Looking straight ahead I see our target, or just a black blob that’s darker than the water, and I break away from the pole with Cody and Dax. The practice mine is placed on the hard, slimy metal a few moments later, and we high tail it out of the area as quick as possible. When we surface thirty minutes later, our boat is waiting to whisk us away. We’re as close to invisible men as physically possible. Our specialized diving equipment doesn’t release air, so no bubbles ever reach the surface. This particular mission, which took a few hours to perform, probably took a week of meticulous planning and coordinating. There’s something to be said of prep-work, for being as prepared as possible for any given scenario. Even the ones that you can’t control. Be ready for anything. It’s my motto.
“I think you need to add a new verse to your song. It’s weak sauce,” Mav says as we walk toward our building to drop our gear off for the night. You can’t talk on the boats, unless it’s by radio, because of the high speeds and whipping wind. He’s just now commenting on my superb superman lyrics. “Maybe I can help you work on it.” He grins like a fucking panther—Maverick and his famous fucking dimples. They’ll go down in history, you know, after all of his naval accolades. Maverick Hart is a survivor—a warrior in every sense of the word. It wasn’t long ago that he almost lost his life during a mission that claimed his best friend, our teammate, Stone Sterns.
“Let’s do it. My rapping prowess knows no bounds, though. I don’t sing that boy band bullshit like you do. You can handle that, right?” I yawn for longer than I want. I also can’t really rap, but he knows that. Him on the other hand? He can sing his ass off. “I have to get home now, though. I’m fucking beat.” Maverick tosses my bag to me and slings his over his shoulder as we exit to the parking lot.
“Please, we both know that boy bands make the panties drop.” Maverick cackles as he opens the door to his jacked-up, gray Jeep.
I laugh. “You only drop one set of panties. Don’t be delusional, Mavvy.”
Proudly, he nods and hauls himself into the cab. “You’re right. I need to get home and make that happen right now, as a matter of fact.”
He’s relentless. I think his new favorite goal in life is impregnating his wife, Windsor. I can’t say I blame him. She’s hot on a good day and a M.I.L.F on any other day. Plus, she deals with our lifestyle, which makes her a precious commodity in our community.
Women don’t deal well with our schedule, nor our frequent training trips, and definitely not the deployments. Eighty percent of marriages fail in the SEAL community. Some of the guys who prefer the committed lifestyle keep trying to find a wife that can deal. It usually ends badly, with a wife of the week, or a cheating scandal that would make Bill Clinton look like a fucking saint.
Personally, I don’t do the wife thing. There’s no sense, really. I have a few girlfriends. Before you get all “cheating bastard,” you should know they all know about each other and it’s a mighty fine arrangement. No strings attached. I’m not lonely and the women are free to do as they please. I’m not a controlling misogynist who wants to have his cake and eat it, too. I get it. I understand why they don’t want to be committed, because I don’t either. It’s a stipulation of dating Steven Warner. Non-exclusivity.
I look at normal people and normal marriages like my parents, and it’s almost an oddity. Like their definition of marriage is different than what I’m accustomed to. My parents have been married for thirty-five years and still look at each other like they want to hump like rabbits on the breakfast table. Insert puking noises right fucking here. With such a mighty fine example, I’m unsure why I avoid true relationships. I figure I’ll just know, in that cliché sort of way that everyone drones on about. In the meantime, I’m as happy as can be. My life, time, and decisions belong to only me.
Maverick waves from his high perch before he starts his roaring engine. I jerk up my chin in acknowledgement and drive the dark, familiar roads all the way home. I walk into my dark house, flicking on all of the lights at once, illuminating my obvious type A bachelor pad. White walls, contemporary furnishings, everything clean and in order—nothing showy, or ostentatious. My career has allowed me a great deal of financial freedom, but my house was never something that I wanted to spend my hard earned money on. Like most of the guys, I have expensive hobbies that cost me a pretty penny. Anything adrenaline based, anything considered fuck yeah. My modest sized house is a few notches above functional as it’s still way too big for one person, but not anything like the large houses that sit directly on Virginia Beach’s bay. It’s comfortable. It’s home. I sigh when the familiar scents of home hit my nostrils.
“Hey, you!” a female voice calls from the hallway. “You’re finally home. I got off early so I wanted to stop by,” Cassidy says.
I look at my black, digital watch, which also serves as an altimeter to measure height while skydiving. It’s one thirty in the morning. Granted, Cass is a bartender so she is always up late, but I’m really fucking tired tonight. I wanted to call M and then pass out. She has Gunner, my Doberman, by her side.
“How was work?” I ask. “Did you take him out for me? Thanks for that. Big man hates when I have night dives. Don’t you, Gunner man?” I raise my voice at the end, and the dog’s butt starts wiggling as he trots over to sit, and then back himself into me, like a marble statue.
She pulls her dirty blonde hair back into a ponytail. It’s obvious where this is headed. We’ve been together for long enough for me to work out her tells. “Don’t mention it. I love hanging with Gunner. Work was fine. Lots of tips. I just left my tits out all night, you know?” I smile. At the word “tits” I can’t help it. I let my gaze wander down to her black tank top stretched across her huge, fake titties. Maybe I’m not as tired as I first thought. “I missed you. You didn’t call for a few days,” she croons, stalking toward me, her eyes zeroed in on my crotch.
Running a hand through my damp, dark hair, I avert my gaze. “I had a lot going on this week, baby. Lots of night work.” Gunner moves out of her way as she flings herself into my arms tits first and firmly plants her lips on my neck. Yanking the neck of my shirt down, she licks a straight trail from my ear down to the top of my collarbone.
She peels away to look into my eyes. “I thought you were with her this week. You don’t want to make me jealous, do you? I mean a girl can only take so much. I’m number one, right?” I swallow hard. I hate when it comes to this. Attachments. I can’t have them. They are too hard to sever. They’re a liability. I like Cass. She’s really fucking easy on the eyes and she always goes above and beyond to help me out when I need someone to watch Gunner, but when we started our arrangement she wanted nothing more than sex. It’s developed over the months and now she’s waiting at my house when I get home from work in the middle of the night. Fuck.
I kiss her pouty mouth once and pull away. “I have to make a phone call, baby. Wait for me?” I ask, avoiding her question and her hazy accusations. The corners of her mouth turn down and those emerald green eyes tell me all I need to know. Pissed bitch. Shit. “I’ll be quick, I promise. I just have to check on her. I promised.” I don’t break promises. Especially to M. Morganna Sterns is the only woman with priority in my life. Cassidy knows as much. We don’t have secrets between us, but I can also see why it’s a problem.
“Whatever, Steve. I don’t know why you waste your time with her. She’s never, ever going to agree to one of your arrangements.” Cass hisses the last word. She doesn’t know that M is the only person, probably in the entire universe, that I don’t want some fucked up arrangement with.
I won’t let myself admit that I want M, but I’m a smart asshole and can’t fool myself. I grab both sides of Cass’s face and bring her lips toward mine, spinning my tongue to meet with hers. I put a force behind the kiss that I know she won’t be able to ignore. Her eyes flutter closed the same time her body molds to mine. Putty in capable hands. I know exactly what she needs from me. I’m just not sure how long it will be enough for her.
I let my wet lips pull away and speak against her mouth, “Sex only, Cass. Remember?” She nods, a glazed over look on her face. I nod once, walk into my office, and close the door behind me. I pull my phone out of my jeans pocket and hit speed dial number one. She picks up after the first ring.
“I thought you forgot about me,” Morganna says, a sleepy tone lacing her southern accent. I laugh because the accent is rare. I eat it up any chance I get. “I had a good day today. Are you still going to come over tomorrow and hang out, maybe help me swap out the lock on my side door?”
I sigh. “What are best friends for?” I mock. “I didn’t know you needed a new lock. Why?” I pace around the small office, kicking off my shoes as I go, stretching my neck side to side. It gets sore from the choppy waters at sea. Most SEALs have broken bodies by age forty. It’s a tough lifestyle. I rub my lower back, making mental plans to schedule a massage.
“The doorknob seemed wiggly yesterday morning. I’d call one of those handymen, but then I figured I got one of those guys on speed dial. Might as well put your skills to good use.”
I chuckle under my breath. “Use my skills, huh? I do have a lot to offer, but it makes me nervous about the doorknob. Did your exterior security camera pick up anything unusual?”
“I didn’t check.”
Of course. She’s an attorney, a brilliantly successful, shrewd attorney, who thinks she’s invincible. I guess I can’t blame her. She thinks all her bad luck was used up when her husband, Stone was killed. I mean, that must give you a pass at the rest of life, right? All of the guys remained her friends after he passed. She’s just as involved in our Naval community as she ever was. She attends events, is asked to speak at fundraisers, and is an integral part of the Teams.
“Maybe I should come over tonight and check it out. Is Phillipe staying with you?” Morganna Sterns lives in a sleek, white mansion smack dab on the water. Sometimes when we’re out on the boats late at night I can see lights glowing from her second story windows. There’s so many windows, at least fifteen, that some nights it distracts me, and other nights it’s like a beacon we can gauge our position on.
Morganna is west. Her assistant, Phillipe, stays some nights, when she’s lonely—when she’s missing Stone. Stone Sterns was my teammate. The type of SEAL we all struggle to be. He’s also the reason I don’t let myself admit that I want Morganna Sterns. With my relationship statuses, plural, how could I?
Morganna sighs. “No, Phillipe is at his boyfriend’s house. I’m fine. Just come over first thing?” If I had it my way, I’d be over there in seven minutes flat. She knows it. “My guns are loaded, Steven. I’ll be fine tonight.” I envision her kitted up in camo gear, peering around the large columns that line her foyer. It makes me grin because it’s something I can envision actually happening.
“Your guns are always loaded. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow. Night, M. Sleep well.” She sighs a sleepy little noise and I swallow down my feelings. I try not to think of her raven black hair that falls down her back, or the way my cock gets hard when I merely see the woman in a bikini. Like a fucking teenager.
“Bring breakfast from Cappy’s and your loaded guns. You’ll need them. Night,” Morganna whispers into the phone, joking about my abnormally large biceps.
I imagine the smile on her face and bite my lip to keep from smiling into the thin, vacant air. I tap the end call button and plug my iPhone into my laptop to charge. When I walk out into the living room, Cass is sitting on the sofa waiting for me. I rub my palms down the front of my pants and approach her, forcing my mind to a state of black. It gets harder and harder to pretend this is enough. When I kiss Cassidy, I almost feel dirty. My hands wander from her tight ass to the hem of her black pleather skirt.
I pray I can keep up the charade long enough because it’s only a matter of time now. Pulling wet panties to the side, I slide two fingers into her and new verses come to mind.
Ol’ Stevey Warner is a fucked up man
No one has a clue about his master plan
He’s been in love with a woman for most of his life
And that chick has always been someone else’s wife.
I groan. Luckily, it’s timed well because Cass just wrapped her soft hands around my dick.
CHAPTER TWO
Morganna
“THERE IS NO way in hell that man is getting anywhere near you, Penny,” I tell my client. She has a crazy ass husband she’s trying to get rid of with a true fiery passion. I glance around to make sure everything is in place and nothing needs straightening as she chatters away about all of her husband’s mistresses and all the times he hit her. This is an easy case. He hit her. There’s photo evidence. He cheated. There’s photo evidence. The guy might as well hop the train to asshole, wife-beater town and check his wallet with the conductor. To say I’m confident about this case is an understatement. I’ve taken on several cases like this in the past and they’ve all ended the same—in my favor.
“He promised to make my life a living hell, Ms. Sterns. Of course I’m going to worry! I’ll probably even worry after the divorce is final,” Penelope admits, her lip trembling. I agreed to meet her in my home office at six a.m. She’s the epitome of worried and paranoid.
Steven won’t be coming over until at least nine. He worked late, so I’m sure he’s going to sleep in a little bit. And God knows which woman he spent his time with last night. One and two seem to tire him more so than number three. As soon as I think it, I realize how messed up it is that I know this private information about him.
I know a lot of things about him. We’re friends. He’s been there for me. When my husband Stone passed away, Steven was a bittersweet reminder of everything. Good memories and tragic, depressing memories always sneak in when I spend a lot of time with Steven. Eventually, I decided that it’s worth it to have his friendship and his humor included in my life.
I lay a hand on Penny’s forearm. “You are a successful physician. He lost his job a year ago. Don’t worry about your money. Don’t worry about your safety. I promise everything is going to be okay.” I smile and, with what I think is a reassuring gesture, pat her arm. “I’m going to nail his ass to the wall in court.” I nod. Convincing someone of something is almost an art form. Especially if you don’t know one hundred percent it’s going to work out. “The detective got amazing photos of him with one of the women. Remember that?”
At the mention of her safety, I imagine sending one of The Guys to stake out her house. Let that philandering, wife beating devil run into one of those men. Bodies like brick walls and personalities that morph in any situation. They are breathing, brawny, true blue heroes or villains—whichever you desire at a particular time.
I smile tightly through the pang in my chest. It’s how I’ve learned to cope with losing my husband. Smile through the pain. Laugh through the grief. Thrive in the throes of emptiness. It’s a catch twenty-two because the SEAL community is still my community, regardless of my late husband’s breathing status. I’ll never leave the friends and family I’ve made here in Virginia Beach or in San Diego where this all started so many years ago.
It doesn’t make it any easier to think about Stone. He was the great love of my life. Living without him is the largest challenge I’ve ever taken on. I miss him every second he’s not here, but life doesn’t stop. Tragedy doesn’t halt the future. It propels you into it with a brand new outlook. You suck it up. You smile. You go on.
I feel pride that he died saving his best friend, Maverick’s life. He wouldn’t be the man I married if he didn’t. It still doesn’t negate the fact that he left me with a massive sized hole in every aspect of my life. I didn’t function for the first few months after he died. I was left with the decision to push forward through the grief, or to wallow in self-pity and blame. I chose the first option because self-pity isn’t something I know how to do for long amounts of time.
Penelope sniffles. “Thank you for meeting with me instead of talking on the p
hone. You must think I’m crazy. Thank you,” she repeats.
Standing, I clasp her hands in mine. “I will win this for you. Please don’t be fearful. That’s what he wants.”
She smiles as a tear falls down her face. The sight makes me uneasy. Emotion in general makes me uneasy these days. Sometimes I think throwing myself into my work, but staying emotionally detached, is the best way to score a victory. Ushering her forward, we make our way to the large foyer by my front door.
When I sling it open Steven is standing there, a large, silver, destroyed doorknob in one hand and a take-out bag in the other. The smart-ass smile on his chiseled face is the most comforting thing in my world on most days. I reckon the fact that most everything else on him is chiseled is sort of nice too.
Penelope smiles at me and moves around Steven and down the driveway. “I’ll call you later, Penny,” I yell after her, my work voice still firmly in place. To Steven I say, “You’re early.”
He rolls his eyes and drops the broken piece of door in my hand, like a cat handing off a dead mouse. “This worried me. I figured you’d want breakfast at normal breakfast time,” he explains, moving around me and sauntering into my kitchen like he’s at home. He sort of is. We spend a lot of time together.
In the beginning it was too hard to be his friend because of the familiarity. Familiarity is what forces a smile when I see an old friend, but it’s also what forms a black pit in my stomach. It coils deep and doesn’t relent. SEALs are all pretty similar as a general rule. Stone and Steven have their differences, but for the most part they are jarringly alike. The humor is what always reeled me toward Steven. Who doesn’t want to laugh? A better question is who doesn’t want to laugh after their husband dies? His comic relief is always welcome in the dark corners of my world.
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