Issued (Navy Seals of Little Creek Book 1)

by Paris Wynters

  The question plays in my mind as I lay in bed, arm thrown across my forehead and sheets draped low over my hips, after waking up in a cold sweat and reaching out in the middle of the night from the nightmares, my heart sinking when my hand finds nothing but empty space. Taya was so elegant and supportive at the party. And absolutely breathtaking. I would’ve kissed her on the dance floor if Redding hadn’t interrupted. And God, when we did kiss, then being inside of her . . . I want to break that rule over and over again. When I think about how hard she made me come . . .

  I clench my fingers in my hair, only now remembering my fault. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I hadn’t pulled out. At the time, grabbing a condom hadn’t occurred to me and neither had pulling free before my orgasm rocked through me.

  Shit.

  I need to apologize before she leaves in the morning. Would she accept it? Doesn’t matter. I should’ve been more responsible, more in control. God, why do I keep screwing up?

  Swinging my legs out of bed, I get to my feet and make my way from the room. We need to talk, and it may as well be now. And my sexual fuck-up isn’t the only thing I want to discuss. I still want a truthful answer and I won’t be able to sleep without knowing if she’s okay.

  The house is colder than usual. I check every door and window as I walk down the hall. I check them a second and third time, only to return and check them again. Something’s off—something I can’t put my finger on.

  I reach her door and suck in a deep breath, then tap my knuckles against the door. No reply. My muscles twitch, every nerve firing. I need to hear her voice. I knock a little harder this time.

  Maybe she’s ignoring me.

  Or in a deep sleep. I’m sure playing to the crowd all night tired her out. Ah, hell. If she sleeps in and misses meeting up with her friend, she’ll blame me for sure. Pressing my ear to the door, I listen for signs of movement as I knock again.

  Nothing.

  Pushing open the door, I flick on the light and my lungs seize. The room is empty, the blankets pulled neatly beneath each pillow. My feet carry me into the room. I know I promised not to enter, but I need to know she didn’t bail on me.

  I scan the rest of the room. Her books are still on the shelves, the teddy bear on the floor next to the bed. I walk over to her closet and throw open the door. Her clothes are still here. I take in a deep breath as my shoulders slump. She hasn’t left me.

  Even so, I should’ve come to apologize sooner. But beyond that, where the hell is she at two in the morning? She wasn’t supposed to head out for another couple of hours.

  I leave her room and head downstairs to the garage, light-footed and tense. I don’t recall hearing the rumble of her bike’s muffler. Damn thing is so loud, it’d wake the neighborhood. Not to mention riding a bike exhausted is more dangerous than being behind the wheel in a car.

  Of course, her bike is gone.

  The emptiness of the house presses in at the sight, and the silence grows deafening. A cacophony of nothingness. If she crashes, she’ll . . . No, she’s fine. Can’t think like that. Sweat breaks out on my forehead. I slam the garage door shut, and the sound ricochets through the house like a gunshot.

  What if she’s running from something other than me?

  The way all the color drained from her face at the party. And when she looked at me, wild-eyed and pupils dilated. The tiny tremble of her bottom lip. Taya’s afraid of something. Same reaction our Afghani interpreter had when I pulled my gun on her during our last mission.

  My gut clenches when past memories come swarming to the front of my mind.

  “What the hell is Aland doing here?” Lux lowers his weapon, approaching slowly as our interpreter and the boy come into sight.

  My stomach churns at the thought of the young boy’s name. The boy I killed. Aland had been a regular part of our lives for the better part of our year overseas. Every day, he hauled one of the men and haggled over pricing for his fruit. If he had an errand to run for his uncle, he left his basket on the street corner before scurrying off, only to return for it hours later. Both the boy and his basket had become nonentities, as normal a sight as the sun and the sand.

  My head throbs like someone has taken a dull blade to my skull. I pace around the foyer in the dark, unable to sit or relax. My eyes water, my nose runs. A wave of nausea churns my stomach and vomit flies out of my mouth, my knees crashing into the hardwood floor. The muscles of my abdomen lurch again, spewing more vile liquid from my stomach.

  I gasp loudly, sucking in air and pushing it out until I feel less dizzy. I sit back and wipe my mouth with my forearm, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as the high-pitched ringing in my ears grow in intensity. My fingers lace through my hair, pulling at the roots as I scream out.

  “I’m not leaving without him.” Marwa lost her youngest years ago, and her soft spot for Aland was never more evident.

  “You know we can’t,” Lux snaps back at our interpreter. “We have to stick to our orders. No natives means no natives.”

  The argument was well worn and automatic. Lux and Marwa had been having it out for the past several days. Though we’d become used to it, I kept my weapon raised. Something felt off, especially since most of the locals had evacuated on their own already, and the building offered no protection from hostile fire. God, I remember the chilling way the hairs on the back of my neck rose and how cold my skin felt.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I will the crushing pain to go away. The same way I did back in Kabul. But just like that day, relief is elusive. What I wouldn’t give to be stalking across a stone floor in a bombed-out building on the edge of the city, my men spread out behind me while the acrid aroma of gunpowder, unwashed flesh, and burning buildings floods our noses.

  Pipes in the walls creak, triggering another wave of ringing in my ears and blinding throbbing in my head. I stand on shaky legs and make my way to the kitchen, hoping to reach my medicine before I vomit again. Panic rises like smoke in my chest. I hurt all over, my arms ache, and it’s hard to tell whether the chills racking me are from the memories or the cold.

  Stumbling into kitchen, my hand pats around in the inky darkness. The cold granite of the island offers a landmark. Inching to my left I tentatively step and grasp the countertop on the opposite wall. Grasping my pills, I twist open the cap and pop two bitter-tasting doses into my mouth. They stick to the back of my throat as I force them down, then sink down onto the cool floor.

  The low hum of the refrigerator soothes a bit of my anxiety the same way the whirl of chopper blades became my lullaby in the desert. But it’s the soft clink that haunts my dreams. The noise no louder than a single drop of water into a pool, but one that may as well have been a bomb going off in the night.

  My fingers clench and unclench into fists as I remember the way my bullet hit the wall, spraying concrete into the air and driving Marwa away from Aland. Lux ducked for cover as he pulled his sidearm, so nothing stood between the boy and me as Aland shifted his weight. His hands clasped the edge of his ever-present basket, and his eyes were too wide and round for his young face. As he shifts, I heard it again. The clink.

  When he moved, the weight of the objects in his basket slid against one another.

  Metal against metal.

  My next shot hits him squarely in the chest just as his fingers closed around the detonator. There was no other way to save my men. Anything other than a kill shot would have given Aland the time he needed to detonate the bomb.

  But it was the grenade I missed. The grenade the boy hid in his other hand. The one that exploded and sent me flying across the room. Lux had run over to check on me, but I’d insisted everything was fine. I was alive, after all.

  Two days later, the piercing ringing in my ears struck, followed by a violent headache that left me helpless and in a cage of agony during a mission. The pain throbbed so violently in my skull I couldn’t help wishing my head would just crack open.

  That’s when Marwa rounded the corner, screaming in a mix
of Arabic and English, and I pointed my gun at her. Lux had thrown himself between us red faced and scowling as he tried to talk me down. But the pain was so bad, and the ringing so loud, I couldn’t make out the muffled words.

  Lux stepped in closer, studying me, and then he pointed at my nose. I wiped it with the back of my hand, only to find a streak of fresh blood covering my glove. There was no hiding the extent of my injury from Lux. He was our team medic.

  “Dammit, Lux.”

  The idiot wasn’t supposed to fall for the interpreter, but true to his rebellious nature, Lux didn’t give a shit. So, when we returned from our mission, he reported me to the commanding officer of the Forward Operating Base, betraying our team. Our family. We were supposed to watch out for one another, take care of one another.

  He betrayed me, his childhood friend.

  His brother.

  “All for Marwa.” I drive my elbow backward, hitting the cabinet with such force, I fear I may have splintered the wood.

  Maybe it’s my punishment for killing a child. But rage can’t drown out the screaming. If I see that small body sinking to the ground every time I close my eyes, then I can only chalk it up to karma. Nightmares are my penance, though no amount of sleepless nights will ever bring redemption for what I’ve done.

  Time to stop dwelling and start scrubbing. Reaching beneath the kitchen sink, I find a treasure trove of cleaning supplies. Grabbing an armful, I cuddle the Clorox and assortment of other cleaning agents against my chest as if they were tiny kittens. The nook catches my eye as I rise to my feet, and my throat relaxes.

  The image of Taya sitting there with her book, smiling at me, relieves the tension in my shoulders. I smile back at the emptiness, my grasp on the paper towels lessening. What I wouldn’t give to hear her obnoxious singing in the shower right now to pull me out of this spell. The rumble of her motorcycle, or the soft curses she utters after breaking something. She can be such a klutz at times.

  My posture relaxes, and I continue thinking about Taya.

  Though her absence disrupts an already disturbed system, I’m glad she didn’t see me vomiting on the floor. I shudder at the thought of being that helpless and pathetic before anyone, particularly my wife. Taya’s been supportive, especially once I told her about my TBI and even has gone as far as to make sure my prescriptions are refilled before they run out, but there is a line. And it’s a line I hope I never have to find out about because I know she’ll leave and find someone better. Just like Raychel did.

  And I can’t really say I’d blame her. If only she’d known me before the incident, when I was still whole and unbroken.

  Setting the wastebasket to the side, I spray the floor and wipe away the remnants of my unceremonious breakdown. I can’t live in solitude again. It’s like being stuck in a sensory deprivation tank. I’m floating without an anchor or a port in sight, and I can’t scream loud enough to shatter the walls silence has built around me.

  There’s no telling how long I scrub the floor on my hands and knees. I can still smell the echoes of vomit even though the strength of the bleach stings my eyes as it sits heavy in the air. Shoving away the suspicion that I’ll never feel clean enough, I finally put all the cleaning supplies away and dump the garbage. Twenty minutes later, I’m still standing in the middle of the kitchen and wondering why I don’t feel any better.

  Probably because it’s not just the nook and the bedroom anymore. The whole house feels empty without her in it.

  I feel empty.

  And I’m not so sure this is a hole I’ll be able to crawl my way out of. Maybe Redding was right. Maybe it won’t be so simple to leave at the end of the year. Maybe it’s not Taya’s feelings I should be so concerned about, but my own.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Taya

  I haven’t snuck out of a house at one in the morning since I was a teenager. But after waking up to find myself curled against Jim in the window nook, my back pressed against his chest and his dick against my ass, I had to get away. Especially when panic slammed into me like a rogue wave as I recalled the photographers from the party. Jim would certainly ask questions once he woke, questions I’m not ready to answer. Questions that could get me kicked out of the program. But if those photos go public, my problems might come here.

  So, I collected my discarded dress and shoes, ran up to my room, and texted Inara to ask if I could spend the remainder of the night at her place. I needed time to think without anyone prying into my past. Inara was more than happy to oblige, and when the door to Jim’s room clicked shut, I grabbed my gear bag and snuck out. God, I must’ve looked like the biggest ass pushing my bike down the street in the dark. But I didn’t need Jim running after me, cornering me, and making me confess about what I ran away from back in New York.

  “How was the party?”

  I glance toward Inara as we step over a log, shrugging halfheartedly and trying to hide my concern. No need for anyone else to know about what little I have. “The whole thing was very cliquey. I mostly kept to myself and ate.”

  “Sounds like my idea of a good time.” She cuts her gaze to me, a thin brow arched. “I just wonder if that was all she wrote. You seemed pretty upset when you called me last night.”

  Inara hands me her small thermos with coffee in it and I take it willingly. We’re high enough above sea level that the cold air still bites through the thermals underneath my cargo pants, shirt and jacket.

  I snap a low-hanging branch with my free hand and throw it off to the side. “Eh, I was just a bit stressed. Not used to spending hours putting on some fake facade. This whole thing is still new to me, and I’m not exactly sure how to act. Plus, I wanted to get a head start, so I figured, why not sleep at your place?”

  “Uh huh.” Inara faces forward and climbs up the hill, her fingers grabbing onto sturdy rocks to help hoist her body upward.

  I suck in a breath, debating whether or not to tell Inara about the program and Jim. I need someone to talk to, but things between me and Jim are . . . complicated right now. As much as I want to talk to her about my situation and being Jim’s wife, it’s not right letting someone I barely know in on our relationship.

  My mind wanders back to the party and, most of all, what happened after. I practically groan as I relive latching on to Jim when he came inside of me. Shit balls. No condom. Ah, crap. Jim’s gotta be freaking out. I should text him and let him know there’s nothing to worry about. I should be getting my period any day.

  Come to think of it, now that I have health insurance, I should get back on birth control. Though, not sure if sleeping with my husband again is a good idea. Not if any of those photos are printed for general public access. I won’t allow Jim to become a target. Maybe Jim was right after all. Maybe annulling our marriage at the end of the year is for the best.

  But I’ve never had an orgasm like that.

  I came to you.

  His final words to me make my lady parts clench, and I groan out loud. Inara eyes me questioningly, but I just smile weakly and ignore her curious expression. I could be groaning for a hundred different reasons, like, because this coffee is so freakin’ good. I hand the mug back to Inara, and she places it in her pack, continuing ahead of me.

  Taking a deep breath, I pull in the familiar scent of pine. Though miles from the ocean, it feels good to be here, breathing in fresh air, putting a pause on life. The woods and ravines of Virginia remind me of the nature reserves back home. If I could shake the strange sense of homesickness that fills me every time I think about Jim, I might even be able to enjoy myself.

  “Hey!” Inara calls, and I glance up the hill to where she is. “Stay focused. The air is getting thinner, and if you’re not careful, it’ll make you scatterbrained and confused.”

  She isn’t telling me anything I don’t already know, but the reminder is a welcome one. My fingers tighten around the strap of my new pack. It cost me a pretty penny, but it’s worth it to have my own gear once again. When it comes to search and r
escue, using the community gear is just as bad as sharing a mouthpiece during band class, so I bought new climbing equipment and rope as soon as I gotten my first paycheck from S&S. The solid weight of them is a comfort against my back, proof that I’m a step closer to putting myself back together.

  We’re training on hi/lo angling today to practice rappelling off a cliff, and I couldn’t be happier. Today will be a training tutorial, a chance to remind myself of the basics after being on hiatus for so long. If I stopped playing video games for a while, I would start back up in training mode to reacquaint myself with the controllers and the combos. This is no different.

  As I climb, I make note of the peaks and saddles to keep myself oriented. The rest of the group is up ahead and despite my best intentions, I keep lagging behind as thoughts of Jim play havoc with my focus. Thankfully, not everyone here is a stranger. In fact, I met a few of the men and women while milling about at a SAR conference in New York last year.

  My stomach twists. If only I’d known how much my life would change since then.

  My phone vibrates, and I pull it from the pocket of my cargo pants. Jim’s name flashes across the screen, and my heart skips a beat as I slow my pace. This isn’t the time or the place to talk about last night, nor do I want him finding out about where I am. I’ve had enough of people making judgements about my participation in search and rescue. Hell, Jim would probably make fun of me just like my stepmother used to, especially considering what he does for a living. My finger hovers over the red ‘ignore’ button.

  “You alright back there, Taya?”

  I look up to Inara who is about one hundred meters ahead of me. The closer we get to the summit, the more protective she seems to be. It’s a relief to know she’ll be reliable on a callout, but right now, all I want is for her to go away.

  She turns to face me and puts her hands on her hips, breathing heavily. “Hurry up, I want to ask you about Jim. You’re avoiding it.”