by B. B. Hamel
“You’ll be okay,” he said.
“Sure.” He stared at me, but I took a step away. “See you later, Nash.”
He nodded. “See you.”
I walked away, even though it was the most painful thing I had ever done in my life.
He stood there for a second and then got back into the car. It pulled away.
I felt like a piece of me pulled away with that car.
I knew he was going to leave eventually. I knew there was nothing I could do about it, that he’d pay me my money and we’d be finished. After all, I was never really his wife.
He was married to his job. He wanted to get back into combat, and in order to do that he had to go to Los Angeles. He had to follow through with his promises, play the good soldier, and maybe he’d get rewarded.
There wasn’t any room for me in his plan. I was just a tool after all.
A minute later, I turned and walked away.
I gathered my ticket, got in line at security, and then flew home.
32
Nash
One Week Later
Los Angeles was a fucking shit hole.
I leaned back in my chair, on my third whisky, staring out across the buildings. I was sitting out on the balcony of my hotel room suite, and nothing felt fucking right.
Liv wasn’t kidding when she said my job was going to be sitting around watching. They didn’t give a fuck about my opinion at all. They had plenty of other consultants and writers and contractors, each with their own agenda, and I was just another face in the sea. Sure, it was my fucking story they were trying to tell, but what the fuck did they care about that?
And so I sat there all day long, collecting my check, because that was my mission.
My fucking mission. Livy assured me that my publishers were happy, but we both knew the fucking truth. My “publisher” was my fucking commanding officer, and this whole thing was just one bullshit ruse to create another propaganda tool for the government.
They were using me, using my story, to make themselves look good. I knew it and they knew it. Honestly, they weren’t really trying very hard to hide that fact. I was just a pawn in their little fucking game, but there I was, playing along.
Because I was a Navy SEAL, even if my mission was domestic. I didn’t go against orders. I went to L.A. because that was what my superiors wanted me to do.
I didn’t go with Selena because it was my fucking job to go to L.A.
I took a long swig of whisky, trying not to think about her. I hadn’t spoken to her since the airport, and the look of despair and sadness on her face had damn near fucking broken me.
I’d wanted to go with her. I’d wanted it so badly, but I had this fucking obligation, had to follow orders. If I wanted to go back into combat, I had to do what they asked.
I finished off my drink and filled up another. I sighed, looking out across the city, hating it. I hated L.A., how fake it was, how fake the people were. Hollywood was about the worst place in the fucking world as far as I was concerned, and I had spent time in some seriously fucked-up and dangerous places.
I knew what the real problem was. It wasn’t the city; the city was fucking fine. It was something else, and I was trying not to say it out loud.
“Nash.”
I turned around, surprised. “The fuck?”
Liv stood leaning against the doorway. “How’s it going?”
“How the fuck did you get in here?”
She grinned at me. “Pour me a drink.”
I eyed her for a second and then poured her a drink. I handed her the glass and she knocked it back. “Another.”
I grinned, pouring another. She took it and sipped.
“Why are you here, Liv?”
“We need to talk.” She sat down in the chair next to me. She looked different, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. And then it hit me: I’d never seen her wearing jean shorts and a T-shirt before. Or drink, for that matter, or really talk to me like a human fucking being.
“What can I do for you?” I asked, curious.
“Do you like it here?”
I grunted. “It’s fine.”
She smiled. “Come on, Nash, you hate it here. Just admit it.”
“Fine. It’s fucking awful.” I shrugged. “What’s it matter? You never cared before.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“What changed?”
She looked at me for a second. “Do you know who I am?” she asked.
I cocked my head to one side. “My fucking publicist. And a major weirdo. What’s going on?”
She laughed softly. “You really haven’t figured it out?”
“You’re starting to annoy me, Liv.”
“Okay, I’ll spell it out. My full name is Lieutenant Livy Green, SEAL Team Ten leader.”
I gaped at her, shocked. There was no fucking way. “You’re special forces?”
“You got me.” She spread her hands and grinned at me. “Apparently better than you.”
“No fucking way.” I stared at her, completely surprised. As far as I could tell, she was just another civilian. I didn’t see any training in her, anything to suggest that she was more than she appeared.
“How do you think I got assigned to you, Nash?” she asked. “I’m the liaison between you and General Benton. How do you think I got all that information from him?”
I shrugged. “I figured you really thought he was my publisher.”
She laughed loudly, shaking her head. “God, you’re so fucking clueless, Nash. If I weren’t an insider, I would never believe the stories.”
I grinned. “Yeah, but you know.”
“Yeah, I do. It’s all true, more or less.”
“So, what? Why are you telling me this?”
“I’m sick of you looking at me like I’m some idiot civilian bossing you around. I want you to know that what I’m about to say comes from a fucking equal. Get it?”
“Got it, sir,” I said, grinning.
“That’s better,” she mused. “I do outrank you.”
“Technically. Sir.”
“Enough of that.” She slammed her drink back and held out her glass for another. I finished mine and filled them both. “Listen now.”
“Speak freely.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
I laughed. “No shit. But if I don’t stay, Benton isn’t going to put me back on active duty.”
“Maybe, but you still shouldn’t be here.”
I looked at her. “I want to get back out there, Liv.”
“I know. I’m sure you do. You’re one of the best after all.” She sipped her drink, looking out over the city. “But you love her.”
I stared at her for a full minute, not saying a word. We hadn’t spoken about Selena, ever, since she’d left to be with her parents. The media asked questions, but I deflected, telling them that she was home visiting her parents. They speculated, of course, but I didn’t give a fuck.
“You don’t know shit,” I said softly.
“Actually, I do. You’re in love with the girl.”
I took a drink. “So what?”
She smiled at me. “So, get the fuck out of here, Nash. Go see her.”
“Could ruin everything.”
“Everything is ruined already and you know it. You can’t go back into the shit.” She looked at me with this half smile, this serious grin, and I knew she was speaking from experience. “When was the last time you felt alive?”
“With her,” I said instantly, realizing it was true.
“With her,” Liv repeated, nodding. “You’re rotting out here. You need her, Nash. You’re just too stupid and stubborn to see it.”
“Like I was too stupid to figure out who you were?”
“Exactly.” She took a sip. “Just go see her. I can cover you for a week if you want. Or you can never come back and be done with all this.” She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me.”
“Why are you helping me?” I asked.
; “Because you don’t deserve this. Not after everything you did. And plus”—she grinned at me—“who in this world should stand in the way of love?”
I laughed, and she stood up, finishing her drink.
“Thanks for the whisky,” she said.
“Yeah,” I grunted. “Sure.”
“Let me know if you leave. Again, I can cover a week. Figure your shit out.”
“Yes, sir.” I stood up and saluted her.
She laughed. “God, that feels strange. The first time you’ve actually given me some respect.”
“First time you deserved it.” I grinned at her.
“At ease, soldier.” She turned and walked away, slipping out of my apartment silently.
I shook my head, completely amazed and mystified. Lieutenant Livy was much more badass than I had realized.
I finished my drink.
It took me two minutes to decide what I wanted to do.
I packed a bag in five. Another two minutes to piss and another ten to book a flight.
Then I was out the fucking door, and I wasn’t looking back.
It was a block just like any other.
Finding Selena wasn’t hard. Her parents were still listed in the phone book, and all it took was one call to her mom to get the address. Tracy was nice as hell, and she seemed pretty happy to hear from me.
So it seemed like Selena hadn’t told her the truth yet, which was good. Maybe she wasn’t as angry at me as she probably should’ve been.
I felt like an asshole when the cab dropped me off. My stuff was back at the hotel, and all I had were the clothes on my back. For some reason I felt like I should have brought a present, if not for Selena, then for her parents. But I had no clue how Chris was holding up, and so I didn’t want to do something stupid.
I was fucking nervous, I realized.
I hadn’t been nervous since my first tour of duty. I’d done some seriously heinous shit in my time, some really intense stuff, and never once had I felt butterflies.
But as I paid the cab and turned toward the nondescript Northeast Philadelphia row home, I had fucking butterflies.
It was unreal.
Nash Bell didn’t feel nervous. Little girls about to sing in front of their high school class got nervous.
I shook my head. I had to get myself together.
I walked up the walkway, up the stoop, and stood there in front of the door.
All I had to do was knock. Or maybe I should ring the bell. Fuck. For some reason I couldn’t lift my hand, couldn’t bring myself to knock.
What if she didn’t want to see me anymore? It wasn’t like I was used to telling women that I loved them. Fuck, she was the first one actually. I’d never wanted to say it, never been interested in love.
This must have been what it made you do, though, if I was so damn nervous.
“Nash?”
I turned around, a little surprised.
How were people sneaking up on me so much lately?
I stared as Selena as her mom climbed out of a car parked on the street. I must have been too nervous to even notice them pull up.
Selena stared at me, not saying a word, but Tracy was smiling. “Nash! It’s great to see you.”
“Hey there, Tracy,” I said, managing to smile. I walked toward them.
“How are you?” she asked, coming over and giving me a hug.
“I’m great. How are things here?”
“Oh, you know,” she said, frowning. “Is L.A. good?”
“It’s amazing.”
“Good. Good.” She looked at me and then at Selena. “Okay, well, I’ll let you two talk.” She quickly walked away, up the stoop, and into the house.
Selena was wearing tight black jeans, a simply white T-shirt, and her hair was pulled back into a bun. So simple, and yet so fucking perfect. That was how I liked her, not made up, not decked out in fancy clothes. I liked her simple, in jeans and a T-shirt, no makeup, just a fucking smile.
Except there was no smile there.
“Hey,” I said to her.
She stood across from me, her arms crossed. “What are you doing here, Nash?” she asked. “I can’t do any interviews right now.”
“How’s your dad doing?”
“He’s hanging in,” she said.
“Good.” I stared at her. “I’m not here about interviews.”
“Why are you here, Nash? Because I’m pretty sure you made how you feel pretty clear when you let me get on that plane alone.”
“I know,” I said. “Listen.”
“No. You listen, you asshole.” She was getting worked up. “I’m done with this. I don’t work for you. I’m not your fucking employee or some tool for you to use. You want to go back into combat? Fine, go, I don’t care. Just don’t show up on my doorstep ever again.”
“Selena—” I said, but she cut me off.
“No, no. I’m finished. Get it? You’re just going to run away to war again. I don’t know why you’re here, but I don’t care.”
“I love you,” I said.
That stopped her tirade. “What?”
“I love you,” I said. “I made a mistake when I let you leave. Fuck, I’ve been miserable in L.A. without you.”
“You love me?” she said softly.
I nodded, stepping closer. “Fuck, girl, I’ve loved you for a while now.”
“A while now,” she repeated.
“I’m done with it,” I said. “I’ll always be a SEAL, but I’ll never leave you again.”
She stood there staring at me, her mouth parted, the anger clearly having faded away. She said nothing, didn’t make a move to come closer, just watched me.
“Well?” I said, smiling. “I love you. Fuck, I do.”
She threw her arms around me and kissed me hard.
Lightning broke through my body as I kissed her back, pulling her tightly against me.
We kissed like that, standing out in front of her parents’ house, almost like we were alone in the world.
Finally, she pulled away. “You can’t leave me again,” she said.
“I know.”
“I love you too then, asshole.”
“Yeah,” I said, grinning hugely, “I know you do.”
I kissed her again, and I knew that I didn’t need a week to figure things out. I’d already made my choice.
The general was going to be pissed, but fuck him. I’d keep doing their domestic propaganda missions, but I didn’t need to make them happy all the time. I was done being their fucking lackey, their little lap dog they thought they could push around.
I had Selena now, and that was what mattered. I didn’t need them anymore.
I kissed her hard and hoped she understood that.
33
Selena
One Year Later
I looked down at the ring on my finger and smiled.
It was funny how things could start to mean something else. One second it has all these bad feelings, this negativity, and the next it feels completely fresh.
Once upon a time, my engagement ring had made me sad. When I looked at it, I knew that it was just a lie. Maybe I felt something for the man that had given it to me, but that wasn’t reality. We were lying to the world, all because I needed money and he wanted a better job.
Then, things happened. Lots of things happened. Lots of dirty, sweaty, incredible things happened. And the ring began to mean something very, very different.
When I looked at my ring over a year after he had first given it to me, it stood for love. It wasn’t a lie, not anymore.
I leaned back in my chair, smiling up at the little bungalow. The sun was bright in the late afternoon, and I felt a bead of sweat roll down my back. The glass of iced tea next to me was sweating, just like I was.
What a lovely day. The garden was coming in nicely, especially since I had so much time to work on it. Ever since we’d gotten the news all those months ago, Nash had been adamant that I never worked again. I missed my little part-time
job, but I had a bigger full-time job coming up, growing inside me.
I looked up and saw him standing in the doorway to our little house in the hills, smiling at me.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said, walking toward me. He was wearing a pair of cutoff jean shorts and nothing else, his muscles tanned and tensed, incredibly sexy.
“Do you ever wear a shirt?” I asked.
“You know the answer to that.”
I laughed as he kissed me on the cheek and crouched down next to me. He kissed my stomach next and smiled. “How’s Chris doing today?”
“He’s good,” I said.
“And how are you?”
“Fine,” I said. “Bored. Ready to give birth already.”
He laughed. “We have a long way to go before that happens.” He paused and looked back at the house. “Your mom said she’s going to move out here,” he said quietly.
“I know,” I admitted. “Ever since Dad died, well, she doesn’t want to be alone out there anymore. You know?”
He sighed. “Does she have to live with us?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Fine,” he grunted. “But we’re getting a bigger house.”
“Fine with me.”
He kissed me again and stood up.
“Look at you, my pregnant wife. How’s it feel to know that we never have to lie to the media again?”
“Speak for yourself,” I said. “I love lying to them. Makes me feel alive.”
He laughed. “Do what you want, babe. Just don’t tank this movie.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
He shrugged. “Part of me thinks it’s going to fail. But part of me doesn’t give a fuck.”
“General Prick will give a fuck.”
He smiled at my little nickname for his commanding officer. “Yeah, well.”
After our first month together, he told me everything. He told me about how the media tour was a propaganda thing set up by the government, how the book was ghostwritten by some guy working for them, and how it was technically his mission to go through all the media shit he went through.
Including the movie, which was actually getting a lot of good press. They were showing it to small festivals before the big release, and everyone was reacting really favorably to it. Still, Nash worried, but he was just like that. My husband, Nash the perfectionist.