I’m not saying it has to happen today. I know you didn’t grow up around happy marriages. Your dad was never married. Your grandma was never married. But people do have good marriages—a lot of people. Look at Chase and Mariel.”

  “Mase, your first marriage ended in divorce.” I unsucc
essfully try to stop the words from coming out of my mouth.

  He stands up, pushing me up with him as he starts walking away. “Oh, so that’s what you’re worried about. You’re not worried about marriage in general. You’re worried about whether I can make a marriage work.”

  “That’s not what I meant, Mason,” I say, following him toward the house.

  He turns around. “What did you mean? Tell me exactly what you meant.”

  “I meant what I said. I love you. But I’m not ready for marriage. And I’m definitely not ready for kids. And it doesn’t have anything to do with how I feel about you. I’m sorry if you feel differently. Maybe I’ll change my mind, but I’m definitely not ready for that right now.”

  “Fine. Let’s stop talking about it.”

  I follow him into the house. “Mase. We can’t keep ignoring things we disagree on. We need to talk about this stuff. You completely shut down when you don’t get your way.”

  “When I don’t get my way?” He whips around to face me. “I’m not a toddler throwing a tantrum because I can’t stay up a little later. I asked you to marry me and you said no.”

  “Well, you didn’t actually ask me,” I say, laughing and trying desperately to lighten the mood.

  “Oh. Okay.” He walks over to me swiftly, grabbing my hand and dropping down on one knee. “Will you marry me? There, I’ve officially asked you.”

  “Mason. Stop. Why are you being like this?”

  “I officially asked you. Now you have to officially answer.” He stands up and drops my hand. “Say no if you don’t want to marry me.”

  “No, I don’t want to get married. And it has nothing to do with you. I just don’t want to get married.”

  He shakes his head as he turns around. “I need to run some errands. And I think I’m going to stay at my place tonight.”

  “Mason.” I make a feeble attempt to stop him from charging out of my house. The door closes loudly behind him. I turn around to look at the porch table—now cluttered with half-eaten burritos. I collapse against the wall, wondering how I got from wanting more guacamole to possibly ruining my entire future in less than five minutes.