by Sosie Frost
I opted for something simpler.
“Hi. I…uh, I was withdrawing from my classes. I have my form…”
“Student ID number.”
I rattled it off. She waved for the papers in my hand—the few letters I gathered from my professors who waived the F in favor of an Incomplete.
“A member of the student relations board will call you once this is processed. Please be aware we cannot grant refunds on this semester’s tuition.”
“Oh, I…I know.”
“Have a nice day.”
That was it? I swallowed. The secretary dismissed me with a slurp of her diet Coke.
Was it really that easy? All of Professor Sweeten’s threats, the humiliation at the academy, the sleepless nights—and all I had to do was hand in a letter?
I could have emailed my failure to the school.
What the hell was I doing standing before a complete stranger pretending not to fall to pieces? These people wouldn’t help. They’d sweep me into the same garbage bin as the other shattered students who fell apart before making it into the real world.
Thank God Momma wasn’t here to see this. Or Dad. He was the one who paid for it.
I returned to Zach. He tossed me the helmet.
“It was quick,” I said.
He shuddered. “Words a guy never wants to hear.”
I forced a smile. “I’m not very hungry.”
“But I know the best burger joint.”
“Zach—”
“Hop on. They make a chocolate milkshake that’s more tempting than you.”
Ice-cream did sound good. For a girl without a future and a severe allergy to cats, about the only thing I could collect in the future would be pints of gourmet ice-creams.
Hell, if I really wanted to become an eccentric hermit, I’d invest in some prime ice-cream makers with all my untouched money…
The idea struck me with the same severity as an ice-cream headache. I hopped on the bike and patted for Zach to ride.
“Damn. Someone likes her desserts. You should have told me. I can do wicked things with whipped cream—”
“Drive, Zach.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
True to his word, Zach delivered us to a gluttonous heart-attack waiting to happen—a Mom and Pop diner with food served in a puddle of grease. The milkshake crowned with a heaping layer of whipped cream bigger than my head. It was a good choice.
I nibbled on my fries, scrunching my nose as Zach dipped his into my chocolate shake. He didn’t let me argue.
“Just try it.”
I rolled my eyes and buried the fry into the mess. Sweet, salty, and perfect.
“You gotta stop fighting me,” Zach winked. “No, you can’t live here. No, I don’t want to talk to you. No, don’t put it in there, that’ll hurt.”
“Very funny.”
“You okay?” He asked.
I shrugged, happy for the milkshake to distract me. “I think so.”
“No shame in ordering a second of those.”
Oddly enough, I didn’t need chocolate to survive this crisis. I teased the cherry through the whipped cream and shrugged.
“What if…” I didn’t know how to phrase it or if it was even a viable idea. “You know how everyone tells me to forget college? That I should just buy my own school and screw those who held me back?”
Zach gobbled half of his burger down. He nodded.
“Why don’t I buy a school?”
“Mrphschool?” He swallowed. “A school?”
“Or…a charity. I was thinking…I don’t have to be a teacher to do what I wanted. In fact, I’d be limited if I taught, stuck with a set curriculum and working inside the administration. But, if I had like…an after-school program? Or a school with summer events? Tutoring and games and all that?”
Zach put the burger down. He smiled. His dimples were every bit the affirmation I needed.
“I think it’s a good idea.”
“Really?”
“Sure. With our money? Hell, a chicken in every pot and a tutor for every kid.”
My heart lumped but forgot to bump. “Our money?”
“Yeah. It’s a good cause. Toss my share in there too. I’ll pull a salary again once I re-enlist.”
“You’d…do that for me?”
“Shay, I told you before. I’m not in this for the money. I wanted a place to crash and a gym to train in so I could pass my physical.” He sipped his Coke. “And I wanted a chance to get closer to you.”
I looked down. The milkshake refroze in my stomach. This wasn’t a conversation to have over a burger and fries in a tiny diner.
“How close did you want to get?” I asked.
He waved a pickle at me after watching how I inhaled mine. He let me take a bite of his.
“Are you asking if I got my quick fuck and will be on my way?” He said.
In every sense of the word. “Of course not.”
“I’ll have you know, I’m not anywhere close enough to you yet.”
There wasn’t really any place left on me to get close to. All my places were thoroughly discovered. Sometimes twice. Sometimes three times while accompanied with fierce denial in the morning. What else did he want?
And then I knew.
“Look, Zach—”
“Don’t give me the step-brother line again. It doesn’t weird me out. It shouldn’t make a difference to you.”
“Okay, bro,” I sighed. “Let’s ignore the family tree for a second. You said it yourself. You’re re-enlisting.”
“So?”
“Will a Navy SEAL make it home for dinner at night?”
He quieted. “No. But there’s leave every once in a while.”
“I’m not looking for every once in a while. You have your life, what you’ve planned to do, what you’re built for.” I regretted the words as they only encouraged him to flex. “You want to be a SEAL. I understand that. But I can’t get wrapped up in this only to have you leave. Zach…I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
“You wouldn’t be.”
“We have our own goals, okay? We need to focus on those. We had some fun together. More than we should have. But I can’t let myself fall—”
Shit. I almost said it. And no big industrial truck rumbling by or hooting laugh of another diner muffled the mistake. Zach stared at me.
“Shay?” He clenched his fist around his drink. “Only two things could keep me out of the SEALs now. One would be a douche-bag doctor failing my physical. The other—”
My heart pounded. “—Don’t.”
“I never had a reason to settle down.”
“Zach.”
“You’ve always been alone.”
“Stop.”
“I literally had my life flash before my eyes, and I had nothing to show for it except a dozen classified missions and an empty apartment. Almost dying gives a man perspective. Maybe there’s more for me.”
“I can’t do this.”
“Shay, why fight it?”
“Because…” My lip trembled. I didn’t want to fight it anymore. I didn’t want to do anything but rest in his arms, giggle at his crude humor, and lick every last drop of the milkshake from his chest. “I…”
A shadow crossed over the table. A middle-aged moment-killer winked at Zach and set the check by his hand.
“Thanks, folks, come back now.” She didn’t mean it.
I stood, shouldering the bag. “We should go. Thanks for lunch.”
Zach crinkled the bill as he stood. He wagged a finger at me, but his smile returned, bigger than ever.
“We’re not done yet,” he said. “You and I got a lot to discuss.”
“We really don’t.”
“Yes, we do.” He loomed over me, brushing my chin with the bump of his fingers. I swallowed, trapped in the size, the scent, and the power of him. “From this moment on, baby, you are mine. And I’m going to spoil you, pamper you, and fuck the hell out of you until you finally admit it. That I p
romise.”
He parted from me to pay the tab. I rushed outside to gulp as much air as possible. The humid, smoggy afternoon didn’t help, but I was at least free of him.
Until I saw the bike.
A half hour trip back home, clutching on a man more dangerous to me than the open road and his crazy driving.
Zach wanted me to admit what I felt.
Keeping that hidden would be more than a challenge.
It’d be Hard.
I left Shay at home and told her I’d return from Washington D.C. with good news.
Good news for one of us at least.
I made it to my scheduled physical twenty minutes early, but the doctor’s office didn’t operate on naval time.
I sat in the cramped waiting room for thirty minutes before a pretty nurse took my vitals. I stripped down and waited another fifteen for the doctor. Not that I didn’t enjoy a good sixty degree office shriveling my balls, but today wasn’t the day I wanted to get fucked around.
I needed to pass this physical.
Everything in my goddamned life depended on convincing the doctor I was fit to serve.
I had a lifetime of preparation, training, and sacrifice that punished my body beyond the breaking point, and this was how my fucking future would be determined. Not at a promotional ceremony getting commended for valor in combat. Not in the field taking out low-life, scum-of-the-earth murderers who targeted innocent people.
Here.
My worth was judged in a shitty doctor’s office with faded wallpaper and a sink that perpetually dripped. My bare ass hung out of my gown, and my feet covered in nurse issued booties. To make it worse, they piped in some hackneyed Barbara Streisand and left me to freeze.
My only good luck was a kiss from Shay who seemed more relieved to be rid of me than to actually touch me.
Maybe.
Hell if I understood that woman, but I’d love to try.
I flipped my phone. I texted her when I landed. Not because she asked me to, but because I thought it’d be like, nice? Something I was supposed to do? Shay answered immediately with:
Ok! : )
Nothing else since.
I shouldn’t have expected anything. The girl I texted feared being abandoned. Here I was, sitting half-naked on a table, waiting on pins, needles, and the memory of IVs shoved into my veins to see how soon I could ship out and leave her alone.
I wasn’t the only man who ever made a choice between his family and country, but goddamn if it wasn’t both the easiest and hardest decision of my life.
I belonged somewhere, but now I wasn’t sure if it was with the SEALs or Shay.
Only one way to find out. I texted her again.
waiting in the doctor’s office
Nothing. I gave it a minute before tapping the screen. I snapped the photo and sent it.
if u think the gown is sexy, u should see my ass in it. everyone else can
My phone buzzed. Can the doctor give you a lobotomy instead?
I grinned. So she did care.
shouldn’t b here that long. u should call the office. tell him I’m fit enough to serve you.
A delayed response. I imagined it flustered her. I hoped it did.
I’ll call and recommend a castration if you aren’t careful.
I took my shot and hoped for the best. that wouldn’t make either of us happy
An even longer delay. One step too far, or just enough of a push? What would it take to get her to see how fucking perfect we were together?
Heading into the attorney about the charity. Good luck!
Ah, willful ignorance. Or avoidance. Probably avoidance.
Shay warmed up with the intensity of an M80 and shut down with the force of a cleaver into a cutting board. I had to watch my fingers, toes, and more important areas around her.
Damn it. I shouldn’t have scared her off. I liked talking to her.
I wanted to talk to her.
Christ, I wanted her to be here with me.
How pathetic was that? I was a fucking Navy SEAL, and I needed someone to hold my hand in a doctor’s office?
During my injury, I had more needles in my arms, catheters in my cock, and fingers in my brain than I ever told Shay. I didn’t need her to fucking baby me.
I was getting back in the SEALs.
And there wasn’t a damn thing that would stop me.
Except her.
And she had no idea. All she had to do was say the word.
That scared me more than anything the doctor might have said.
The door opened, and a balding doctor in his late fifties entered. He washed his hands and gave me a cautious glance.
“SEAL, huh?” He asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“You guys really do have two modes—living and dead.”
“I’m still breathing.”
“Lucky for you.” He studied me with dark, skeptical eyes. “I had a look at your file, son. I’m sure how you survived.”
I gave him a smile. “I’m not complaining, sir.”
“Wouldn’t expect you to.” He tapped my chart. “Your blood work is fine.”
“With all due respect sir, the issue wasn’t with my blood. I had too much of it spilled.”
“Well, you’re looking solid now.”
“Yes, sir.”
He approached, and I straightened as he gripped my right shoulder. “You seem to be in good shape. Exercising every day?”
“At least, sir.”
“Not overdoing it?”
I grinned. “No such thing.”
He hummed. Squeezed. The shock bit through my shoulder. My nerves set on fire, rampaging down my spine.
“Does that hurt?” He asked.
I’d swallow my tongue. “Uncomfortable.”
“You had an injury to your rotator cuff,” he said. “They opted not to do surgery and wait.”
Probably because they were still stitching my head. “It’s getting better without the surgery.”
“Right.” He had me stand. I gritted my teeth as he moved the gown aside and pressed against my chest. “Broken ribs too?”
“Healed.”
“Right.”
He didn’t fucking believe me? Holy Christ, when I first woke, the ribs and collapsed lung fucked me up more than the head wound.
The doctor had me sit. He examined the scars on my head and exhaled.
“Do you feel you are physically capable of returning to duty?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir.”
“Son, you suffered a severe, near-fatal accident only eight months ago. You endured months of intense therapy after weeks of extended hospitalization. Do you understand what that sort of trauma does to a body?”
“I remember it well,” I said. “A lesser man might have fallen.”
“But not you?”
“No, sir. I guarantee, I’m the strongest son of a bitch you’ve ever had the pleasure of examining.”
“That so?”
“Yes, sir. Just wait until I turn my head and cough.”
Finally got a chuckle out of him, but it faded quick. He tapped the chart. “Well, you seem mostly recovered. I’m guessing you’re more physically fit now than you were before the accident which is…impressive, given the SEALs expectations.”
“I’ve definitely had more to work for, sir.”
“Any family?”
In a sense. I shrugged. “I live for the job.”
That wasn’t the answer he wanted.
He pulled a chair over and sat, crossing his legs. His glasses came off, and he rubbed his eyes. He hesitated.
But fucking why?
“Tell me about the headaches, Zach?”
I revealed fucking nothing. “What headaches?”
“Son.”
“Gotta be more specific, doc.”
“You’ve been prescribed oxycodone and fiorcet for migraines by Dr. Gretchen Halley.”
Damn it. Gretchen tried to force the pills down my throat b
efore. I refused her every time. Didn’t stop her from calling a prescription in for me. Son of a bitch.
“I didn’t take them,” I said.
“So you aren’t having headaches?”
I preferred a real mine-field to these questions. “I could handle them.”
“How bad are they?”
“Just a headache.”
“Do you have one now?”
Yeah, and he was making it worse. “It’s not bad. Caused by the travel. Chartered my own jet, but unless I’m strapped in the back of a helo, flying is boring.”
He handed me a plastic tool to hold over my eye. He pointed to the chart on the door.
“Read the fourth line.”
“Look, the headaches are manageable—”
“Son, read the line.”
I couldn’t. The words blurred the more I concentrated. I shrugged.
“R-O-3-A-V.”
He frowned. “Not even close.”
I knew what he was going to say next. I didn’t let him talk.
“I can get LASIK. It’ll correct my vision. That’s not a problem.”
His voice hardened. “It’s not your eyes.”
“They’re blurry. Of course it’s my eyes.”
“Zach, you suffered extensive head trauma. Quite frankly, it’s a goddamned miracle you’re even standing, walking, talking, exercising, and thinking of re-enlisting in the SEALs.”
“Sir—”
“These aren’t tension headaches. This is a clear-cut case of Post-Concussion Syndrome. It’s serious. You shouldn’t be trying to get into the Navy. You need to find a qualified neurologist.”
“But—”
“This types of syndromes can kill you, son. The only thing you should be doing is resting and focusing on getting healthy. These headaches may last a lifetime.”
“I’ll handle them.”
“Not if you’re under enemy fire in hostile territory. It isn’t just your life on the line. Do you want to be the man responsible for killing a member of your squadron?”
Jesus. Like I didn’t have that nightmare every night. I clenched my jaw.
“Son, do yourself a favor. Be grateful you’re alive. Take care of yourself. Find a pretty girl and settle down.”
“I can do this, I just need a chance.”
He stood, clapping my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I can’t in good conscience clear you for duty. Not when you’d pose a danger to yourself and others. You served your country well, almost gave your life. Be grateful for the opportunity and focus on your continued recovery.”