Game For Love_The Beautiful Game

by Sharon Hamilton

  “In times of war or uncertainty there is a special breed of warrior ready to answer our Nation’s call. A common man with uncommon desire to succeed. Forged by adversity, he stands alongside America’s finest special operations forces to serve his country, the American people, and protect their way of life. I am that man.

  My Trident is a symbol of honor and heritage. Bestowed upon me by the heroes that have gone before, it embodies the trust of those I have sworn to protect. By wearing the Trident I accept the responsibility of my chosen profession and way of life. It is a privilege that I must earn every day.

  My loyalty to Country and Team is beyond reproach. I humbly serve as a guardian to my fellow Americans always ready to defend those who are unable to defend themselves. I do not advertise the nature of my work, nor seek recognition for my actions. I voluntarily accept the inherent hazards of my profession, placing the welfare and security of others before my own.

  I serve with honor on and off the battlefield. The ability to control my emotions and my actions, regardless of circumstance, sets me apart from other men. Uncompromising integrity is my standard. My character and honor are steadfast. My word is my bond.

  We expect to lead and be led. In the absence of orders I will take charge, lead my teammates and accomplish the mission. I lead by example in all situations.

  I will never quit. I persevere and thrive on adversity. My Nation expects me to be physically harder and mentally stronger than my enemies. If knocked down, I will get back up, every time. I will draw on every remaining ounce of strength to protect my teammates and to accomplish our mission. I am never out of the fight.

  We demand discipline. We expect innovation. The lives of my teammates and the success of our mission depend on me – my technical skill, tactical proficiency, and attention to detail. My training is never complete.

  We train for war and fight to win. I stand ready to bring the full spectrum of combat power to bear in order to achieve my mission and the goals established by my country. The execution of my duties will be swift and violent when required yet guided by the very principles that I serve to defend.

  Brave men have fought and died building the proud tradition and feared reputation that I am bound to uphold. In the worst of conditions, the legacy of my teammates steadies my resolve and silently guides my every deed. I will not fail.”

  The big SEAL inhaled, staring down at Ryan’s casket, and shouted, “Petty Officer Ryan!” The crowd of SEALs to his left stood and shouted the return, “Hooyah, Petty Officer Ryan!”

  The service was concluded with the pounding of over twenty Tridents into the casket, one by one. Some pressed their emblem into the wood, some punched it down with a fist. All of them had their public and private moment with Ryan in a sendoff she would never forget. One green-uniformed soldier pressed a spear patch onto the casket, since he didn’t have a gold Trident.

  It took a few seconds for her to fully realize the finality of the Trident ceremony. This was the end of things and the beginning of the rest of her life. She wavered a bit and Patrick was there to steady her. The Rosens grabbed her, and she was hugged and held by many of their older friends. When she was left alone at last, Patrick had hung back, away from the casket, in the shadows. She sought him out.

  “Shall we say goodbye to him together?” she asked.

  “Can’t do that, Steph. Just can’t. Is that wrong?”

  “Not at all,” she said, as naturally as it was to slip her hand inside his and squeeze. “Not at all. He would totally understand.” After Patrick met her gaze, she added. “I understand. But I have to do it.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll wait for you.”

  He was looking at someone standing behind her. It was the tall SEAL who had read the excerpt at the funeral.

  “Ma’am,” he said, and cleared his throat. “I’m Trevor Markham, and I was Ryan’s LPO, his platoon leader.” He extended his hand, which she shook. Several of the other SEALs came up behind Trevor and closed ranks around both her and Patrick. “Ryan requested I be present in case—” he winced and looked up to Patrick. “It was his wish. The rest of the team is still in Djibouti. Anyway, Ryan spoke of you often, and I want you to know it was our honor to serve with him. He saved some lives that day, some of them our teammates, who unfortunately could not be here today. I just wanted you to know that, ma’am. He died a hero, not that it makes it any easier. But it’s my honor and duty to let you know.”

  His brief speech, delivered flawlessly and with quiet confidence, struck her as being one of the things she’d loved about Ryan, who had become more a man while his training prepared him for overseas duty. She’d noticed and appreciated his changes, at first looking for something perhaps she wouldn’t be able to handle, and finally believing that the longer he was involved with his Team buddies, the more he loved them, the more completely he loved her as well. He’d gone into the Navy a young man, and graduated a man’s man—and a man a woman could love even more deeply.

  “Thank you. I wish I could say the same, Trevor. He didn’t speak much of you guys, except little tidbits here and there. Stupid things, really,” she replied.

  That got a chuckle from several of the other SEALs.

  “Yeah. That would be Ryan.” He extended his hand again. “You need anything, let us know. We’ll look in on you if you want. Anytime you want to talk, you just let me know, okay?”

  “Thank you,” she said holding the card he had given her. “I appreciate this. Ryan would appreciate this.”

  One by one, she shook hands with the men and then stood beside Patrick, watching them walk across the lawn to two black waiting Hummers.

  “I got some place I want to take you, Steph, if you don’t mind.”

  “Give me a moment, Patrick. Just a moment, okay?”

  “Sure, Steph.”

  She walked to Ryan’s flower-draped casket and let her tears trickle gently down her cheeks. “I am so sorry, my love. I will love you forever. I will miss you forever. I will grieve for you forever. This was not the dream I had for us, Ryan. This was not supposed to happen this way, not to us. Never to us.” She bent over, suddenly overcome, and then Patrick was there, helping her stand. With a big arm around her waist, as she leaned into him she wiped her wet cheeks with the backs of her hands. He said something to the top of her head she did not understand.

  “Goodbye, Ryan.” She had to turn and bury her face in Patrick’s shirt and jacket, crying uncontrollably.

  “Why, Patrick? Why did this happen?”

  “We don’t know why, honey.”

  “It’s so not fair.”

  “No, it’s not. But it is what it is.” After a pause, he whispered, “Ready?”

  She nodded.

  Not only didn’t she mind that he was leading her away from the gravesite, she almost wanted to run away from it, away from this place of final rest. She’d done everything she was supposed to do. The controlled demeanor and quiet weeping was over. She was tired. She wanted to relax, get away from crowds, get her mind off the sight of green lawn and marble headstones.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Oh, I think you’ll recognize it,” he said, slipping his arm around her waist again.

  “I’m supposed to go over to the Rosens’. Aren’t you coming?”

  “Yes. Then I’m meeting up with the SEALs later tonight.”

  “Why don’t we just make a brief appearance first? I’d like it if you were there, too. I don’t want to face everyone again alone.”

  “Sure. Let’s drop your car off at your place and then I’ll drive you.”

  “Okay. You can follow me.”

  “Fair enough.” He walked by her side, this time not holding her hand. She was grateful for the distance. She was grateful he was not going to leave her side until she was safely home and she could finally collapse in private.

  Chapter 6

  They left the Rosens’ house just when the orange sun was beginning to dip low in the July sky. It wasn’t yet
dusk, but the late afternoon glow bathed everything in golden light. Patrick drove them to their old grammar school, set among mature trees he remembered as being saplings back when they attended classes here. He took her hand and led her across the playground, now abandoned, but he could almost hear the roar of the crowd of children who used to surround them.

  He cradled Stephanie’s hand, holding it behind him. Behind him was the same little girl he used to dream about when he first knew it was a good thing to want to be part of a friendship. Now it was just the two of them, not the three of them. The triangle had been forever altered, but he knew it still existed somewhere in the back of Stephanie’s mind. Patrick had no problem accepting that.

  He took a seat on the low wooden table with the attached bench seats and dropped her hand. “You are probably wondering why I brought you here.” He smiled at the amused look on her face, which was exactly what he wanted to see.

  She looked around the playground and nodded. “Ryan and I were sitting right there.” He pointed to the bench seat behind him. And then he angled his forefinger toward the darkened entrance to the classrooms. “He told me there was a new girl. The most beautiful girl I would ever see, and that she’d walk out that door in a minute, carrying a pink lunch box.”

  He watched her turn and examine the hallway, blushing. Could she possibly remember that day? Did it affect her the way it had affected him back then? Did her heart lurch? Did she almost lose her breath when they saw each other for the first time?

  Time suspended as he gazed at her honey brown hair, the curls that blew slightly in the breeze, just close enough for his fingers to touch them, if he dared, and yes, close enough that he could smell her perfume, and the fragrance of her shampoo. He felt an overwhelming urge to protect her from harm, help her deal with the pain. At the same time, he was smart enough to know that with the renewed intensity of his feelings for her, it would be totally unwise to reveal it.

  I will know, Stephanie, if we have a chance, if I can see it in your eyes. The next few seconds will tell me everything I ever wanted to know.

  He waited for her. Waited for her to think about what he’d said. Some day maybe he’d be able to tell her that he’d thought about no one else. Forever, all women would be compared to Stephanie. Why hadn’t he recognized it sooner?

  Oh yea. That’s because she’s been Ryan’s girl.

  He’d remembered her walking out, lunch box in her hand, squinting in the late morning sun, hand shading her eyes, looking for a place to sit. And then their eyes had locked. His six-year-old body sat straight up, and he must have given her a toothless smile, because she came right over. Like it was destined.

  And here they were again.

  The fact that she didn’t turn around right away meant she was thinking about something. With her back to him still, facing the darkened hallway, she nodded.

  Was she thinking about Ryan? Is that why she didn’t turn? Did it matter?

  “I remember that day, Patrick,” she said, still looking straight ahead. Then she did something miraculous. Turning, she told him something he’d hoped was true, had dreamed about for years. “You were the one I was walking to. I hadn’t even seen Ryan. I was coming to you.”

  Their eyes met without shame. She wasn’t blushing, and for the moment she wasn’t crying. He’d never looked at her this honestly before, not as a man. His body responded like it always did when he was around beautiful women, but he did not act on his urge. He waited again. He didn’t want to push.

  “Funny how you remember some things, and then not others. Like I don’t remember the first time I met Ryan. He was just always there. But you, Patrick, I remember that day.”

  He was thrilled.

  “I liked your freckles. And do you remember, you brushed the bench before I sat down?”

  He hadn’t remembered that part. Shaking his head, he answered, “Only thing I remember was you and that pink lunch box. I think you had on a pink sweater, too.”

  “I wore more pink than anything else. It was my ‘neutral color’ back then.”

  Patrick remembered that. He and Ryan used to call her Princess Pink. He decided not to tell her that, just yet.

  “Why did you bring me here?”

  Patrick shrugged. “I just wanted you to know, that’s all. I wanted you to know that the day I met you, it was special. Always has been special.”

  She immediately dropped her eyes and swung her body from side to side. He saw her chew on the lower lip he wanted to kiss so badly. She examined her forearms, watching them as her hands reached up to his chest, where she lay her palms on his pecs. She didn’t press. The warmth from her hands infused him with delicious heat which traveled up his neck. She slid her fingers to the sides and felt his muscles, kneading his shoulders and then squeezing his biceps, sliding her hands down to the crooks of his elbows.

  He allowed his fingers to press the small of her back very lightly, pulling her closer.

  But then she abruptly dropped her hands and stepped back. “I can’t do this,” she whispered, her cheeks flushed, sounding out of breath.

  He was horribly disappointed, but knew he had no choice but to appear gracious. “Fair enough,” he replied softly, but his voice broke. “Just know that I am here. I’ve always been here for you, Stephanie.”

  She nodded at the ground, her arms folded in front of her. “I think I want you to take me home now, please.”

  “No problem, Steph.” He stood and stretched his long legs and arms like he was warming up in the box. “It’s been a long day, and you must be exhausted. Come on.”

  He put his hand up to the back of her neck and at first he felt her jerk, clearly uncomfortable with the intimate gesture. He made a mental note to stay completely away from any physical touching that could be construed as sexual in nature. He didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. He was starting to beat himself up about it on the way to his car when she took his hand, stopped him, and said, “Patrick, thank you. I have a lot to sort out, but thank you for being my friend.” Her forlorn face was utterly kissable.

  “No problem.”

  “I’m a mess inside, and I don’t think I can be anyone’s friend until I figure that out first. But I will. I always do.”

  He knew that about her. She played in the street so hard her braids were always coming undone, her face often streaked with dirt. But he didn’t care. He’d thought she was the most beautiful girl in the whole world.

  And he’d never stopped thinking it.

  Chapter 7

  First Class Petty Officer Trevor Markham had invited Patrick to join them for drinks and dinner at the Mexican restaurant near their hotel. He was laughing about something one of the other men had said. There was a trail of longneck beer bottles snaking their way back and forth across the table. Patrick wondered why they didn’t just buy a pitcher and save some money.

  “Hey there, Patrick. Come, we got your seat right here.”

  Room was made for him on one of the benches next to LPO Trevor. Before he could ask, he was handed a bottle of beer, and the salute went up:

  “Hooyah, Ryan,” they chorused. Quiet ensued when they guzzled their brews. Patrick considered the impact that downing a full bottle on an empty stomach might have on him, and his ability to get back to the hotel.

  “So what’s it like playing soccer in England, son?” Markham asked. He was perhaps five years Patrick’s senior, so the term struck him as odd.

  “It’s fun. One of the best jobs in the world.”

  “What do you like about it?” one of the other SEALs asked.

  “Get to train outdoors. I have all this cool equipment and gear. They bus us all around Europe, fly us to South America and places like that. Lots of girls, and the money’s good.”

  “Well,” Markham said after he’d finished off his longneck, “up until the part about the money, I thought you were talking about our little club.”

  Several other men chuckled, and then someone swore and followed it u
p with, “Ain’t that the truth?”

  “And the equipment is better,” said a young man with a southern accent.

  “A whole lot more dangerous, too,” Patrick said.

  “I’ve seen those pictures of fans tipping over buses in Brazil, some ref getting beaten to death over a call. I’d say your line of work can be dangerous.”

  “Yes, we get some defender coming at my head with his cleats up, I could lose an eye, or get scarred. But heck, I got scars all over my body, and it doesn’t make a bit of difference.”

  “Shit, I got run through with a crowbar-type tool some months back,” the southern boy drawled. He lifted his shirt and showed Patrick a pink scar that looked like bubble gum stuck to the right side of his navel. “Goes clear through to the other side,” and he said as he attempted to turn around and show him.

  That started a whole round of scar reveals. One soldier was missing an earlobe from hand-to-hand combat. Most of them had more tattoos than scars, so after they’d run out of scars they started showing them off. Patrick saw some beautiful, intricate designs. He knew Ryan had a bone frog with a trident on his chest right over his heart, and he suspected these men all did as well.

  “You been playing a long time?” Markham asked.

  “Yessir. Started playing professional just after high school and am now First Squad for Tottenham. It’s a good club. A good gig.”

  “Yeah, Ryan mentioned that. He talked a lot about you, Patrick.”

  He looked between the faces of these powerful-looking, straight-shouldered men with quiet countenances, noticed how they observed people without staring, how comfortable they were with each other. He listened to their banter and smack talk, but they all remained respectful of his friendship with Ryan, careful not to tread on any of his feelings. He liked them. There was the bond between them that he envied. It was more than the bond he had with the international crowd he played soccer with.

  He found himself asking questions. He got half answers, usually followed up with a smile, leaving the door open for him to ask another probing question, which was not always answered, either. What he liked best about them was that their egos were definitely present, but not dropped on the table naked or allowed to roam around without diapers. The “diapers” comment was one of his favorite expressions, invented by his defender friend Ronnie, who hated drama yet had gotten into so many fights he had a perpetually broken nose. He wore white tape over his nose more days than he didn’t of late.