Issued (Navy Seals of Little Creek Book 1)

by Paris Wynters

  Jim slaps my hand away and shoves his chair back with enough force to send it crashing to the restaurant floor. He pales suddenly and sways. Beads of sweat line his forehead, his breathing becoming rapid and shallow. I reach out to lay a hand on his arm to steady him, but he stumbles out of reach.

  Bear scooches his chair back and stands. “Jim, sit.”

  Jim steps farther away from the table and rakes a hand through his hair. His gaze bounces between all of us, his lips pressed into a tight line. He closes his eyes and takes another backward step, then turns on his heel and storms out of the bar.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jim

  I’m sorry.

  Two words that should be simple enough to say. But putting my business on display for the public isn’t my thing. Though, after Brittney’s scene two nights ago, people who don’t even know a thing about me now know I’m broken. Leave it to my ex’s sister to tell the world I’m the emotional equivalent of Humpty Dumpty after his fall from grace. All of my pieces are glued back with such haphazard carelessness that I can’t remember what it feels like to be whole. Or what it feels like to go through life without falling apart, without being forced to admit my own weakness.

  I drag my hands over my face, my heart in my throat, as I do my best impression of a kicked puppy in the middle of Shaken & Stirred. Taya catches sight of me, slams down her tray, and turns on her heel to stalk off in the opposite direction. My body trembles and I dig my nails into my scalp, wishing for the hundredth time that my stubborn wife had acknowledged me when I’d tapped on her door last night. Or the night before. This whole thing could have been handled in private. Although, shit, guess that cat had gotten out of the bag two days ago. Until then, Bear had been the only one who knew about my TBI, but now everyone knows. Everyone who was within earshot of our table.

  But the way Taya leapt to her feet to defend me. She’d been all fiery eyes and blazing cheeks, a hellcat ready to attack on my behalf. Hope bubbles in my chest for a second before I viciously squash the feeling. Taya deserves someone normal, someone who can stand up to the light of her scrutiny without cutting her on all his ragged, imperfect edges. She deserves someone better than me.

  But right now, we need to put on a performance for my superiors and any of the committee attending the function later tonight. My jaw aches and I’m grinding my teeth together as I flag down the hostess. “Can you get her? It’s important.”

  Inara crosses her arms, her eyes boring into me. “Me importa tres pepinos.”

  “Please?”

  She turns, flinging her hand at me in a dismissive wave. “Sure.”

  Inara heads into the back. Despite her snarky claim that she cares more about cucumbers than what I think is important, a minute later, Taya makes her way toward me. I force a smile, but the muscles in my face tighten and twitch. Taya stops in front of me, her forehead a collection of unhappy little wrinkles. With one hip cocked and her arms folded beneath the small swell of her teacup breasts, she’s the personification of feisty disapproval in a server’s apron and non-slick shoes.

  “What do you want?”

  “There’s a mandatory work party and I need you to come with me.” Not the best start, but I’m fully prepared to apologize and grovel for a date rather than show up in front of my commanding officer without Taya on my arm. This is my shot to prove that I’m committed to the IPP program.

  “No.”

  “Please?”

  “No.”

  I want to turn around and leave, but I’m already down to the wire. Maybe I’ll just toss her over my shoulder and make a run for it. Taking a deep breath, I try again. “I know you’re mad, but I need your help. We don’t even have to talk or stand next to one another. We’re basically carpooling to an open bar. This is important. If my C.O. doesn’t think I’m trying to make the IPP program work, I’m screwed.”

  Her body slumps, but her eyes remain locked with mine. “When?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Are you serious?” Her voice is high pitched and more than a little accusatory. “You literally waited until the last second?”

  “Not exactly.” I glance at the time on my phone. “We actually have about three hours.”

  She swells like a puffer fish and her hands lift, fingers curling into claws. “I get off work at ten. I have to find coverage. And even if I go, I can’t stay late. I have plans with Inara and I’m not canceling.”

  “Fine. We’ll leave early. As for coverage . . .” Glancing beyond her, I take in the mostly empty restaurant. There are maybe three occupied tables and a group of servers are at the bar gossiping and watching the overhead television with the captions on. “I think you’ll be fine.”

  A soft growl escapes her as she turns to look at the scene herself. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

  A legitimate concern, if my memory of her closet holds true. A veritable ghost town, the nicest things in there were fancy jeans and some dressy sleeveless shirts. “Most people would have packed more when they move to a new state.”

  Her bottom lip trembles and her fingers drum against the side of her thigh.

  My hand reaches out on its own accord, hungry to touch her, to offer some sort of comfort for once, but she turns away. Sighing heavily, I run my fingers through my hair and edge a little closer, angling my head to one side so I can see her face in profile, if nothing else. “I wasn’t trying to be a jerk. When I was in your room the other day, I noticed your lack of clothes.”

  She hesitates at first but finally shrugs one shoulder in practiced dismissal. She turns to face me, unable or unwilling to make eye contact. “I didn’t pack much because there wasn’t much to pack.”

  I reach out slowly, painfully aware I’m treating her like a spooked horse, but unsure of what else I can do. My fingertips brush down the length of her bare arm and it sends electricity crashing through me. “What do you mean?”

  “There was a fire.” She chokes on the words. “Everything that wasn’t reduced to ashes went into my bags.”

  My stomach coils and the ache in my chest grows claws. Clearing my throat, I motion toward the tables. “See how early you can get out of here. I’ll wait for you.”

  Her eyes narrow and the frustrated wrinkles in her forehead deepen. “Didn’t you hear a word I said? I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  She blinks, lips parting. With a small curse, she turns and storms off. I don’t know for sure if she’ll talk to her supervisor about leaving early, but I’m determined to wait her out either way. When I’d thought she wasn’t telling me all of her story, I hadn’t expected it to be a fire.

  What exactly do I know about her?

  I know she hates confrontation. It makes her uncomfortable. More than uncomfortable. Yet, she’s more than capable of speaking her mind when she feels strongly about something. I know she’s currently struggling with a mission on Halo 2, and she enjoys running. There’s a bit of a daredevil in her, if the motorcycle is any indication. And she’s stubborn like me, especially when it comes to money and what she conceives of as a handout. The woman refuses to use the debit card to our mutual account for anything other than groceries or household goods. She won’t even use it to fill her tank with gas.

  But when it comes to her reasons for joining the program, all I have are assumptions. Not many people can lose everything, only to turn around and start over somewhere else. What about her friends and family? A lover? She’d asked once if I’d been seeing anyone. Did she leave someone behind in New York?

  Maybe I could try explaining the TBI to her. Saying it aloud feels too much like admitting to weakness, but she should’ve heard about it from me instead of Brittney.

  “Now what?”

  I jump to my feet at the sound of her voice and spin to face Taya whose hands are wrapped tightly around the straps of her bag. I’ve been so lost in thought, I didn’t hear her approaching. That’s a new one for me. “Now, we go shopping.”<
br />
  Her brows furrow, disgust spreading over her face. It’s hard to tell whether she hates the idea of shopping or shopping with me. At least we’ll be miserable together. “Come on. There’s a boutique that isn’t far. We’ll find you something for the party.”

  “What about my bike?”

  “If you can carpool tomorrow, I’ll come by for your bike while you’re out.”

  She adjusts her ponytail, so it sits lower, closer to her neck. I’m tempted to brush my hand through it, but I stop myself.

  “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll just follow you there.” As we exit the restaurant, she mutters under her breath about how I shouldn’t have waited until the last damn minute.

  It doesn’t take long to reach the small boutique. Like most of the shops along the beach, it’s a tourist trap. The clothes are high-end and one of a kind, and the price tags are about one hundred dollars more than they would be elsewhere. It’s the reason I buy most of my clothes from the outlet mall down the street from my house.

  Taya pulls one of the dresses from the rack. Holding it up against the length of her body, she admires the way it sets off the darker undertones in her skin. Then, she catches sight of the price tag and her eyes bulge. “Three hundred dollars for a dress?”

  I turn my chuckle into a clearing of the throat. “It’s a nice dress.”

  “It’s not that nice.” She reracks the dress and searches for something else.

  “Doesn’t matter what you pick.” I comb through the rest of the rack, bowing my head so the brim of my cap can shield my face. “You’ll look amazing, regardless of what you wear.”

  There’s a soft inhalation, the smallest of gasps, and she moves away almost immediately. We search in silence for a few minutes before she pulls a long red number made of silk from the rack. I raise a brow at the choice, but don’t have any complaints. Considering her usual wardrobe, I wouldn’t have pegged her as the dressy, glam type.

  “I’m sorry about the other day.” It’s like popping a dislocated bone back into place. Don’t think about it, just dive right in.

  Dubious, she readjusts the dress in her arms. “For which part?”

  I snort. “How about all of it?”

  She shrugs as if she doesn’t care as we walk through the shoe aisle, but I can tell by her expression that she does. Everything she’s thinking broadcasts on her face. I know the question she wants to ask but doesn’t.

  “It’s not an excuse, but I’ve been dealing with something. More accurately, refusing to deal with it. I told you what I do, but I guess all the low-level shock waves from breaching entrances took their toll.” A massive understatement. “The doctors claim I’m suffering from a traumatic brain injury, and even though it will heal, it sort of screws with my day-to-day life unless I keep up with my meds.”

  Taya slumps, and the lingering anger on her face disappears like smoke. “You’re right. It’s not an excuse, but I appreciate you finally telling me. It made me anxious because every time I tried to help, you got angry, so now I’m never sure what to do.”

  “Never meant to make you anxious. Just didn’t want to appear weak in front of you. Or anyone.” The urge to brush my thumb across her face, to kiss the curve of her mouth, is overwhelming. “If I had, I wouldn’t have needed to break into your room to get my prescription.” I chuckle, hoping to lighten the mood.

  She gasps. “Oh, my God. Is that why you were . . .?” She groans, rubbing her free hand down her face. “I’m so sorry I yelled at you. I didn’t know.”

  “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy, and I shouldn’t have taken your book. You were well within your right to snap.”

  Taya waves my words away as she picks up a pair of gold ankle strap heels. “Your medication is more important than my privacy. Just know that next time, you can talk to me. I’m here for you.”

  “I know.” The words are inadequate when it comes to expressing how much her support means, especially when she’s offered it all along. If only I hadn’t been so stubborn and accepted it sooner.

  I head for the front of the boutique and Taya falls into step beside me.

  “Hold on a second. Was the prescription for a refill?”

  And here we go. I’ve had this argument with Bear more times than I can count. “No. I refused to take the medication for a while. And please don’t lecture me. Bear already has, and he’s the one who forced me to go get it. Even went with me to the pharmacy and stood in front of my face to make sure I took the first pill.”

  “I’m happy someone’s been watching out for you, but now you have someone else.” She raises a brow. “In fact, Brittney was two seconds away from a WWE-worthy smackdown.”

  I laugh, imagining Taya beating the shit out of Brittney. I take the dress from her before she can protest and lay it on the counter. The cashier is several feet away and doesn’t seem enthused about setting aside his cell phone. “You would’ve had to wait your turn. Marge already called dibs.”

  She giggles, and the cashier glances up from his phone, his eyes raking over her body. Taya hasn’t noticed, too busy rummaging through her purse in search of her wallet. After a second of my staring into the side of his head, the man’s attention shifts from Taya to me. He pales, and my chest swells. I’m one shot of testosterone away from beating my chest like King Kong. Happy to establish dominance the human way, I pull my Mastercard free and start to hand it to the young man.

  I blink when Taya’s hand on my wrist draws me up short. “What are you doing?”

  “What are you doing?” she answers back.

  “Something nice.”

  Unable to dispute this, she folds her arms beneath her breasts.

  I lift a brow. “What’s the problem?”

  “You realize this dress is five hundred dollars?”

  “And?” I draw out the word for added effect.

  “And I don’t want your charity. If you feel guilty—”

  “This has nothing to do with guilt.” I don’t sound convincing.

  “Good. Because you can’t buy my forgiveness, so if you’re still trying to make up for the other day, this isn’t necessary.”

  I lean in, close enough to surround myself in her feminine scent. The urge to bury my face against the curve of her neck and drink her in hits me low and hard. Instead of giving in to the urge, I speak so only she can hear my words. “You’re my wife and this is a mandated work function for my job, so the particulars are my responsibility.”

  Taya acquiesces with a defeated little huff that makes me want to drag it from her again, for other, softer, reasons. I smile at the cashier and wiggle the card at him as Taya turns her head in the other direction.

  This time, I don’t hesitate to brush my hand through the locks of hair at the nape of her neck. Her eyes find mine through her thick lashes as she blushes.

  Chapter Twelve

  Taya

  Virginia Beach may not be New York, but it has its attractions. I’ve been living here for over a month, and my exposure to the nightlife is made up exclusively of what happens while I’m at work. Or playing video games when I can’t sleep at night, especially when Jim’s at work and the house is too quiet. Neither calls for nice clothes or full-scale makeup application.

  Hell, the last time I went all out like this was for prom.

  Feeling my body slip into cool silk and watching the way the deep red sets off the olive tones of my skin makes me feel like expensive chocolate. Rich and decadent. Edible. The dress dips low over my breasts, and I love how plump and round they look. I don’t have much to work with, but the double-sided tape holding the décolletage just so draws the eye and gives the illusion of fullness. I’m in love with the way the draping silk hugs every curve and rounds out my thighs and ass. Smokey eyeshadow accents my almond-shaped eyes and a pair of strappy heels give me a few extra inches of height, just enough so Jim isn’t towering over me when we step into the renovated theater in the heart of the city.

  Jim�
��s eyes trail over me. “You look amazing.”

  I duck my chin and grab some of the red silk hem as I step onto the carpeted floor. My face heats. “Thanks. But you know, you don’t have to keep saying it.”

  A deep flush creeps up his neck.

  God, I love that color on his skin.

  He takes my hand and I love the way the calluses on his palm along with the way the neat, surgically cut line of his fingernails plays against the skin across the back of my hand. He’s so large, his hand nearly engulfs mine.

  The space holds dozens of tables and has plenty of room for a sweeping dance floor. The stage was left intact, and tonight, the curtains are drawn aside so guests can watch the musicians perform. The band is doing a cover of a song I don’t recognize, but the beat makes me want to sway my hips, nonetheless. I love dancing. It’s the closest thing to freedom on two feet. Dancing and sex, anyway.

  Jim looks handsome in his dress uniform. The slim-fitting navy-blue coat with the pins and medals makes me want to sink to my knees before him and let him grip my hair while I take him into my mouth. I’ve always had a weak spot for men in uniform. Tonight, Jim is pushing all my buttons—the panty-soaking buttons, not the strangle-him-in-his-sleep buttons. He’s pretty much worn those down to the nub.

  I look away, my fingertips trailing over his ribbons and medals. I remove my hand, walk past him a little and try to gaze at something else. He turns to greet a couple advancing toward us, and a small whimper escapes my lips when my gaze falls to admire the shape of his ass in his dress pants. He doesn’t get out any more than I do, if those pants are anything to go by. He must have been a lot less muscular the last time he’d worn his dress blues.

  “Taya?” That’s my cue. I smile and hold out my hand for yet another handshake. “This is Mrs. Greene.”

  “You’re the general’s wife?” Luckily, Jim whispered a five-second backstory into my ear as she sashayed over. “Jim has told me so much about you. You have kids, isn’t that right?”