Her Unbroken Seal: A Navy Seal Romance

by Caitlyn O'Leary

  Clint found a pillow and used that to cover his arm while he broke out the remaining glass from the window. He grinned when Drake squatted down in a classic catcher’s position and pretended to hit his fist into a mitt. Clint moved back as far as he could from the window then started to run toward the window.

  He leaped over the ledge.

  Whap. Whap. Whap.

  Fuck!

  More glass shattered. Clint was buffeted with concussions as parts of the building behind him exploded. For a split second, he felt his right foot hitting the other rooftop, while his left foot snagged the ledge.

  His vision blurred. He thought he felt a hand gripping his arm.

  Then his world went black.

  5

  “Clint!”

  He was underwater.

  “Talk to me.”

  It was Drake. He sounded worried.

  “He’s bleeding from his ears.”

  Drake again.

  “Come on, Clint, talk to me.” Was Drake pleading?

  “Hand him to me.” That was Finn’s voice. “I’ve got you, Clint. Are you with me? Can you hear me?”

  I’m fine.

  Wait a minute. Why can’t I feel my body?

  Why can’t I open my eyes?

  “The terrorists are still focused on the apartment building. We’ve got to get to Mason at the rendezvous point.”

  My plan worked!

  “Not too fast, we can’t jostle him,” Drake said. He still sounded worried. That wasn’t right.

  “Drake, we’ve got to get to safety. The sooner we can get him to a hospital, the better. We need to get over the border to Turkey.”

  I’m fine. You can go fast.

  “I said don’t jostle him. We’re going slow. I’m the second-in-command, you’re going to listen to me, you got it?”

  Jesus, Drake, you need a chill pill. I’m fine.

  But am I?

  He couldn’t see. He couldn’t feel anything. Apparently, he could only talk in his head. What had happened?

  “Drake, Mason just said the helicopter is almost to the rendezvous point. We don’t have a choice, we’ve got to motor.”

  “Listen to me, Archer. You don’t die on my watch, got it!”

  Die?

  Must be bad.

  “Clint, think of Lydia. You gotta be strong,” Drake whispered.

  Lydia.

  Clint had trouble picturing her face. Then everything went dark again.

  “Chief, can you hear me?” a woman’s voice asked. “I’m Doctor Klaus. You’re here in Germany. I need you to squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

  Germany?

  “Chief?”

  “Syria,” Clint said roughly. His throat felt like it was filled with barbed wire.

  “Can you squeeze my hand?” The woman’s voice asked kindly.

  “Am.”

  Is that my voice?

  “Drink?”

  “Squeeze my hand and I’ll get you a drink.”

  His head hurt. His throat hurt. And he was squeezing her damned hand. If he hadn’t been raised to be a gentleman, he might have cursed at this woman. Clint tried to open his eyes so he could glare at her, but he couldn’t.

  Dammit!

  “That’s good. I felt that. You’re doing good. Let me get you some ice chips.”

  “Water.” He croaked out.

  He felt something cold against his lips, and he forced them open. Ice chips. Where was the water?

  Clint tried opening his eyes again, but it didn’t work. He still couldn’t see the doctor. He tried again. Finally, there was something. A little bit of light.

  “How is he?” a man’s voice asked.

  Mason?

  How can I hurt this badly when I feel like I’ve been rolled in bubble wrap?

  “Careful,” someone shouted.

  Was that Mason?

  “I’m trying. It’s the wind. We’ve almost got him to the airplane.”

  “Try harder, airman. This man is a hero.”

  Who’s Mason talking about?

  He felt wind on his cheeks. Wind and rain. He was moving.

  “You with me, Clint?” Mason asked. “We’re loading you up on a plane to get you home.”

  He felt Mason gripping his hand.

  At least I can feel something!

  “Mase?”

  “I saw your lips move, but this storm’s too wild, I can’t hear you. Wait ’til we’re on the transport.”

  His face wasn’t cold. Someone was wiping it off. Oh, it was covered with rain. Got it. He felt movement as his bubble-wrapped body was belted down. Clint strained and was able to open his eyes. The light was dim, but it felt natural being on a military airplane. He rolled his head just a little.

  Fuck!

  Pain!

  Who is that groaning?

  “Connect his IV, so we can push pain meds,” someone said.

  Clint didn’t notice anything, the evil dragon of pain had him clamped in its jaws. Rain was running down his face again. He couldn’t breathe with the dragon’s fire engulfing his head. Clint tried to shut down, to escape, but he was stuck in the moment, unable to leave the wrath of the teeth and fire that was intent on consuming him.

  Years went by, then he was released. A calming mist chased away the dragon, leaving peace behind.

  “Clint, can you hear me? It’s me, Mason.”

  “Did you kill the dragon?”

  “What?”

  “My head doesn’t hurt.” Clint knew instinctively not to move it. Then he realized the dragon wasn’t real. “They gave me drugs, didn’t they?”

  “They had to, your pain level was too high. We’re going to get you to Walter Reed in Bethesda Maryland. Best damn hospital in the world.”

  “What happened to me?”

  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  Clint thought long and hard. Hard enough that he began to feel a headache coming on. He knew that he’d been in the briefing room at Coronado. He remembered being in the room. The lights were out, and he was looking at something on the screen, but he couldn’t see what it was.

  “Coronado. You going over the mission. Can’t remember what.” Clint heard himself slur. He sounded drunk.

  I never get drunk.

  “How bad?”

  “The explosion really did a number on your head. That’s why all the bad headaches. We need to get you there to do some more tests.”

  “How long?”

  It seemed like it took forever for Mason to answer, but it could be the drugs. “Four weeks. They had to put you into a drug-induced coma until the swelling in your brain could go down.”

  “Lydia?”

  “She’s been here. I sent her home yesterday. She’ll meet you at Walter Reed Hospital.”

  How come I can’t remember Lydia being here? How fucked-up am I?

  He felt the water coming up over his head again. It was like he was floating, drifting down to the bottom of the pool.

  “Mase?”

  “Yeah?”

  He couldn’t hear anything more. Who could hear things when they were resting on the bottom of the pool?

  Lydia looked down at Clint’s face. It had been five weeks since he’d almost lost his life somewhere she wasn’t allowed to know, and his face was still a little swollen. His left arm was in a cast and he still hadn’t regained consciousness since he’d arrived two nights ago. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was scared spitless.

  It had been easier when she’d been in San Diego for the few days between leaving Germany and then coming to Maryland. There she’d had her support group—they’d prayed with her when she got the news of Clint’s injury, they’d held her when she’d sobbed after visiting Clint in Germany, and they never ever let her believe anything other than that he would make a full recovery.

  Visiting hours were almost over at Walter Reed, and she still hadn’t gotten any movement from him. Mason had assured her before he left that Clint had been talking to
him in Germany. He’d even squeezed his hand. One of the men, through the SEAL team network, had reached out to her. She’d known him because he was a computer geek as well. Clint had gotten help from him on two different occasions and Lydia had been involved, so she’d gotten to know Kane McNamara. He and his team were on a mission right now, but before he’d left, he’d said that he would be in touch. They were based out of Virginia. She hated it, because Clint’s team had turned right around and left on another mission, so she didn’t have their support either.

  Lydia pushed out of the chair she’d been sitting in beside Clint’s bed. For the thirtieth time, she stroked her fingers down his jaw, down to his throat. The nurse said that Lydia could feed him ice chips. If he didn’t wake up soon, they might have to put him on a feeding tube.

  She got a small spoonful of ice chips and placed them against his lips for the fourth time since the nurse had brought in a fresh batch.

  “Clint!” she damn near shouted, when his mouth opened like a baby bird’s to sip from the spoon. She felt tears welling up, stinging the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. This time she was going to be the strong one. He needed her, and by God, she was going to be his soft landing.

  Spoonful after spoonful she lovingly made sure her fiancé, her lover, the man who was the center of her world, got some of what he needed. Finally, he turned his head and coughed. Then groaned.

  Lightly, Lydia touched his bearded jaw; it was one of the few places on his face that didn’t look swollen. He’d been injured five weeks ago, and he still looked like a prizefighter who’d just left the ring.

  “Baby?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Clint, it’s me, Lydia. Do you want a little bit of soup? I know it’s hospital food, but some of it isn’t half bad. I’ve tried it all, so I won’t force you to suffer through the bad shit.”

  He coughed again. Not a loud one, it was a pitiful cough, a sound a child would make. It broke her heart.

  “Clint? Can you hear me?” she asked softly.

  She saw his eyelids flutter.

  Oh God, was she going to finally see the beautiful hazel eyes of the man she loved? She waited. Then waited some more.

  “Come on, Baby, you can do it.”

  His eyes opened just a slight bit, not enough for her to see his eye color, but enough to see the red where white should be. It looked so painful, but she’d been prepared for it. The doctors in Germany had prepared her for many things, then there had been all the research she had done on traumatic brain injuries. With all the research, she went way past frightened into the terror realm three weeks ago.

  Then there was the moment her resolve hit. In no way shape or form was she scared for herself, or what this meant for her relationship with Clint—no she was scared for what it would mean to him. He was the smartest man she knew. He was strength, calm, and caring all rolled into one. The idea that this injury was affecting his brain, the core of who he was intellectually and emotionally, made her ache for him. But she knew, deep in her heart, he could pull through to the other side, whatever that was meant to be for him.

  His eyes opened a little bit more and she let out a breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding. He slammed them shut.

  “Hurts. Lyd?”

  “Right here.” She stroked his beard.

  “Light hurts.”

  Shit, she should have thought of that. She went and turned out the lights, including the one over his bed. She left the one on in the bathroom but left the door open only slightly. When she went back to his side, his eyes were open.

  “Better,” he smiled.

  An actual smile!

  She could finally take a deep breath again.

  6

  Not better.

  Hospital.

  What the fuck?

  The only good thing was Lydia. She looked beautiful, but too damned worried. She was trying to hide it, but they’d been together for five years now, and trying to hide something from him was useless. He’d known every…every…?

  “Dammit!”

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” Her hand holding his felt good.

  “You can tell me anything,” she coaxed.

  “Birthday present,” he spit out. Why had it taken so long for him to remember that?

  Birthday and Christmas present.

  “Your birthday was three months ago. I got you the Nintendo Switch so I could beat you at Pac Man, old man.”

  He tried to smile, but it was a half-hearted effort. How come he couldn’t remember that? How come he couldn’t even call up the word ‘present’?”

  “I’m so glad you woke up. The doctors were talking about a feeding tube, but I told them to wait. I knew you couldn’t resist the idea of hospital food.”

  “Feeding tube?” Even with the dim light, his head was pounding. Every word that he said hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but he needed answers.

  “Yeah, you’ve been out of it for a while.”

  “How long is a while?”

  “Five weeks,” she admitted slowly.

  Clint struggled to sit up, then realized one of his arms was in a cast. As soon as he moved, he groaned. His head felt like Quasimodo was inside, ringing a church bell. At least he’d let out a manly groan and held back the little girl whimper that was close to the surface.

  “Jesus, Lydia, I hurt.”

  “Well then don’t move your head,” she said tartly.

  “Is there something wrong with my head?”

  He watched as she bit her lip.

  Okay, there’s something wrong with my head, hence the reason I can’t come up with the word ‘present’. At least I just thought the word, ‘hence’.

  Fuck. Even that small internal grin of satisfaction hurt.

  “I’m calling the nurse for pain meds.”

  “Is that why I haven’t been awake? Drugs?”

  She bit her lip again.

  “Dammit, don’t be coy, tell me!”

  Whoa, calm down, Sailor. Your head might split open.

  Lydia looked at him with wide eyes. She looked hurt.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for. I know you’re impatient. I would be too in your shoes.”

  “Doesn’t allow me to be an…”

  Fuck, what was the word?

  “…asshole.”

  “Anyway,” she said briskly. “You’ve been out because of a brain injury. It was bad. They had to put you into a drug-induced coma.”

  That triggered some memory that he couldn’t access. There were reasons to do that, but he couldn’t remember why.

  Why can’t I remember?

  “Why did they do that?”

  “Honey, they needed to stop your brain from swelling.”

  Clint shut his eyes, finally putting it all together. “Traumatic brain injury? How bad? How long have I been ousht? When did it happen? What daysh is it?”

  Why are my words slurred?

  He watched as Lydia, his beautiful woman, paled. She took a deep breath. “Yes. TBI. They don’t know how bad. You were injured five weeks ago. You were out of the country when it happened, and you know I don’t know anything about that. Today is my best birthday ever.”

  Clint involuntarily squeezed Lydia’s hand…hard. He didn’t notice until he saw her wince. He let go fast.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right. Any kind of touch from you is a blessing.”

  He smiled. “You're full of shit, my Dork Queen.”

  “Look here, Nerd King, I know what’s important, and that’s holding hands with you.” She gave him a steely glare. “Got it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Now tell me the truth, how bad is your head hurting?”

  “Not bad.”

  “On a scale of one to ten.”

  Ten.

  “About a threes.”

  “Okay, I’ll get the nurse.”

  Clint frowned. “They don’t admi
n…admin…give drugs for a three.”

  “You’re at a ten. Maybe you forgot with your brain injury and all, but you lost the ability to lie to me a year into our relationship.”

  Clint felt his chest ease. Having Lydia tease about his injury made it less traumatic.

  Traumatic. Good play on words, Archer.

  He laughed.

  “What are you laughing about?”

  “You make me happy, Lydia. But no more lashing. It hurts my head.”

  She leaned in and cupped his face. He looked into her brown eyes. Up close she was blurry but still gorgeous. Her thumb stroked along his lower lip. It felt so good. He parted his lips in anticipation. As she came closer, he could taste her cinnamon-flavored breath just before she touched her lips to his. Pain floated away as he was lost in the sensation of Lydia’s heated mouth and intimate caress. He felt loved and cherished. Safe.

  When her tongue traced his lower lip, then pushed forward to tangle with his, he lifted his hands to hold her closer and was hampered by his cast. He tried lifting his head instead, and a shard of glass lodged into his temple. He gasped in pain.

  Goddammit!

  “Shhhh, shhhh, shhhh. It’s all right, Baby.”

  Don’t call me baby!

  Clint sighed. “My head’s really hurting. It might be up to a six now. Maybe you should ask for some pain meds,” he admitted reluctantly.

  “Got it, it’s a twenty. I’ll be right back.”

  She caressed the back of his hand and was gone. Clint squeezed his eyes tight and gritted his teeth. Even that hurt. He didn’t care. What hurt more was that kissing Lydia seemed beyond his ability. What the hell was wrong with him?

  Clint stared at the darkened ceiling. The blinds were shut tight. Was it day, or was it night?

  Fuck me! I didn’t say Happy Birthday to Lydia. What kind of lame-ass am I?

  He huffed out an angry sigh.

  Seriously, how bad is this goddamn TBI?

  The door opened. A woman in a white coat entered. Intern? Doctor?

  “Welcome back, Chief. It’s good to see you with your eyes open,” she smiled. She had long dark hair pulled into a braid. She spoke with a slight Indian accent.