The Crazy Good SEAL Series: Books 1-3

by Rachel Robinson

  “He’d still be alive if I didn’t fall for Windsor. That’s a fact. I’m a fuck-up.”

  “You are not a fuck-up. She loves you, Maverick. You need people who love you around. She deleted the photo because she didn’t want you to concern yourself with it. Johnny was trying to talk to her all night. You know what she said when she finally did talk to him?”

  I haven’t heard this story yet. Honestly, I fucking forgot about it. It’s funny how something so insignificant becomes such a powerful catalyst. I nod, urging her to continue, though I’ve already made up my mind about Windsor.

  “She told him she’s so in love with you that she can’t see straight. And then she thanked him for cheating on her because she’d never have met you otherwise.” Morganna lays her head on my chest. I try to swallow, but it gets stuck in my throat. “I broke confidentiality and told her about that bitch, Monica. She was still angry you lied, but I bet you’d have a shot with her. You need her, Mav. Trust me, love like that only comes around once.”

  I kill her husband and she tries to salvage my relationship. It makes me sick.

  I sigh. It’s painful, and reminds me that I have to keep breathing. “I’ll always love Windsor. She’s the only one for me, but I can’t be with her. We have each other. We’ll get through this, Morg. We’ll get through it.” Because I have to be strong for you, I think. Stone would want that.

  Morganna sniffles. “Don’t make this more tragic than it has to be.” Her wise words rattle around in my mind, but eventually peter out. I refuse to take things I don’t deserve. I won’t destroy another life. “We do have each other. But don’t think I’ll sleep with you.” She smiles against me. I kiss the top of her head. My heart aches more than I thought possible.

  Several silent, morbid seconds pass. We’re both thinking of him.

  “Come with me tomorrow. I need you,” she admits. “No one knows what this feels like except you. You’re the only one who understands. I miss him, God. I miss him.”

  I miss you too, Bro. If there was ever a time I believed in a God or a place after death, it’s now. Because someone like Stone doesn’t just stop. It’s impossible.

  “I need you too, Morg. I’ll be with you all day tomorrow. I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” I tell her, hugging her close. Stone’s sweatshirt still smells like him. He’s here in bed with us. Smiling, I shake my head at the fucked up thought.

  “I invited her. She’ll be there,” Morganna says. I’m still amazed how quickly Phillipe organized the funeral. Morg didn’t have any part of it. She couldn’t. Phillipe knew without asking exactly what needed to happen. I told Morg she needed to pay him more. She agreed.

  I clear my throat. “Everyone will be there,” I counter. Avoidance.

  She changes the subject. “Read me the letter, Maverick. Read it to me,” Morganna whispers.

  We’ve put it off long enough. I know if I hesitate another second, I won’t do it. Sliding my fingers under the flap, I open the envelope and pull out the two letters. I glance at Morganna, shake my head sadly, and open the perfect fold. Using more bravery than I’ve ever possessed, I read.

  Morganna, Morg, my fuzzy kitten wrapped in canon ball metal:

  Do you remember the time we went to Belgium? We spent a night drinking honey beer and talking to an old guy that kept showing us phone pictures of his half-naked, overweight girlfriend? I spoke French all night and you smoked stogies like a fucking Mafia lord. God, you are so fuckin’ hot. What about the time I tried to teach you to surf on a long board? The sight of you riding that huge wave makes me smile. Remember what you did to me on our wedding night? You freak.

  The smile you have on your face right now (I know you’re smiling after that last question) is the reason I fell in love with you. If you’re reading this letter you’re gonna have to use that same perfect, fucking smile to trap another badass mofo’. I know you will and you need to know that I want you to move on.

  Because you saved me, Morg and if you never saved another bad seed it would be worse than my lost life. And because you saved me, I could save Maverick. You know what that means to me.

  I want you to understand you are the reason I live and breathe. My world gravitates around you. That hot fucking sun rises and sets because you live on this planet. It’s your face I see every time I close my eyes. It’s like you’re tattooed on the back of my eyelids. (Fuck, why didn’t I think of that sooner?) Don’t think anything different happened when I closed my eyes for the final time. I saw your face. In fact, when I get to the pearly gates, I expect to see your beautiful head residing on God’s body. That’s the only sight I want to see for eternity. If I don’t get it, I want my fucking money back. I love you, Morganna Sterns. I love every single piece of your perfect body and twisty-fuck mind. I love all of you.

  Take care of Maverick. Take care of each other. You are the great love of my life. I’m sorry my life took away your love. It was the only thing capable of taking it—that’s something, right?

  I’m sorry for a lot of things if you’re reading this. I’m sorry I didn’t give you a rock-n-roll son, or a devious daughter with your beautiful face. I’ll never get to see you hold our baby, or listen to you sing sweet lullabies with that hot southern drawl. I’m just sorry I went and got myself killed. I died doing what I love. I can say without a doubt that I died with pride filling my body. But my heart? That’s always only yours. Just yours. Nothing holds me like you do.

  Wear the tight blue dress to the funeral. Don’t let them play bad music either. Pour Some Sugar on Me has to be included in the play list. I won’t be satisfied unless my mother is mortified. Keep your head up and tits out. Live on, baby. This isn’t goodbye—It’s see you later.

  Forever, crazy, endless love,

  Stone

  Morganna is crying, somewhere in between happy and completely destroyed. Before I lose my nerve, I unfold the second letter and pull Morganna into the crook of my arm.

  Mavvy, Brother, Thomas twin:

  We are seven years old standing on the roof of my parent’s house. We have my mother’s best bath towels wrapped around our fucking necks. Side by side, our arms wrapped around each other’s backs. We counted to three and jumped from a second story roof. That should have been the first sign we were fucking crazy. We thought we could fly that day. I broke my right arm and you broke your left arm. We didn’t let go of each other even when we hit the damn ground. We never let go. Our parents were so pissed. How many planes have we jumped out of since then (successfully)? At least 500? We never leave each other behind. You’re reading this, so I must have left you. It’s obviously against my will because I’d never leave you without a fight.

  Life is short, man. It’s too fucking short. Let go of all the hate. Reach out to your parents. They won’t turn you away…I know it. How? I talk to them, bro. They care about you. Give them a chance to know the real you. The man who is strong, wise, and capable of anything he sets his mind to. The man who was my friend before I even knew what a friend was. You are the man who gave my life purpose with one sentence, “Let’s be Navy SEALs.” Thank you, Mav. Thank you.

  Don’t turn to the bottle, dude. I know that’s exactly what you’ll want to do. It may even be the first thing you think about after you finish reading this. I’m not at the bottom of a bottle. You are so much better than that. You never really needed me to keep you in line. You wanted to be in line. Give yourself more credit. And if you can’t, I’m gonna sick Morganna on you. (Hear that, Morg?) I guess I can finally admit that I’ve always been jealous of you. You’re a better fucking shot, your vagina dick is tighter, and those fucking dimples? You bitch. It feels so fucking weird saying goodbye to you. It’s like saying goodbye to myself.

  You’re good, Mavvy. You’re good. I love you, brother. You’re the left to my right. Take care of Morganna. Don’t let her swim in the shark tank for too long. And for God’s sake—get the fucking girl. Tighten your fuckin’ towel, Bro.

  If you fly, I fly

&
nbsp; Stone

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Windsor

  Present Day

  I HAVE HAD the dream too many times to count. The elaborate church is filled with people all wearing black in some form or another. I’m in the middle of the aisle walking toward the front, kind of like what happens during a wedding. Except it’s a black veil that hides my face, and no one turns to look as I pass by the pews. Their eyes remain forward, staring, weeping…trying to come to terms with their grief. I walk the long length alone, my gaze trained on the dark wooden coffin highlighted by a single spotlight. White flowers surround it like they’re trying to hide the ugly truth. During the dream my chest hurts and my breathing never comes easy. Though I’m crying, my face is never tearstained. My high heels echo on the hard floor, the only noise other than the wails of anguish that break out every couple seconds.

  I never understand the magnitude of my loss until I reach the coffin. I fall to my knees and that’s when the tears come, wild and fierce and unstoppable. I lift my face to the ceiling and scream. The pain is unbearable. The loss cuts me inside and outside, and sears every good thing about my being. Resting my hands on the side of the sleek wood, I ask for another chance. I beg for another opportunity to do it all over while simultaneously thanking God for the time I did have. The pain of heartbreak is different when it comes hand-in-hand with death. There isn’t an option of maybe sometime in the future, and second chances don’t exist. This was of course, just a dream.

  I sit in the very back choking on the memories of my nightmare as I watch Morganna Sterns, powerhouse, walk to the front of the church, tears streaming down her face so quickly that she wouldn’t be able to stop them if she wanted to. They’re the uncontrollable kind of tears that have a mind of their own. They won’t stop until you’re dehydrated or finally pass out from exhaustion. Her flat-soled shoes don’t echo and she doesn’t bother with a veil. Morganna is fractured, irretrievably broken by Stone’s death. Maverick is by her side, holding her up, forcing her forward, toward the coffin. This is their reality. It’s also the first time I’ve seen Maverick since the hospital. My stomach flips, without my permission. It’s weird to be in love with someone who almost seems like a stranger.

  I haven’t spoken to Morganna since she invited me to the funeral. I didn’t find out about Stone’s death until after I got home from the fateful trip to the hospital to visit Maverick…and his wife. Morganna explained away the marriage easily, almost too easily, and I wondered what she got out of confessing these things. Surely breaking confidentiality isn’t something she makes a habit of.

  I’m not sure why I haven’t called Maverick or why he hasn’t called me. It doesn’t matter. I know the man I love is gone. Sure, he may be somewhere inside, but his life song is altered indefinitely. People come into your life for different reasons. Some give you something you didn’t know you ever needed. Others take things you didn’t know you should give. Stone gave Maverick love. What happens to a person when the only person who gives you unending love dies? I don’t know specifics. I’m not sure exactly how he died. I know they were together.

  An older pair with silver streaked hair stand and hug both Morganna and Maverick. Phillipe leans over and whispers, “Stone’s parents.”

  Maverick’s back is to me, a fact I’m thankful for. I’m not sure what seeing his grief will do to me. Distancing myself from him has been hard enough. I’m sure I’ll crack any day and forgive him for lying about his wife. Part of me thinks that it won’t be enough. That some other unspoken grievance hangs over us. The urge to comfort him is overwhelming. Why doesn’t he want me to do that for him? I respect Morganna enough to not hassle her for details. Keeping my distance is the only way I know how to react.

  Kathy visited me for a few days after I came home from the hospital. We got along, surprisingly. I think it was because she sympathized with my plight. Or was happy she was right about Maverick. Whatever the reason, she was there for me in a way that still confuses me. Although she did leave after she got a phone call from Bill, number five, because he wanted to come back home. She wanted to be there when he got back from whatever “vacation” he claimed to be on. She didn’t listen to me when I told her that’s not what love is about. Spouses don’t just leave and return whenever they please. She responded by shoving my life’s mistakes back into my face. I obviously didn’t know what love was either, or I wouldn’t have fallen for a married man. My mom has me so delusional that I honestly question whether she’s right. A person, who loves you doesn’t just stop talking to you during a time of need. If anything they need you more. My mind plays awful tricks on me. I hope Maverick comes around.

  I’ve planned what I want to say to Maverick a million times and changed it a billion more. I remember when my Dad died everyone said the same things to me because there are certain things that must be said. Not because they mean them. It’s because it’s what they think they’re supposed to say. Some higher power dictates that. They hugged me awkwardly, and told me how sorry they were for my loss. I’m not sure if I hated them more or less for their hollow words. I play by the rules, so I had to respect that they were doing what they were supposed to do. Deep down I wanted to scream for everyone to fucking shut up and tell me what was really on their minds. My sensibilities won over today, and I compiled a few generic sentences to say to Maverick if I run into him. I don’t want to make him even more upset than he already is. If possible, I want to be a neutral element in his messed up world. The impossibly cruel heartache I have over his whopper of a lie takes a backseat to Stone. Death always has a miserable way of showing you what is really important. I wonder if I promised never to take anything for granted if the grim reaper would be less nasty. Probably not.

  I hold Gretchen’s hand the entire service. Funny photos of Maverick and Stone flash across a huge screen. They make me happy and undauntedly sad at the same time. From the time they were children right up until the second he took his last breath, it’s obvious that Stone loved Maverick like family…like a brother.

  I cringe when Maverick walks to stand on the stage, the microphone in front of him like a weapon. He puts his hands on his hips, accentuating his much too small waist. His black uniform would look like sex-in-cotton-polyester-blend on any other occasion. Not right now, though. I cover my mouth as a sob escapes before he even says a word.

  “Stone wouldn’t want a lot of fanfare. Actually, I know he didn’t because he told me so. He did want everyone to know that you shouldn’t feel sorry for him, or say his life was cut too short. He lived. Oh, he lived. It may not be a full life compared to the average person, but his life was complete. And Stone was anything but average.” Maverick clears his throat and stares straight ahead, his gaze focused on something high above our heads. “He had a life many would kill to have. He loved his job. He loved his wife even more,” Maverick says, finally searching the sea of faces to find Morganna. I let my eyes fall to my lap. The sadness in his eyes when he looks at her is palpable. He goes on, “Thomas Sterns was a hero in every sense of the word. His honor and his love for his country is why, in his darkest hour, I am alive today. I could say that it was a debt for his country, or that he died doing something he was trained to do, but that would be a lie.”

  I watch his neck work, as he swallows. “Thomas…Stone died so that I could live. It sounds so selfish when I say it out loud. Like he chose me over his life. Over his wife…and over his career, but his act of selflessness shouldn’t be undermined by my own feelings. He died so his brother could live. Every day I wake up and take a deep breath, it’s because he is no longer breathing.” Maverick balls a fist and brings it up to cover his mouth, his eyes wilting in the corners as he silently breaks down.

  He looks down to the coffin. “You saved me more times than I can count, brother,” he whispers, though it still echoes in the church. “I love you, Stone. We all do.” He walks off the stage and finds his place next to Morganna. She envelops him in her arms. I’m thankful they have
each other.

  It’s all I can be thankful for.

  A memory is resilient enough to destroy the strongest individual. So much so, that nothing is left in its wake. Complete and total annihilation form in remembrance. Kathy’s words about remembering ring true, in this specific scenario. I wonder how much longer I can fault her actions. I wonder if I should have ever faulted her. Because when I see what a single memory is capable of all I feel is guilt…and pity.

  The lights dim and the spotlight on the casket gleaming with golden trident pins is the solitary focus. All of Stone’s teammates banged their tridents into the lid out of respect. Maverick openly weeps, his face covered by both of his hands.

  About those memories? Nothing but destruction.

  _______________

  I didn’t approach Maverick at the funeral. I hugged Morganna and told her to call me during a lull when Maverick was with the other guys. I’m a coward at best. I snuck out of the church and cried all the way home while Gretchen drove. I haven’t cried in public like that for a while. I don’t let myself cry for Maverick anymore. At least not in the relationship sense. I used up all the sympathy cards with Nash. No one should have to deal with Windsor’s broken heart ever again. So, I don’t let anyone know just how much I’m hurting. Today, I let the floodgates open because seeing the type of pain Maverick and Morganna are in is terrible. Mav once told me that funerals are commonplace in his community. He said most of the time he didn’t know the person that well, but sometimes he did. He said you try not to be affected by death outwardly, that you deal with it and move on. Because who wants to have a job that has an expiration date? That’s scary, and I don’t care who you are or how much you bench press. Doom and gloom constantly take a toll on morale.