Operation SEAL: Book Two Trident Brotherhood Series

by Cayce Poponea

  The police were called, Coach Loft was arrested, and my mother came to the school to take me home. Alex and my brother went back out on the court and won the championship.

  Monday morning came and with it the rumors flying around. Coach had been placed on administrative leave pending the outcome of his trial, and Oliver and his family had packed up and left in the still of the night. An assembly had been called to congratulate the basketball team and give the students as many facts about what was going on as they could. Laura and her friends sat in seats two rows ahead of me, close enough where what she chose to share got the attention of enough people to spread through the ranks.

  “Apparently holding hands with Harper Kincaid will turn even the most desperate man gay.”

  Oliver had taken my hand in his as we sat together on the bleachers, a couple of students below us noticed, but I assumed they didn’t care. As the laughter broke out in the seats around me, the walls Oliver had began to knock down fortified themselves as I leapt out of my seat and headed for the nearest exit. As I pushed the release bar for the door, I could hear my brother call my name followed by someone yelling, “stupid bitch,” but I kept running until I made it to the safety of my bedroom.

  The next day, my parents allowed me to stay home from school, and I plotted how to convince them to let me go live with my grandparents. But as afternoon rolled around, my father knocked at my door, asking to come in and talk with me. He reminded me none of this was my fault and no one can make a person feel anything they don’t allow them to. It was time I took back any power I had given to the kids who laughed along with Laura Fiddler.

  “Harper, people like her tend to get what they deserve. You just have to be willing to wait long enough for it to happen.”

  As I came downstairs later in the evening, the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find every member of the basketball team standing on our front lawn with Alex in the center of the group, a guitar on his knee and several bunches of flowers around him.

  “Harper Kincaid, will you go to the prom with Alex?”

  They sang in unison as Alex continued to strum out a tune about the color of a girl's eyes.

  After I stormed out, Alex caught wind of what Laura had said, my brother had to abandon his pursuit of me to keep Alex from beating the crap out of one of the guys sitting close to Laura, who she had been messing with all along. Alex took back his invitation to prom and announced to the entire student body how Laura had a third nipple. Not like a tiny mole, but almost a third boob, and it was as flat as the other two she used padding to enhance.

  I’m not sure what made me agree to go to prom with Alex, something deep inside telling me this was the path my life was destined to follow. Just as chasing him around the yard as a little girl, getting angry when he teased me, and forgiving him when he apologized for being the reason behind my tears. Years later, the cycle was continuing, and yet changing direction.

  Alex arrived at our house in a fresh tuxedo and corsage in hand, it was the first night in years my parents remained in the same room and held hands as they wished us a good night from the front steps. I had assumed it would feel strange sitting so close to Alex, like one of those sad stories of how the girl had to go to a dance with her cousin, but it wasn’t. Alex held my hand and pulled me close as the photographer took our picture.

  He introduced me to his friends as his date, not his friend, and kept me close as the conversations continued. When the music changed and the soulful voice of the current chart topper spoke of being in love and belonging together, Alex pulled me close and swayed as the colorful lights danced off both of our faces. His lips absent of a smile and the seriousness in his eyes ran deep.

  “Harper, I’m about to change everything.” With confused eyes, and a quickened heartbeat, I scanned his face. “I want to kiss you. I need to make you understand how I feel about you, leave you with a firm understanding of what I’ve been fighting. All those boys I chased away? I did it, not because of my need to protect you, but my need to posses you.”

  He gave me an opportunity to object, to walk away and remain as we had before, but when he found none in my eyes, his lips descended to mine. Alex, being nearly a foot taller than me, lifted my feet from the ground as his lips parted and the tip of his tongue introduced itself. I’d been kissed before, but never like this, and never by someone who knew how.

  “Every time you kissed me, you set my world on fire.” Running my finger down the glass of the frame, I’m still able to recall every detail of the moment the photo was taken, a moment in time I have frozen forever. Alex had been right; everything did change with his kiss.

  The next morning, he came over and spoke with my father, gave him his word to treat me with respect. Then he and Ross took off for the backyard where they played as young boys, returning a few hours later with an understanding forged between them.

  I became Alex Gray's girlfriend, and for the remainder of the school year the envy of half the female student body. Ross finally asked the girl he had eyes on, Holly Edwards, out for a movie. They dated for four months before her family had to move to Germany.

  When graduation time came around, I expected Alex to break things off as he had a full scholarship to the University of Michigan, but he didn’t. For two years, we sent letters back and forth, called every chance we got, he was home every school break and made a special trip to escort me to prom.

  When my senior year ended, he was sitting beside my parents as I walked across the stage. We celebrated all weekend, as I had been accepted to the same university. Alex found an affordable apartment and we would be living together for the first time in our lives. It took some getting used to, but Alex didn’t pressure me when it came to sleeping together and as August of that year turned into September, I couldn’t imagine my life could get any more perfect.

  I woke up on a Tuesday morning, my only class free day with the intention of creating a romantic atmosphere for Alex and I to have sex for the first time. He had been patient long enough and so with a mission in mind, I set about making plans. I’d barely gotten out of the shower when Alex and my brother came rushing in the apartment, he turned on the tiny television in the corner and we all watched as a single airplane smashed into the World Trade Center. Chills ran down my spine, as we remained silent while the news anchor spoke of the horrific events, while the smoke and debris filled the streets of New York. My legs gave out and I leaned my body against Alex, who was shaking so bad it made me gasp. He held me closer as we sat on the floor of our apartment and watched the world change around us.

  The next morning Alex woke me before the sun came up, telling me to pack a bag as we were going back to Virginia. Ross joined us as we loaded Alex’s truck for what I assumed would be a short trip home. But when he and Ross disappeared on Saturday morning, not returning until after midnight, I knew something big was about to happen.

  My father woke my mother and Alex’s parents came from three houses over as Ross and Alex announced they had joined the marines. No one was surprised as this was who Alex was, the guy who did the right thing and helped every stranger in need.

  We drove back to Michigan, packed up the apartment, and I withdrew from school, transferring to a community college close to my parents’ home. Alex didn’t like the thought of me staying in Michigan, and honestly neither did I.

  Three weeks later, at a dinner to say goodbye to Alex and Ross, with all of our friends and family setting around the table, Alex dropped to one knee and asked me to marry him.

  “Baby, you plan the wedding of your dreams, and the first chance at leave I get, I’ll be standing at the end of the aisle to make you my wife.”

  As the time for the pair to go away to boot camp grew closer, I planned for our last night together to be spent in a hotel where we could be alone one more time. Alex carried me over the threshold, calling it practice for when he came home.

  We loved each other soft and slow, he even apologized for hurting me as he broke through my b
arrier. He asked me to shave his head, knowing all of his beautiful hair would be swept up in a pile and tossed with the rest of the new recruits. I picked up a curl, wrapped it in a tissue and stuck it in my purse. Picking up the silk nightgown I’d let him peel off me, I snapped the satin ribbon he spoke so fondly of. Cutting a lock of my hair, I braided the ribbon into the long strands. He took the ribbon and wove it into the band of his watch, and then pulled me close as we once again lost ourselves in each other.

  The next morning, before the sun had an opportunity to come up, we stood in a huddle as Ross and Alex joined the ranks of the men who would serve our country. We were given thirty seconds to say our final goodbyes, so Alex wrapped himself around me and swore to take care of me.

  “I’m coming back to you, the first chance I get, I will be right back here, in this exact spot.” He teased me, and then kissed me soundly, “I love you, Harper.”

  His mother called our names and as we turned to face her, she snapped a photograph, framing it so I could have it close to me. I placed it beside my bed, its permanent home until he returned to me.

  November found me writing every day to Alex. When his mother contacted me about sending a box to him for Christmas, I argued they might get to come home for the holiday, but a letter crumpled in her hand told me different. Alex had sent word to his mother he had been selected to deploy to Afghanistan, lacking the courage to tell me himself. Three days later, I received word Ross would also leave for the Middle East, so Bonnie, Alex’s mother and I went to work putting boxes together.

  The New Year came and with it a phone call from Ross, he would be assigned to a new base, Camp Leatherneck. It had been six weeks since I had heard anything from Alex, his last letter told me how hot it was in the desert and how much he missed me, but nothing about a change in station.

  Valentine’s Day came and with it a letter, Alex had promised me so many things, some promises he kept and some of them he didn’t. Taking care of me and making sure I had what I needed he excelled at, but today wasn’t a day to think of the promises he forgot. Celebrating the joy around me, looking forward to the new and exciting life I was about to live, beginning with the bridal shower I was going to be late for if I didn’t get a move on. Looking at the diamond on my left hand, I kissed the photograph and crawled out of bed.

  Chapter Three

  Logan

  Korengal Valley hadn’t changed much since my first visit all those years ago. We were still battling a man who had more aspirations than brain cells, carrying on a tradition passed down to him from an ancestor who made a fortune from the poppy fields. The players may have changed, but the rules had not and winning was still the goal of the game.

  The unease in my gut started the minute Viper told us what our next mission involved. Getting the medical convoy across the valley wasn’t necessarily difficult so as much as it was deadly. Aarash Kumar was one of the players who had changed since I had last visited, he and his younger brother now controlled the crops being harvested. It was big money filling pockets from here to the middle of the US. Not a single member of this team hadn’t been personally introduced to Aarash and his brazen ways of doing things. For him, and his men, there are no rules. Which is why they have sent us on this mission, the rules of engagement aren’t found in any of our rulebooks.

  As we sat against the hillside, the fresh-faced boys who would become men, hardened and irreversibly changed by what they see here, measure the six of us up. By the look in their eyes, they are trying to see if the rumors are true, if what they have read in books and seen on television is facts or Hollywood’s way of selling more tickets. I’ll leave them to wonder as the reality, the true story, would scare them more than the people who live in the shadows behind them. I listen as Havoc shares a little of what he knows, a decent enough warning to keep them safe, and yet not enough to give them nightmares.

  I hear the rumble of the trucks a few beats before the rest of my team, a skill I always possessed, yet never admitted to. Ghost has been waiting on a letter from his girlfriend, or slut-bag as the rest of us call her when he isn’t around. When Aiden made Chief, we celebrated by going to a hole-in-the-wall bar just off base where we met Ryan Biggs the night before he reported to our team. He had been in a heated conversation with her on the phone as we walked into the bar. Chief made the comment how he didn’t miss the arguments of having a girlfriend, he and Jordan had exchanged a few letters but they were strictly in the friend zone. Years later, Ghost is still chasing after her like a dog searching for its tail. She has been caught more times than I can count in the bed of one producer or another, always with an excuse, managing to keep him trapped in her web of lies. I look forward to the day when a girl comes along and changes his world.

  “Doc, this one has your name on it.”

  Ghost hands me the white envelope, the postmark dated from late last year. Checking the return address, I’m confused as to who the hell Harper Kincaid was and why the fuck she was writing to me. Searching my brain, mentally checking off the list of girls I’d been with in the last few years. I’d always been careful with where I stuck my dick and even more so, with who I shared my real name with. There had been a number of attractive ladies to walk through my life, a set of best friends in Malaysia who wanted to have a vacation of firsts, a threesome included. I left them sated, wearing smiles on sleeping faces, but none of them had been named Harper. Just as those doe eyed men had dreams about becoming one of us, women around the world fantasized about bedding a SEAL. Being protected by the muscles under my uniform or provided for by the tiny paycheck the government deposited in my account twice a month. While I came up blank for any Harper, a light bulb flashed in my head at her last name.

  “Hey, anyone know if Kincaid has a sister or a wife?”

  “Both. Why do you ask?”

  I met Ross Kincaid almost a year after I completed SEAL training. He had been captured by a pack of Guerilla rebels who had tortured and killed the rest of his team. By the time we reached him, death was trying to take him out the back door. I worked on him for hours after we drug him out of the jungle, tossing everything I had at him to keep him alive. We shipped him off to Germany to finish recovering, six weeks later he was back in his boots, joining me on another mission. Kincaid, and a friend of his, joined the military as a knee-jerk reaction to the Twin Tower attacks. Not long after, the pair was given different duty sections and Kincaid landed in a spotlight, which sent him back to the States for SEAL training. He helped us out when Havoc was shot in the chest and if what I suspected the military was about to do was true, he would replace him on a more permanent basis. On Havoc’s last exam, I found an area of scar tissue in the pleural space between his lungs and heart. To the average Joe it was no big deal, to the killing machines we were trained to be, it was a career ender. I never bullshitted Alex when I told him, looked him square in the eye as I explained what I found. In typical Havoc fashion, he laughed it off and made a comment about his momma being the death of him instead of Aarash Kumar and his illegal weapons.

  “Because I got a letter from one of them.”

  Chief sat down beside me, snatching the letter out of my hand, “You lucky, motherfucker. Harper Kincaid is the sister and one of the sweetest ladies to walk the planet.” Tossing the envelope back to me, he adjusts himself against the hillside.

  “She works with the USO and Navy League to make sure single soldiers aren't forgotten during the holidays.”

  Ripping open the letter, the elegant script on the envelope matched the writing inside. Long hand was becoming a lost art, tossed away with the invention of the typewriter and made ancient with modern computers.

  Dear LT Forbes,

  Please allow me to begin this letter by thanking you for your service. As the sister of an active duty, I know how difficult it can be going for long periods of time without word from the home front. Good news! We are still here. Sorry, my lame attempt at humor.

  My name is Harper Kincaid and I currently
reside in Chesapeake, Virginia where I own a small shop. As I mentioned before, I have a brother who is active duty, a SEAL to be more specific, excuse me for title dropping, I don’t do it to carry airs. I noticed when your name came across my desk, you had the same specialty code as my brother, who ironically is responsible for the idea behind the packages you will receive. When he first joined the military, I came across a flier for the USO needing volunteers for assembling Christmas packages for the single soldiers. I jumped at the opportunity to help. Hours later and hundreds of boxes stacked neatly in a warehouse, I asked the director when the next shipment would go out? My heart sank as she told me this was a once a year event. I looked over all of the boxes representing the faceless men and women who would be forgotten before the New Year came. Inspiration hit me as I collected all of the names we had assembled packages for, pinned them to a wall and, with a tried and true scientific method, I closed my eyes and tossed a wadded up tape ball at the sea of names on the wall. Every month for a year I package up specific items requested by the soldier I adopted, exchanging sometimes daily emails from each one over the course of the year. I do feel the need to give you a little tongue-in-cheek history on these packages, each soldier I have adopted has fallen in love with one of my friends. Now, I didn't really count my brother as being one of my special package recipients. My friends had called them a number of things over the years; love-grams, cupid packages, boxes of muscle. Sorry, getting ahead of myself there.

  My first adoption was Asheton Dawson, a First-Class Petty Officer stationed in Djibouti, Africa. He and I exchanged information and I mailed a care package every month as promised. I included my phone number and address. He was so grateful he swore to me he was going to thank me in person as soon as he was back in the States. He was originally from Texas, but his parents told him if he joined the Navy he was dead to them, so he had no one. It was the same year my friend, Amanda, came to me asking if I knew anyone who was looking for a good hairdresser. I had been thinking of renting out the small space I had beside my shop, so I asked her if the person she had in mind, would like to rent the space from me. She said she would talk with her sister and get back with me.