by Susan Wiggs
“Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training. Starts with indoctrination, and then there are three phases. Eight weeks of physical conditioning, eight weeks on diving and water skills, nine weeks of land warfare. Then you graduate and the real training starts. Assuming, that is, that you make it.”
“You will,” Sierra said. “I know you, Will. You’d never give up.”
“I hope you’re right. I used to watch the training on a courtyard in Coronado called the Grinder. I saw bigger, stronger guys than me reduced to tears.”
“So let me get this straight,” Caroline said. “You’re going to spend seven months learning to be part frog, part trained killer, and then go to the most dangerous places in the world, fighting and rescuing people.”
“You’re oversimplifying, but okay, it’s kind of like that.”
“Well, it all sounds completely terrifying and hard,” she said.
“That’s how moving to New York and being a designer sounds to me,” he joked.
“I wish you were coming to San Diego with me, Caroline,” Sierra said. “We’d never have to break up the band. There are design schools all over Southern California.”
“Aw.” Caroline gave her a nudge. “That’s tempting. It would be . . . safe, wouldn’t it? Like, too safe. I’m ready for something totally different.”
“I’m ready to take a swim.” Will peeled off his shirt and dropped it on the sand, then ran into the surf. He was chiseled to the last inch of his shadow, and already tan from California.
“God, he’s amazing,” Sierra said, untying the wrap skirt she wore over her bikini.
Caroline didn’t answer. She took her time shrugging out of the oversize baseball shirt that belonged to one of her brothers. The whole world knew Will Jensen was amazing, for chrissake.
“Let’s go, you.” Sierra grabbed her hand. “Let’s run. Let’s run so fast we can’t stop.”
Both girls let out loud whoops as they raced into the curling waves. Their whoops turned to screams as they hit the cold, heavy surf, but they persevered, as they did each summer, knowing the only way to deal with the chilly water was total immersion.
They surfaced in a circle of three, shuddering from the cold and laughing. “I’m dying,” Sierra said through chattering teeth. “Literally, dying.”
“I don’t think you mean literally,” Caroline said. “It feels good.”
“Summer never felt so good,” Will agreed.
Caroline dove beneath the surface, hearing with preternatural sharpness the shifting sand and the shush of the waves. When she emerged, Sierra was already swimming for shore.
“She didn’t last long,” Will observed.
“Nobody does.”
“You do,” he pointed out.
“I’m a freak. Just ask my brothers and sisters.”
“So we’re both freaks.” He held her gaze for a few seconds, then backstroked away.
Every once in a while, Caroline’s imagination played tricks on her. She’d see him looking at her in a certain way, maybe studying her mouth or her eyes and holding her gaze for a few seconds too long. Just for a moment, she thought about confessing that she had feelings for him, romantic feelings, but the moment passed, and she chickened out. Did he ever wonder about what would have happened if he hadn’t gone crazy over Sierra, if he’d chosen Caroline instead? It was the silliest of notions, and she was always quick to thrust it aside.
Sierra was his perfect match, not only in looks, but in temperament. Unlike Caroline, Sierra didn’t have some grand plan for her life that would send her haring off to New York City. Sierra was all about being in a relationship. Being a couple. Making a life that revolved around family. No wonder Will preferred her.
Caroline contented herself with being the third wheel. Boyfriends came and went, mainly to balance things out so she didn’t feel abandoned. Also to hide her yearning.
Summer ended, and with it, the days of their childhood. It was time for a new chapter for all of them. Will was leaving, and on their last night together, they made a bonfire on the beach, sharing bottles of beer illicitly acquired from the restaurant.
“On the last night of the last summer before the real world starts, I propose a toast,” said Caroline. “Wherever we go, we’ll stay friends.”
“Just like we are now,” Sierra agreed, taking a sip of her beer.
They all came in for a group hug. Will’s arms were strong as they pulled her and Sierra close. He smelled of salt air, and warm sand clung to his skin. She felt the craziest mixture of happy and sad, excited and scared, anxious and determined all at once.
“Friends, no matter what,” Sierra reiterated.
“Yes,” Caroline agreed. “No matter what.”
Like continental drift, their movement away from one another was both imperceptible and inevitable. There was a reason for the term drifted apart, Caroline learned. One of these days turned into none of these days. Let’s get together for sure actually meant never—how does never work for you?
Will went into the service, completing the grueling training to join the elite Navy SEALs, like his father before him. Sierra got her degree and moved from San Diego to the L.A. area. Caroline finished school and turned her tiny apartment into a crowded atelier, the entire space dominated by the tools of her trade—her prized single-needle machine, rolls of pattern paper and muslin, racks of samples and experimental garments. She made the rare visit home to Oysterville, but it never seemed to coincide with a visit from Sierra. Their friendship still existed, but it lay in the background, like their old snapshots preserved in albums they never looked at.
The drift was a natural progression, and as the seasons and then the years passed, the busyness of life simply took over. They were linked together on social media, but no one seemed to have time to spend bonding online.
When Sierra’s number appeared on Caroline’s phone one day, she did a double take. She was in the middle of a fitting for a piece from a major designer. His design director had hired her to do some patternmaking and sample sewing. Caroline wanted to perfect the piece, because if the director was happy with Caroline’s work, she’d likely hire her to do some actual design.
Although ignoring the call was agony, she let it go to voice mail. Fit models charged a hundred bucks an hour or more, and she didn’t want to get in trouble for keeping her model too long. The moment the fitting was over, though, she rushed outside and returned the call.
“Caroline!” Sierra sounded slightly breathless. “I need you.”
“What?”
“We need to get the band back together, that’s what.” She spoke as if no time at all had passed.
“Where are you?”
“In L.A. I have news. I’m getting married.”
Married.
Lots of her friends had been getting married, the news trickling in through online and family networks. And now this. Now Sierra.
“Wow,” she said. “Um, congratulations!”
“I want you to make my dress. And be my maid of honor,” Sierra said.
“Of course.” There was no hesitation. And it wasn’t until the call ended that Caroline realized she’d never even asked if the groom was Will.
And it was. The natural progression continued. Sierra flew to New York for the design and fitting of the dress. The nuptials took place in Oysterville, and it was the wedding of the year, uniting Pastor Moore’s daughter and her naval officer. The bustling preparations swept through the town. There would be a sword arch of Will’s groomsmen in full dress uniform and a reception catered by Star of the Sea. There was a dazzling ring from Tiffany, an ultramodern swoop of platinum and diamonds designed by Paloma Picasso.
When she saw Will for the first time in years, Caroline steeled herself. His familiar “Hey, stranger” was accompanied by the briefest of hugs. Now they were strangers.
The rehearsal dinner was a beach party flowing with champagne and excitement. Guests had been encouraged to bring swimsuits for a midnight plunge
. The SEAL team groomsmen looked as though they came from a special breeding program, one that selected for square jaws, perfect posture, massive shoulders, and piercing eyes.
Thumping music from someone’s car speakers filled the air. Stoked with driftwood logs, the flames of a beach bonfire climbed high. Champagne shifted to tequila shots and the music got louder. People grabbed partners and danced in a circle around Sierra and Will, who looked blissfully happy, surrounded by dozens of friends. So many from Southern California, Caroline observed. She didn’t know most of them. She barely knew Sierra and Will these days. Yet she recognized their joy, which soared like a pair of fireworks.
A couple of times, she caught Will looking at her with a question in his eyes, but didn’t know what to make of that look. Too much time had passed. This was what they all knew would happen. What they all expected. Wanted. She wasn’t jealous. No way. She certainly didn’t want to be married, not now. Maybe not ever. An amazing design career in New York City, not a husband, was what beckoned her.
The moon came up, illuminating the breaking waves along the shore.
“I can’t stop looking at the navy guys,” Rona Stevens said to Caroline in a stage whisper. “If I drink any more, I can’t be responsible for my actions.”
“That’s all of us tonight,” Caroline admitted, taking another tequila shot from a tray that was being passed around. It was her fourth or fifth shot. She’d lost count. “Let’s jump in the water and cool off.”
“The Navy SEALs are in the water,” Rona pointed out.
“Exactly,” said Caroline. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but tonight she wanted to go somewhere else in her head. She wanted to go to a place where she could be unambiguously happy for her two best friends. She untied her silk sarong—one of her original creations—and let it drop. “Are you with me?”
“I’m in.” Rona shucked her skirt and top. Five years after high school, she still had her cheerleader body, thanks to her job as a trainer at the local gym. She’d been voted “The Girl Most Likely to Succeed,” professing her intention to study sports medicine and work for an NFL team, but she’d never left the peninsula and still dated Hakon off and on again. She looked fantastic in a trendy one-piece maillot, though. “We’re going to freeze our asses off,” she warned Caroline.
“The navy guys will warm us up.” Caroline grabbed her hand and they ran headlong into the breaking waves, where people were already splashing and shrieking. The cold shock took her breath away, but she powered through it, diving under the water into blackness. By the time she surfaced, Rona was already fully flirting with one of the SEALs. Two others surfaced on either side of Caroline like a pair of trained orcas.
“Damn,” said one of them. “The weekend just got about a thousand percent better. What’s your name, darlin’?”
“I’m Caroline. You’re Matt, right? And Lars?”
“Beauty and brains,” said Matt, who had glorious teeth and large, beautiful hands. “Matt Campion, at your service.”
She hiccupped. “Right. So I’m a genius because I listened to the introductions?”
“You’re a genius because you’re smoking hot.”
A wave sloshed over her head and she lost her balance and was pulled under. In a split second, a pair of iron-hard arms scooped her up, and she found herself looking into Matt’s smiling eyes.
“My first rescue of the night,” he said, then glanced at Lars. “Take a hike, man. This one’s mine.”
“I am, am I?” She wound her hands around his neck and hung on while he carried her out of the water. “Yikes, now I’m freezing,” she said through chattering teeth.
“Let’s do something about that,” he said.
A few moments later, she was lying with him on a thick tattersall blanket some distance from the bonfire. The firelit bodies, dancing to the thumping rhythm, looked vaguely tribal. Matt handed her an airline-size bottle. “Jägermeister,” he said. “It’ll warm you up.”
She drank down the shot, a curious mixture of citrus, licorice, and spices. “Ooh, now I’m dizzy,” she confessed.
He rolled closer to her and drew her into his arms. “I know what you mean, darlin’.”
“No, I mean—”
He stopped her with a deep kiss that tasted of salt water and liquor, his thighs hard and damp against hers, his erection apparent. The swiftness and surprise took her breath away, and she pressed her hands against his chest. He made a throaty sound as his muscular tongue searched deeper and his hands found the straps of her bikini top.
She turned her head to the side, ducking his mouth. “Whoa, slow down, big fella,” she said. The Jäger and the tequila seemed to evaporate in an instant. “I’m not really into this.”
“Hell yeah, you are,” he said with a chuckle. “Hold still, gorgeous. I’ve got something for you.” He put her hand on his erection. “Ah, that’s nice.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” She took back her hand. “Knock it off.”
“It’s okay,” he murmured, pressing her shoulders against the blanket. “I have protection.”
“Protection?” A sharp, incredulous laugh escaped her. “What the hell—did you really think we were going to—”
“That’s right, little lady. It’s your lucky night.”
Little lady? Seriously? Caroline squirmed beneath him, trying to put some distance between them. He was massive and rock hard, immovable. She was confused. Embarrassed. She felt something else as well—a quiver of alarm. “Enough already,” she said. “Get off me. I mean it.”
“So do I,” he said, his voice rich and warm. “You are the sweetest handful I’ve held in a long time.”
She managed to free one hand. She shoved it against his shoulder. “Dude, listen to me. It’s late and we both had too much to drink. I’m not into this, so get the hell off me.” She pushed harder.
“Oh, so you like it rough, do you?” he asked. “In that case, you and I are gonna get along just fine.”
“What? No. What part of no do you not understand?”
“I understand what your sweet body’s telling me, and I’m not hearing no.” He grabbed her wrist and pinned her to the blanket, a predator toying with its prey.
“Then you’d better listen closer,” she told him, her teeth chattering.
“Closer,” he said. “Yeah.” His hips ground down on her. He went in for a kiss. She turned her head away and his warm mouth slid along her cheek.
Now what? Should she yell for help, hoping she could be heard above the loud music? If she did that, would the stupid drama ruin the evening for Sierra and Will? He was just a big, dumb, drunk guy, after all. No need to make a federal case out of it.
He lifted himself up, but before she could roll out from under him, he shifted so he was on top of her once again.
“Let me go, damn it,” she said through gritted teeth. Then she drew breath to yell, even though she knew she’d be humiliating herself by overreacting. She didn’t even know what to yell. No? Help? Maybe just a scream—
“Dude, I meant what I said. Don’t force me to make a scene and ruin our friends’ wedding.”
“C’mon, baby. We’ll make a scene together. You’re gonna love it.” He pinned her wrists and his mouth ground down on hers before she could turn her head again, stealing her breath, closing off her airway. Now she couldn’t scream. She couldn’t breathe. She felt trapped by inertia and terror and foolishness and indecision. She managed to wrench her mouth away from his for a split second.
“Stop,” she said, and then he kissed her again, a brutal invasion of teeth and tongue. She bit his tongue. It was like a tough, undigestible cut of meat.
“Shit,” he said, “you’re a wild one.” He didn’t kiss her again but covered her mouth with his hand. Panic shot through her. She was trapped. The loud music and crashing waves drowned out her muffled voice. His free hand groped at her swimsuit.
This could not be happening, she thought. And yet it was, engulfing and smothering her with a sense
of powerlessness. A moment later, she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think—
The hard weight of him lifted suddenly, as if plucked by a steam shovel.
Dizzy with panic, Caroline gulped in air.
He let out a yell. “What the fuck—”
“She said stop.” Will’s voice cut through the night.
“Fuck off, Jensen, we’re just having a little fun.” Matt scrambled backward, then lunged. Their silhouettes clashed like two stags in rut.
Caroline gasped, her entire body buzzing with shock. She crab-walked to the edge of the blanket and jumped up, wrapping herself in a towel. Her bikini top was gone.
Will made a Krav Maga move she remembered from long ago, and she heard a noise like a bag of liquid hitting concrete.
“Fuck,” said Matt. “Goddamn, Jensen, I think you broke my fucking nose.”
Will pivoted and walked away. “Let’s go.” He grabbed Caroline by the arm and strode toward the parking lot.
Clutching the towel, she nearly stumbled, trying to keep up. She was too mortified to say anything except “Hey, I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah, I could see that. What the hell were you doing?” Will demanded. “Jesus, look at you.”
She bristled, holding the towel closer. “What, like that was my fault?”
He yanked open the door to his car—his grandfather’s Grand Marquis. “Get in.”
Her top was missing. She was barefoot, too. She got into the car.
He wheeled out of the parking lot. At the same time, he groped behind the seat and found a jacket. “Put that on if you’re cold.”
She was shivering uncontrollably.
Then she realized it wasn’t from the cold. “D-did you really break that guy’s nose?”
“He’ll be okay. But shit, Caroline, he’s on my goddamn team.” He careened into the driveway of her parents’ house, the crushed shells crackling under the tires.
“Well, he sucks,” she said. “I didn’t ask for him to—I didn’t want—”
“Then what the hell were you thinking, parading around in your bikini, doing shots?”