Keeping It: A Navy SEAL meets Virgin Romance

by Rachel Robinson

  Wet from the rain and sweating from the unknown, I jog down to the docks. My muscles protest, and it gives me something to focus on instead of thinking about the alternative. The searing selfish pain of my mistake. All of them, actually. Harboring so much resentment from a past relationship, I let it affect a new one. The only one that matters. Trying to control every aspect backfired.

  Boarding the boat, we set off at a breakneck pace, pounding on the choppy wake as we travel toward Shell Island. The smoke is pouring into the dark sky, a signal we’re traveling in the correct direction. We’ve passed the island while going out to sea for fishing and training so I know exactly where it is. I thought it was pretty. It’s too small for houses and doesn’t have the infrastructure to have buildings of any sort. I’ve seen colorful tents so I know it’s a popular camping spot. There are shells bleached white from the sun that line the coast and trees of varying sizes. I can’t recall the shape of the island even though I’ve seen it bird’s eye on a map. The motors are too loud and the chop to rough to ask questions, or else I would be pestering everyone around me. The driver of the boat is stoic, a steely take no shit mask on his face. He’s a guy from another Team who got transferred to Bronze Bay against his desires.

  The mangled, fiery wreckage comes into view as we approach and I’m pretty certain it matches my insides right now. The time to be cool, calm, and collected is long gone. Now, the time has come to panic like a mother fucking, raging idiot.

  I bellow as we slow down and the side comes into view. I know every one of the airplanes that belong to May’s Airport by heart. I memorized them when I was trying not to obsess over Caroline and what that meant for my street cred. Even though I already knew it was her, and Shirley told me as much, seeing it in front of me in living color is a page from my worst nightmare playbook.

  Someone puts their hand on my shoulder, but I can’t turn my gaze away from the wreckage to acknowledge the gesture. It takes multiple seconds to swallow, another few to realize I need to take a breath, and then several more to shuffle my feet as the boat hits land.

  Men pour off the first boat and the portable water system shoots water onto the flames, while others approach a wing of the airplane that has been torn off. It’s obvious it exploded after it landed, and not on approach, small indicators giving away gruesome clues.

  My gaze scans the beach surrounding the aircraft, hopeful to find what I’m looking for. My hand rests on my side arm even though this isn’t a time for guns. It shows how desperate and disheveled I am in this moment. Orders are being followed and my feet refuse to move.

  Another matte black boat rolls onto the beach, and I know Leif must be on it. A silence transcends all that is happening, the business of everyone working as a team as I finally trudge through the rain towards the plane.

  Voices cut through my self-imposed deafness. Words like empty cockpit, no human remains, must have escaped before the explosion, make my heart hammer along faster than the rain stinging my skin.

  The sight of the blackened cockpit speeds my breathing. “She wasn’t in there,” Leif says, walking past me. “Come on,” he says. His lips are moving and although I hear his words, it feels like a slow-mo movie. I can’t fully comprehend. “Come on, Tahoe,” Leif repeats. “You’re okay. We’ve got this.” He nods a few times until I nod back.

  Shaking it off is difficult. “Take that section over there,” he says, pointing left, further from the wreckage. “Guy and Taz are over there combing the brush. Help them search.”

  I take my orders and start for the section of island, but someone yells, voice booming, in the opposite direction. That’s when I run. A haphazard staggering on top of the shells and sand. More voices echo off the trees, and my soaked ball cap feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.

  “She’s over here! Medic! Medic!” It’s Aidan’s voice.

  When I make it to huddle of people, I throw a few men out of my way to get a visual. They have a makeshift tarp propped up shielding the top half of her body from the rain. I’d recognize those bare legs anywhere. The shade of tan. The curve of her knee. I try to ignore the burn marks as I survey her body. My gaze travels up further to her bare stomach as the medic rushes in to perform CPR.

  The three freckles.

  Connect the dots.

  He breaks her ribs with a hard compression, the slicing crunch and crack prickles my skin. Someone tries to pull me back, but I turn with a hard, right hook to a face. No one fucks with me after that.

  I drop to my knees when I’m next to her and lay my hand on her stomach, keeping those three marks hidden. They’re mine. Removing my hat, I bow my head. I’m not the praying type. When you’ve seen what I’ve seen, you have to doubt God exists. I’d sell my soul to the devil with a firm handshake if it means Caroline pulling through. So, I do pray. Hard. Mercilessly. With every fiber of my being. I ask for healing.

  I ask for a miracle.

  Perfection is messy, but I guarantee it never looks like this.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Caroline

  Even if I had checked the radar before I left, I wouldn’t have anticipated how furious the storm that took my plane down would turn out to be. For all intents and purposes it was the perfect Florida storm. Gory and treacherous, wild with surprise, and mild in warning. It took no prisoners. I spent four months recovering in St. Mary’s Hospital. Months that were brutal for many different reasons. My body and mind will never be quite the same, ever again. The hospital is inland several miles and I swear to God, you can’t smell the sea air that far away. It was like being trapped in another dimension. One in which a fern named Beatrice kept me company during the lonely night hours. I kept the plant alive. When everything hurt and tears were pouring down my face as I sat up in bed, watering that plant gave me a purpose. Water the fern. Eat. Water the fern. Sleep. Water the fern. Breath. Water the fern. It was the only mantra I lived by, watering that fern kept me alive.

  Friends came and went, but after such a long time, the visits dwindled down. Aside from my mama bringing in lunches and dinners for the hospital staff a few times a week when she visited me, I was alone but for my beeping monitors and a night nurse named Felicia.

  One person who wanted to be there daily wasn’t, because I wrote his name on the do not visit list. There’s really no such thing in a small-town hospital, but I made Felicia promise me she’d tell the office girls to make sure he didn’t get up those stairs to see me. I envisioned the employees swooning instead of obeying my wishes, but I haven’t seen him. Not even since I’ve been home. I only know he wanted to visit because my daddy told me so.

  I moved in with my parents so they could help me maneuver around with the crutches, and if I’m being perfectly honest, I can’t bear being that close to the airport. The house up on the hill gives me the distance I need and assures me I won’t run into him. Or any of the memories that used to bring me happiness.

  It’s the middle of the day on a Wednesday when my mama knocks softly on my door. I’m staying in my childhood room, the walls a soft blue, the color of the sky—the color it’s been since I was old enough to have an opinion. At the moment if they were black, they wouldn’t be dark enough for my tastes. I call out, “Come on in.” She does, slipping inside with a hot mug of water and a canister of loose leaf tea on a small tray.

  Smiling, she puts it on a table across from my bed. “Whatch ya’ reading?” she asks, seating herself next to me.

  “I really don’t feel like talking right now, mama. I know you don’t care what novel I’m reading right now, and it’s just your opening introduction to today’s pep talk. I’m going to be okay. I promise.”

  She sighs, and the guilt hits me square in the chest. She’s worried about me and only wants to help. Logically, I know she’s just being a good mom. “A month tomorrow, darling. Since you’ve needed the crutches. Dr. Taylor says you’re as good as healed. It’s not getting any better. When do you want to try on your old life again, honey?”

&
nbsp; There it is. The annoying pep talk. “You don’t want me here anymore?”

  Mama looks thoughtful for a second, her gaze reaching away from me. “I don’t,” she deadpans.

  “What?” My tone is shrill, the worn paperback that smells like an old friend falls to my lap.

  She shrugs. “It’s the only way to get you out of here and back to your life. Daddy told me you don’t want to fly. Caroline, I love you, but you’re an adult now and Mays pick themselves up by their bootstraps and get on with it.” Her hand shakes between us, but she decides to lay her hand on my calf, in the end. “People are…talking,” she adds. “You say you don’t care, but you still live here so you must, in some way, care what your friends think.”

  Do I love flying? Yes. Will I always love it? Probably. Do I want to fly? No. A million times no. Who knows how long I’ll feel that way. What if that happens again? I was told a dozen times how lucky I was that Shell Island existed, that otherwise I would have never made it out alive.

  Leaning my head back against the wall I contemplate the way this conversation is going to go. “Fine. If you want me out, I’ll go back home.”

  An annoyed noise escapes her. “Did you hear anything else I said?”

  “Yes, yes. I need to go on with my life and pretend I didn’t almost die. Check. Thanks, mama. That tidbit was su-per helpful. Not like that’s something I’d do if I could, or anything.” I groan, and face my mother. Living in this house makes me feel like a teenager.

  She squeezes my calf. Hard. “I know you may not be healed all the way,” she says, her gaze dipping to the center of my chest. “You march on anyways. There’s a party,” she says, turning away.

  “I cancelled my housewarming party the first time Malena visited me in the hospital. There’s no party I have to attend.”

  “It’s not for you, darling,” she quips, a sparkle in her eye. “The world has moved on without you in it.” The thought slices me, but I can handle the truth. Especially when it hurts. That’s when it means the most. “The B&B is opening for business this weekend. The whole town is invited. It’s going to be a great time. I’m helping cater, though it’s so big June Bug from the Italian restaurant is also providing food and drinks. It’s in three days, figured if you had a few you could get yourself ready.” She leans over and picks up a limp, dingy strand of my hair. “Or at the very least wash your hair.”

  Firstly, I’m irritated. Why didn’t Shirley mention this when she stopped by yesterday? Why didn’t Malena text me. Or call me. It’s a one-two gut punch to know I’m not that important anymore. How come no one told me he was going to open it as a B&B? I’ve been swallowed whole by the accident and my decisions following it. “Oh, please. I haven’t left the house in weeks and you think the best way to reintroduce myself into society is by going to a party where every single person I’ve ever known will be in attendance? No pressure.” I cross my arms, and turn to the side. The blue walls comfort me even if they haunt me at night. “No one even told me,” I say, sniffling once. Mama stays silent. “I don’t even have a thing to wear, anyways. I’d need something prettier than a sundress if I’m rising from the dead.” I shuffle my feet, but her hand stays firmly on my leg. “It would be awful. I’d have to make small talk and heaven knows I’d have to relive the accident at least a hundred times.”

  When the silence between us grows to be too much, she whispers, “And?”

  I meet her worried gaze. “And he’ll be there,” I say, bottom lip trembling.

  She pats me a few times. “And you have to get used to that. It’s always easier to tear off the bandage quick. You know that.”

  “Does he even ask about me?” I ask, voice low, offending every drop of pride I have left.

  Mama stands, moves to the table and begins fixing my tea. The light shining in the window showcases the thick silver streaking through her hair. It reminds me how much time has passed us by. How much time we have left. The finite seconds that leave before we have barely welcomed them.

  She sighs as she stirs, the tinging of the brass spoon on the inside of the mug. “Caroline, this isn’t a game of telephone. You aren’t sixteen. Go talk to the man. I know he’s respecting your wishes by staying away, but who knows what’s running through his mind. You’re healed,” she says, her eyes narrow, “You’re have to move on. This is it. The moment that you can define, or let the accident define. It’s your decision, honey.” She offers me the warm cup without averting her gaze. I can’t help but shrink back into myself a touch as I accept the cup. She’s using her firm voice. The one that let me know how much trouble I was in as a child.

  She’s right.

  Shirley said the same thing. Malena did, too. Daddy just looks at me with sad eyes and I know he’s thinking what everyone else is. Will Caroline recover?

  I nod my head, and she leaves, closing the door behind her. It wasn’t just about recovering from the accident. This recovery was something deeper. Something far more painful than broken ribs and a burned body. Over the rim of my mug, I eye my open closet door. The tea, sweetened to perfection, sears down my throat. Maybe I’m not ready to fly, but I am ready for this. I have to reclaim a slice of my life back. It’s time. Standing, I walk to my closet. I’ll pack my things and go back to my hangar. I touch the fabric on one side of the wall. All sundresses I haven’t so much as looked at in half a year. I’ll relieve my daddy of the airport duties. My hand stops on one, particular piece of clothing. I’ll go to this party and face down my demons.

  And I’ll wear the white dress.

  ****

  As soon as I step out of my Daddy’s truck, I’m convinced this is an awful idea. The whole town is here. Cars are lining either side of the road and we have to walk about a half a mile to the main entrance of the Homer property. When we are finally standing in front of the new white picket fence, Daddy pats me on the shoulder and heads toward the gaggle of catering tents off by the water in search of mama.

  People are mulling about as far as the eye can see, the lush green grass is manicured to perfection on all sides of the large house. Ladies are wearing their bright dresses, and men have donned their fanciest khaki shorts and polo shirts. The scent of Chanel No. 5 hits the salty breeze like a Bronze Bay calling card. It’s one of the only fragrances carried at the general store so almost everyone wears it. I’m so busy trying to avoid eye contact that I missed the large sign hanging above the tree-lined drive. Easy Days Inn & Bar. It’s wrought iron with a sun setting behind the words.

  The whole thing looks like a completely different place—something out of a storybook, a venture that doesn’t look suited for a town so small. So much work has been done it’s hard to tell what hasn’t been touched.

  “Caroline May!”

  With a sigh, and a silent prayer, I turn toward the sound of my name. “Malena!” I return, with a little less enthusiasm than she used.

  “I thought that was you. You look beautiful. I’m so glad you decided to show up,” she says, stepping into my personal bubble.

  Backing away a touch, with a smile on my face, I reply, “It’s time I got out of the house. I’m feeling so much better now. This place looks amazing.” I swallow hard, thinking about how much time has passed since I stepped foot in the foyer here.

  “I know, right? Tahoe did such a fantastic job,” Malena coos. My stomach sinks at both her casual use of his nickname and the fact she knows something I don’t. “He’s been working like a madman on it so it’s not that surprising,” she adds, tossing her long hair over one shoulder. Even the sun decided to play nice for the occasion. It’s not blaring down on us relentlessly today.

  I raise my eyebrows and try nonchalance. “Yeah? He did this all by himself?” I ask, waving an arm around. There’s a flower garden with a sitting area in the distance and the dock has been extended to wrap around the property on both sides. Now boats can tie off and frequent the bar. Get too drunk, and then stay the night. It’s a genius idea.

  “He did. I know Leif
and the boys helped with some of the manual labor, but this is Tahoe’s brain child. When you refused to talk to him, I mean, after the accident and you needed to recover,” she says, opening and closing her mouth when she realizes her blunder. “He was upset, Caroline,” Malena decides on. “This is the product of that. You should see the inside.”

  My heart squeezes. The smile I offer is weak, something in absence of words. “He’s inside greeting guests. Go say hi,” Malena says, grinning. “I know he’d love to see you.”

  I’m rubbing the sides of my dress between my fingers—nervous, scared, excited to finally lay eyes on the man that ripped my heart wide open and stepped inside like he’d always lived there.

  “I’ll go see if mama needs my help first,” I say.

  Malena clears her throat. “No. She’s fine. I was just there.”

  I quirk one brow. “Oh?”

  She nods quickly. “Go inside. They have your favorite profiteroles on a table in the foyer. The ones we were going to have at your house warming party. Remember?” Her face falls. Malena does love to plan a party. I’ll have to let her plan something again.

  She is trying too hard, but I can’t deny that I’m anxious to see the inside. If the outside looks this amazing, the inside must be top notch. She pats me on my back and I take my leave, trying to keep my head down as I approach the front of the Inn.

  A few older ladies who are friends with my mama say hello. Their faces are friendly, but I see the pity in their kohl rimmed eyes. It’s the same look my mother wore when she told me to move out and get my life together. I rub the numb spot on my leg. One of the reminders of my accident. The burns on my leg were bad enough that I had to endure multiple skin grafts. I’m lucky my leg healed as much as it did. I should feel lucky for a million reasons, apparently. Right now, I feel anything but. I move on from the latest person who feels bad for me, with a new sense of purpose. Everyone is giving me exactly what I need without realizing it.